Then a bright square appeared above him, darting in and out like a UFO using cloud cover to obfuscate its movements. One eye—the left, he thought, began working on shapes as his vision fought the fog; then the second eye joined the effort. The bright square became a fluorescent ceiling light. The shadow turned into a large doughy doctor in scrubs moving back and forth between Jack and the light. The doc leaned close, his cheeks sagging like soft sacks of pudding. Then Jack heard Nora’s voice. He felt her lips and damp cheek gently touching beside his sore eye. When she stepped back, he saw that there were no wires connecting him to machines and none of his limbs dangled in traction—both good signs. “Hello, Partner,” he said. “If you’re kissing it to make it feel better, I hurt all over.” She leaned down and softly kissed his cut lips, then next to his other eye. “I’m going to have to get beaten up more often.” “And in more interesting places,” Nora said. He tried to smile, but his lips were split and swollen.
