At first, the wakeup seems normal, too. A fan whispers behind the grate on the wall, the temperature is perfect making it comfortable to be lying there in a paper gown and nothing else. He opens his eyes and it should be dark, but someone’s left a rolling light fixture in the room. They never leave anything in the room, and this innocuous change from the norm starts the slightest tremor in his guts. Something’s wrong.

He sits. Lightheaded as usual with the slightest ache in the back of his head. It’s numb back there right now, and he’ll take the two yellow pills on the tray beside him before that wears off. And there will be two more in cellophane in the pocket of his coat. That’s how it works.

He spreads antiseptic ointment from the tray on the wound and puts the stocking cap back on. Then as he’s standing, taking it slow. The door handle rattles and his heart rate spikes. Without thinking he looks around the featureless room fruitlessly for a place to hide. This isn’t right. No one else is here, ever.