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"She should have been grateful."
"She had me unwound."
"I'm sure it wasn't easy for her."
"All right, clamp it off."
* * *
An hour and fifteen.
Surgeons leave, new ones arrive. The new ones take an intense interest in his abdomen. He looks toward his toes but can't see them. Instead he sees a surgical assistant cleaning the lower half of the table.
"I almost killed a kid yesterday."
"That doesn't matter now."
"I wanted to do it, but I got scared. I don't know why, but I got scared."
"Just let it go." The nurse was holding his hand before. She's not anymore.
"Strong abdominal muscles," says a doctor. "Do you work out?"
A clanging of metal. The lower half of the table is unhooked and pulled away. It makes him think of when he was twelve and his mom took him to Las Vegas. She had dropped him off at a magic show while she played the slots. The magician had cut a woman in half. Her toes were still wiggling, her face still smiling. The audience gave him thunderous applause.
Now Roland feels discomfort in his gut. Discomfort, a tickling sensation, but no pain. The surgeons lift things away. He tries not to look, but he can't help it. There's no blood, just the oxygen-rich solution, which is flourescent green, like antifreeze.
"I'm scared," he says.
"I know," says the nurse.
"I want you all to go to Hell."
"That's natural."
One team leaves; another comes in. They take an intense interest in his chest.
* * *
An hour forty-five.
"I'm afraid we need to stop talking now."
"Don't go away."
"I'll be here, but we won't be able to talk anymore."
The fear surrounds him, threatening to take him under. He tries to replace it with anger, but the fear is too strong. He tries to replace it with the satisfaction that Connor will be taken very soon, but not even that makes him feel better,
"You'll feel a tingling in your chest," says a surgeon. "It's nothing to worry about."
* * *
Two hours, five minutes.
"Blink twice if you can hear me."
Blink, blink.
