Regan's eyes fluttered open. She was lying on a bed made with crisp white sheets. A summer breeze drifted in through the open window next to her and moved across the muslin curtains like water. The earthy scent of cut grass spilled in from outside and mixed with the musty smell of mothballs and old carpet. She could hear voices outside her room, muffled by the heavy wood of the door. 

'Can I see her now?' 

'She's not ready yet.' 

'I'm the one who found her!' 

'She'd not a lost kitten, Eva.' 

'Was it Gareth? Did he hurt her?' 

There was a pause and Regan heard the floorboards creak. 

'She's opened her eyes a couple of times, but I couldn't get her to tell me her name or where she comes from. She talks sometimes, but I don't think she's talking to me.' 

'Maybe she's crazy. That sounds like a crazy person.' 

'I don't think she's crazy, just...' Regan heard the girl pause as she searched for the right word. 'Damaged.' 

As Regan slowly came to, she felt a deep, throbbing pain in her stomach. Her right hand felt numb. She pulled it from the sheets and saw that it had been neatly splinted and bandaged. She pulled herself into a sitting position with difficulty and propped herself up against the head of the bed. She could feel heavy bandages around her midsection. 

The room looked like it had been someone's study at one point and had since been converted into a storeroom. There was a majestic oak desk in one corner that was almost buried in cardboard boxes, and there were deep indents in the cream carpet where heavy pieces of furniture had once stood. In the centre of the room was a burnished metal medical trolley that held an array of surgical implements. 

Regan gripped her stomach and looked down. Someone had dressed her in a set of short sleeved pyjamas. They were pastel yellow and had pictures of ducks on them. 

The doorknob twisted and the dark haired girl from the beach came in holding a bundle of clothes. She looked at Regan with large, serious eyes. 

'I'm surprised you're awake already,' she said. 'My money was on next week at the earliest.' 

'You're the one who stitched me back together?' 

'You could at least try to sound grateful,' said the girl. 'I know what I'm doing. I've almost finished my training as a combat medic, and I've already been on three missions.' 

'Your gold medal is on it's way.' 

Regan moved around until her legs were hanging over the edge of the bed. There was a neatly wrapped bandage around her thigh that gave off a faint smell of antiseptic. 

'You really shouldn't be moving around.' 

Regan placed her feet on the floor and tried to push herself up, but her legs felt like loose ropes. The moment she started to put weight on them they began to fold and collapse. She slid unceremoniously down the side of the bed until she was on her knees. 

The girl placed the bundle of clothes in her arms on a small bedside table. She lifted Regan up by her armpits and helped her back into bed. 

'I can tell you're going to be a difficult patient,' she said. 'I'm Sarafina, in case you were wondering who saved your life.' 

'I wasn't. I'm not staying long enough for it to matter.' 

'How about you focus on being able to stand before you think about running out the door.' 

Sarafina helped Regan sit up and placed a pillow behind her. She took Regan's hands gently and examined the dressings. 

'Your broken hand is healing well. Your fingers will probably be stiff when the bandages come off, but I'll give you some exercises to do that should stretch out the muscles. Over time you should regain full mobility in your fingers.' 

'How long until I'm able to move again?' 

'Well, that little stunt you just pulled looks like it reopened the wound in your stomach, so it's going to be a while yet.' 

Regan looked down. Blood was staining the thin yellow material. It looked like the ducks were going through their own little apocalypse. She looked back at Sarafina. 

'Would you like to offer a more accurate estimate?' 

'No. So you're just going to have to sit there and be patient. Somehow, I think that might be difficult for you. I get the feeling you don't have a lot of patience.' 

She picked up the bundle of clothes from the bedside table and placed them at the foot of Regan's bed. 

'I drove into town and picked up some clothes for you. They're not the most fashionable things you've ever seen, but they should be your size.' 

'I want my real clothes.' 

'When we took them off you, they were pretty much shredded.' 

Regan looked out through the open window. Outside, there was a batch of laundry hanging on the clothes line. The white cotton sheets twisted and flapped like banners in the breeze. 

'I don't care.' 

Sarafina sighed. 'I'll see what I can do.' 

Regan continued to stare at the sheets as they rippled in the wind. An image of rain lashed decks and dark waves closing around her rose unbidden from her mind. 

'It won't help,' said Sarafina. 

'What?' 

'You looked like you were replaying the memories of what happened. It won't help.' 

'I was thinking about little kittens playing with enormous balls of string.' 

'No you weren't.' 

'Clearly the mean streets of suburbia have given you an extensive understanding of the dark sides of humanity.' 

'It's up to you how you spend your life, but people who let time stop for themselves rarely do well.' 

'It's not that simple for me,' said Regan. 'There's something I have to do sitting on my chest like a lead weight. I always thought defeat meant death, but here I am out the other side. Alive.' 

'You don't sound happy about that.' 

'Someone once told me that victory means survival. Everything else is just fancy frills and decoration.' 

'They don't sound like they were a very nice person.' 

'She isn't.' 

Sarafina shuddered. 'What kind of horrible place have you come from?' 

'I come from the real world.' 

Sarafina shrugged. 'Well, once I've patched you up you can feel free to go back to your real world, but personally I prefer my dreamland.' 

'Why are you looking after me? I won't thank you, you know.' 

'I told you, I'm a combat medic. I have a responsibility.' 

'Then take me to a hospital.' 

Sarafina folded her arms and looked down at Regan. 'Do you really want me to take you to a hospital?' 

Regan was silent. 

'Good. I hope you're finished being contrary for the sake of it. I have a very low tolerance for that sort of thing in my patients.' 

'You didn't answer my question.' 

Sarafina shrugged. 'I like broken things.' 

Regan's brow furrowed as if she was recalling something from distant memory. 'Broken. Like a blade with a hairline fracture.' 

'I guess so.' 

Regan sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. 

'When I was dressing your wounds, I noticed there were other scars on your body, much older ones. I'm not an idiot. Even if you won't tell me how you got those wounds, I know what a sword cut looks like. And your fingers: there's no way that was accidental.' 

'I'll leave as soon as I can walk.' 

'I don't care if you don't want to tell me the details; I just wouldn't want you to think I don't know what I'm working on. Sometimes the street gangs have been known to break fingers, but you don't look like a gang member to me. Maybe someone kidnapped you, but you don't exactly seem like an innocent victim either.' 

'Are you afraid?' 

'Of you or that someone will come after you?' 

'Pick one.' 

'If those kinds of things worried me, I'd have chosen the wrong profession. Do you think the people who did this to you will try again?' 

'Probably.' 

'Then the best thing for you to do right now is to stay here and let them think you're dead. No one knows you're here. You're safe.' 

Regan's mouth curved into a twisted smile. 'I'll stay a corpse. For now.' 

Sarafina shuddered.