Images flashed through his mind that he couldn’t begin to explain as he fought to wake. He could feel hands on him, holding him down. He struggled to push the blankets off…the heat…the cold…he could feel himself dying. His eyes fluttered open and it took a moment for him to realize where he was. He saw Tracy sitting beside him, squeezing a rag out into a bowl of water then reaching to wipe at his brow again. “Am I dead?” he croaked. Her face tightened and she tried to smile, but it looked more like a sob. Her eyes were red and swollen, obviously from crying. “No, you’re not.” She sniffled and reached for his face with the rag again. “But you are feverish.” “So I wasn’t attacked by a werewolf? I’m just delusional. Good.” “No, sweetheart, you were…” she choked on the words for a moment and had to take a deep breath before continuing. “You were attacked. And now you’re fighting a fever.
