They dimmed the lights a little. Beyond the window, the featureless faces gained solidity with the absence of the florescent glare. Two sat in the middle, one a red-eyed, middle-aged woman with blond hair slowly giving way to gray. She leaned against a gray-haired man with broad shoulders and a solemn expression. Their eyes met across the distance between them. The woman shook with sobs.

The Warden nodded, and Steve seemed to step away from himself, his body slowly faded away from his consciousness. He looked back on himself. Brown hair graying at the temples, a scholar’s face marred by deep illness and worry. He was surrounded with what looked to be medical equipment: heart sensors beside, pads fixed to his chest; one tube in each arm, both fed into a small hole drilled into a wall. He looked frightened.

And slowly, slowly, the eyes began to close. He turned back to the window, and the white curtain took on a life of its own. It moved forward, wrapped around him, smothered him. It enveloped him like a fog.