But in the instant before everything vanished, I heard a voice. A whisper. Like a mouth pressed to my ear. Rage, it said. Rage against the dying of the light.

* * *

Blink.

The commanding voice spoke. “And today, she’s breathing without the aid of the ventilator. Prognosis?”

“At best, persistent vegetative state.”

The voices in the background sharpened. “She’d be better off dead. Why’d they intubate her if they knew she was brain dead?”

“She’s a minor,” the doctor in charge said, leaning across me to check the tubes. “You always keep a child alive until the parents arrive.”

The doctor stepped back, revealing a chorus of angels. White-robed men and women hugged the walls, their mouths hanging open like they were singing to the heavens.

“Dr. Logan, I think she’s awake.” They all watched me, watching them.

The doctor—Dr. Logan—chuckled. “You’ll learn, Dr. Klein, that many comatose patients open their eyes. It doesn’t mean they see.”

Move. Speak. The voice, again, whispered in my ear. It demanded, Rage. And I raged. I slapped at the doctor’s arms, I tore at his white coat, I sunk my nails into the flesh of his fingers as he tried to fight me off. I jerked my legs, violently trying to free myself from the white sheets.

I raged because I recognized the voice in my ear. It was my own.

“Name! Her name!” cried the doctor. He leaned across my bed and held me back with his forearm against my chest, his weight behind it. And all the while I thrashed.

A voice behind him called out, “Delaney. It’s Delaney Maxwell.”

With his other hand, the doctor gripped my chin and yanked my head forward. He brought his face close to mine, too close, until I could smell the peppermint on his breath and see the map of lines around the corners of his mouth. He didn’t speak until I locked eyes with him, and then he flinched. “Delaney. Delaney Maxwell. I’m Dr. Logan. You’ve had an accident. You’re in the hospital. And you’re okay.”

The panic subsided. I was free. Free from the ice, free from the prison inside. I moved my mouth to speak, but his arm on my chest and his hand on my jaw strangled my question. Dr. Logan slowly released me.

“Where,” I began. My voice came out all hoarse and raspy, like a smoker’s. I cleared my throat and said, “Where is—” I couldn’t finish. The ice cracked. I fell. And he wasn’t here.

“Your parents?” Dr. Logan finished the question for me. “Don’t worry, they’re here.” He turned around to the chorus of angels and barked, “Find them.”

But that wasn’t what I meant to ask. It wasn’t who I meant at all.

Dr. Logan prodded the others out of the room, though they didn’t go far. They clumped around the doorway, mumbling to each other. He stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, watching me. His gaze wandered over my body like he was undressing me with his eyes. Only in his case, I was pretty sure he was dissecting rather than undressing, peeling back my skin with every shift of his gaze, slicing through muscle and bone with his glare. I tried to turn away from him, but everything felt too heavy.

Mom elbowed her way through the crowd outside and gripped the sides of the doorway. She brought both hands to her chest and cried, “Oh, my baby,” then ran across the room. She grabbed my hand in her own and brought it to her face. Then she rested her head on my shoulder and cried.

Her hot tears trickled down my neck, and her brown curls smelled of stale hair spray. I turned my head away and breathed through my mouth. “Mom,” I said, but she just shook her head, scratching my chin with her curls. Dad followed her in, smiling. Smiling and laughing and shaking the doctor’s hand. The doctor who hadn’t even known my first name, who’d thought I would never wake up. Dad shook his hand like it was all his doing.

I worked up the nerve to say what I had meant before. “Where’s Decker?” My voice was rough and unfamiliar.

Mom didn’t answer, but she stopped crying. She sat up and wiped the tears from her face with the edge of her sleeve.

“Dad, where’s Decker?” I asked, with a tinge of panic in my voice.

Dad came to the other side of my bed and rested his hand on my cheek. “He’s around here somewhere.”

I closed my eyes and relaxed. Decker was okay. I was okay. We were fine. Dr. Logan spoke again. “Delaney, you were without oxygen for quite some time and there was some . . . damage. Don’t be alarmed if words or thoughts escape you. You need time to heal.”