She was surrounded by people in white. Angels? The joke would be on her if there turned out to be any. Beep, beep, beep. Beyond the figures huddled over her she caught glimpses of neon-green lines tracing out wave patterns. One of the figures was bending over her now. She felt pressure on her side. A pull on her leg. Stronger pulling. Pop. She felt it ripple down her leg and across her pelvis. A moment, just a moment of what she diagnosed as pain. Lightning zapping through her. Beep-beep-beep. The sound accelerated. “There. It’s back in.” A man’s voice. “Blood pressure’s a hundred and thirty-five over eighty.” A woman’s voice. “I’ve got it.” A man’s. Pressure on her arm. A pinch. There. Moments later Mina settled. Her Picasso eye was in alignment now. She felt her leg being lifted, bent, straightened. “Looking good.” The man’s voice again, the words reaching her as if through wads of cotton batting. Like the soft diapers her mother used for years to dust the furniture, until they turned to shreds.
