For a second, it is as if I'm in limbo, or sitting in that blank room in my head. 

My memory of the night before is foggy, as if someone's slotted a screen in-between my brain cells. Then I remember: I'm awake. I'm still alive. And the voice in my head is strangely quiet.

"Are you alright?" My Mother is hunched in the chair beside my bed, texting.

"When can I come home?" Not that I know where it is, what it looks like, or if I have even lived there. I just don't want to stay here. There comes the sound of shouting from the corridor and orderlies are darting past at lightning speed. The sight is enough to make my eyes water.

"What's going on?" I ask. Mother, for a split second, looks at me in surprise. How does she expect me to know what's happened? Breathlessly, Doctor Steele rushes in.

"What's happening?" I whisper. Everything is starting to come crashing down around me. I thought I was safe, from myself at least. Doctor Steele, like my Mother, shoots me a puzzled glance, but it vanishes before I have time to properly register it.

"I don't want you to panic," he begins. I already start to experience the symptoms: my chest tightens and my hands twitch.

"But there's been an accident. One of the Nurses. She was found dead. Last night, near the opposite end of the ward. Considering this, we've decided to move you to a more secure wing of the hospital for one night and then we'll have to send you home. Until the police can find the culprit, this place isn't safe for you to stay in. I'll have to monitor your recovery from your home. Do you think you're well enough to walk?"

'He's testing you,' I imagine her saying, like she used to, in the back of my mind. Ignoring her, I manage to nod. But as my mother helps me into a sitting position, when I tried to slide from the bed, my legs are like jelly. I can barely stand.

"We need a wheelchair in here!" Doctor Steele calls out, that puzzled expression riddling his face again. Why do I get the feeling that she's done something? Searching for her voice, her presence, I find I can barely feel her at all. Her absence leaves me to spacewalk through my mind, undisturbed. A sensation I barely have time to enjoy.

As I'm lowered softly into the chair and my mother wheels me out of the ward into another, my heart starts to live again. Not just survive. Maybe the death was just that, an accident. A coincidence. After all, lots of people died in hospital. Just not Nurses. But it can't be her. I can't feel her in my head, or in my heart. She's gone. Perhaps I can be alone to live the rest of my life as a normal girl.