The daily visits from the nurses and doctor over the last three days had been annoying but each one also assured me that I would be home soon. Other than the occasional moments of stiffness after long periods of being mostly stationary, it seemed I had mostly healed. There were still unwarranted tremors and spasms from time to time, mostly at night, but they seemed confident it was normal considering the shape my body had remained in for so long.

A week-long corpse and half as lively, I had mused once to the head nurse, Alicia. She had become less delighted with my morbid sense of humor as the days had stretched ahead. She would adjust my pillow and bedding some as I sat there with Blue Mina on my lap and had peered over my shoulder more than once. Perhaps she had read some disturbing imagery as I typed away, partially oblivious. Of course, it was possible that she still felt embarrassed or unnerved by me to some degree. I had decided to leave the question unanswered and hopefully, for her sake, forgotten.

Doctor Alweiss had performed his final check-in a few hours prior and I had called Tina to arrange a ride to my cabin. Things were looking positive. Even the paralysis in my lower body seemed to be lessening. I had actually wiggled a toe not only once but twice. No actual repeated joint movement but definitely an improvement. Considering how stale and claustrophobic the tiny room had become despite the bedside hospitality, when they ended their final evaluation I had decided to leave out the fact that my headaches and vision were still not fully cooperating at times.

Tina had visited me each night after the diner closed, keeping me company until the nurse would administer the nightly doses. In the afternoons I had bored my mind into submission with the mindless reality television drivel until the need to write would kick in. I had typed close to three chapters, but refused to revise until I had settled back into a bit of normalcy. I sometimes would sit with the sky-colored Olivetti on my lap and just trail my fingers about, pretending to type. My vision sometimes had made it hard to read as I went but I had found this an effective exercise for focusing when my head began to pound or my vision blurred. I had glanced upward a few times catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror directly across from me. I had looked damn silly doing it, but most things did with an audience of one.

An hour after the go-ahead from Doctor Alweiss my cell phone rang. I had already put Mina to the side as best I could and gathered my writing in the hospital folder with my paperwork. I reached for it across the counter and finding it out of reach, inconveniently forgot I still couldn't walk. I grasped hastily for the edge of the table and bed, but not before crashing down hard unto my left hip. This sent a sharp pang up my spine and caused my leg to bend under me. Not exactly the kind of movement the doctor had been looking for.

"Shit!" I cried as I used my upper strength to position myself less awkwardly. I could hear footsteps behind me and a familiar laugh.

"Jesus, Byron! They catch you like this and they'll make you stay even longer, buddy. Don't want an extended stay, do ya?"

"Mort, impeccable timing. How about you help me up and stop judging me? I'm sure you've had plenty of time for that all week," I answered wryly.

Mort Davies laughed and reached under my arms, locking his hands across my chest. In one swift motion and a grunt from both of us, he turned me slightly on the edge of the bed to face him. I shook my head as I propped my arms into a balancing position, dangling my near-lifeless legs off the edge and tried to kick them again.

"Damn it," I seethed quietly before gathering my thoughts. "Good to see you, Mort. I assume you're my taxi service?"

"Granted, I'm not an adorable and statuesque little blonde gal but that sarcasm still stings," he mocked, holding his hands to his chest in an exaggerated fashion. Despite the embarrassing introductions, it was good to see him.

He removed his black and grey-toned knit fedora and placed it gently on his lap as he sat down. His grey hair was short on the sides and the hairline cascaded even further back than I remembered. The age lines around his eyes had deepened between the small expanse of freckles littering his nose and cheeks. His salt and pepper mustache, which had once been only stubble, now nested thickly on his upper lip as he smiled. His white button-down pinstripe stretched about his large stomach as he leaned forward, trying to get comfortable.

He had put on a few pounds over the last few years, which didn't surprise me. Mort had often joked that he married Ellen because of her skill in the kitchen and to piss off her father. I had never met her father before but enjoyed her cooking immensely, so at least one of those statements rang true. He fidgeted in the small, uncomfortable visitor's chair and placed a large freckled hand comfortingly on my slumped shoulders.

"Mort's got you covered, okay? The press, police and all that shit? It's been handled best that I could. Story is there was a branch in the road and-"

"There was a limb blocking the road. The wet conditions-"

"Damn it, I'm just saying that you don't have to worry about all that shit! The drinking and driving stuff. May have been a different story if you'd had booze in the car or something. Can't let one of my bestselling authors go down like that." His eyes didn't betray his honesty and for the first time in three years, I noted legitimate concern and worry that didn't treat me solely as a business venture, despite the words he had used.

"Okay, I get that. Thanks for looking out," I eventually conceded. "Now, how about we get your money-making bestseller into a wheelchair and back to work?"

He nodded in agreement and walked into the doorway, motioning for one of the nurses at the desk. She took another sip from her Starbucks iced coffee with a sigh and returned shortly with one. Wheeling it into the room, Mort placed his hands firmly on the back cross bar while she attempted to help me from the bed and into the seat. Once settled in, she placed my typewriter and baggage unto my lap, handing me my medical folder.

I sighed and mouthed a quiet thank you to her. Mort began to adjust his grip, spinning the chair around quickly as she followed behind. I felt somewhat helpless as we passed two different nursing stations, each worker smiling their best wishes tiredly. We both stared ahead in thought as we continued down the corridor and upon reaching the elevator, I leaned forward and pressed the Down arrow myself. Mort's hand rested on my shoulder for a moment before we descended.

The late afternoon sun was sinking low as we navigated through the automatic doors a few minutes later and towards his red Cadillac XTS. The accompanying nurse helped position me into the passenger seat and wished me luck before shutting the door gently. Mort placed the folding wheelchair into the trunk and sat in the driver's seat. The engine revved as he started the engine.

"Maybe we ought to consider a different mechanical monster for you to ride around in. Electric, all the bells and whistles. Maybe even some Onstar GPS," he said, intending to lighten the mood.

I stared out the window and watched as the hospital shrank in the side mirror, thinking of how Lily had awakened me from my comatose state, that personal hell of nothing and healing me almost instantly. It had been intense, almost ritualistic, but effective. I felt an urge to say her name aloud. I opened my mouth to speak and instead released a gasping noise that reminded me of her breath in my ear each time she had woven her ravenous rapture about me. I felt engulfed with some primal and desperate need. If I could've felt my knees, they surely would have buckled even as I stared out the window. Instead, ripples of reason shattered along my spine as her love marks ached and spoke to me through every pore.

"You okay there, buddy?" Mort's eyebrows were arched high upon his balding head as he gave me a concerned, sideways glance.

"I will be. It's just been a long week, is all. That, and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend too much longer in that chair." My voice didn't waiver but remained forceful. "Not a fucking option."

"You know what? You're a stubborn son of a bitch. I believe you."

We didn't speak another word as we drove into the darkening horizon and home.