Emma became aware of sounds first.
Beeping. Rhythmic and insistent. Medical equipment she'd learned to recognize during twelve weeks of hospital imprisonment.
Then sensation. Her throat hurt. Badly. Something was in it, down it, forcing air into her lungs with mechanical precision.
Ventilator. She was on a ventilator.
Panic spiked. Emma tried to open her eyes but her eyelids felt weighted, impossible to lift. Tried to move her hands but they were heavy, unresponsive.
Trapped. She was trapped in her own body.
The panic intensified. Emma tried to breathe on her own but the machine wouldn't let her, kept forcing air in and out regardless of her attempts to control it.
"Emma?" A voice. Familiar. Alexander. "Emma, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
Emma focused everything on her right hand. Tried to make her fingers move, to squeeze, to communicate that she was here, aware, drowning in her own inability to control her body.
Nothing. Her hand didn't respond.
