My head throbs. I realize I’m awake. I don’t remember going to sleep. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel impossibly heavy. It occurs to me that maybe they've been taped shut, but I don’t know why that thought comes to me. A mechanical beeping lines up with the throbbing in my head. Rhythmic. Familiar. A patient monitor? I shift and it feels like I’m in a bed. Somehow, I think I'm in a hospital bed. My mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, my tongue thick and clumsy. I try to swallow, but produce barely enough saliva and my throat is sore. The details of how I got here elude me, for the time being.

It takes a minute, but I finally manage to force my eyes open, only to immediately squint; above me are harsh, fluorescent lights. White, institutional ceiling tiles come into focus. They also seem familiar.

With effort, I raise my right hand to rub my eyes, and feel a tug. Looking up, I see an IV catheter secured to the back of my hand with a section of transparent tape. A line of clear IV tubing snakes up to a half-empty bag of fluid hanging from an IV pole nearby. The movement causes my hospital gown to shift against my skin, and thus I discover I’m wearing a hospital gown.

I’m awfully disoriented, but my memories begin to fall into order. I remember my plan for the night. Going to the operating room. I remember my interrupted experiment. Evelyn catching me. Her weight on my chest as she held me down, forcing me to breathe in the anesthetics. I think of the restraints. I remember her making me go under a second time. I think I remember something else, something after that, but it’s too blurry to piece together. In any case, I remember enough.

I bolt upright, but like opening my eyes, I instantly regret it. The sudden movement makes the room spin and my headache momentarily gets worse. I grab at the IV site, about to simply pull it out, when a voice stops me.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

I hadn’t noticed until now, but Nurse Evelyn is quietly standing at the foot of my bed, arms crossed. Her mask is gone and her red hair is down now, freed from the surgical cap, falling in waves around her shoulders. She's changed into fresh scrubs, feminine, pink, instead of the light blue from before.

Her blue eyes evaluate me.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her British accent pronounced in the quiet room. She steps closer, and taps a few buttons on the patient monitor, silencing the rhythmic beeping. She turns, and reaches for my wrist to take my pulse manually. I don’t think to pull away, my brain is still booting up. Her fingers are cool against my skin, and strangely intimate.

"Headache," I manage to croak. "Tired. Thirsty." My voice sounds like a dry croak; my throat is rough. "What time is it?"

"Just before 9," she answers, releasing my wrist. "Post-anesthetic headache is not unusual. The volatile agents can do that, even sevoflurane. It'll pass."

I look around, taking in my surroundings more fully now. I am in a hospital bed, or more accurately, I'm in the Post Anesthesia Care Unit. Eight recovery bays, mine right next to the doors. The other beds are still empty, their monitors dark, including the one I’d turned off when I’d checked it just a few hours ago.

I glance down at my body, suddenly aware of how little I know about what happened while I was unconscious. Quite a lot of my body is vaguely sore, maybe from exertion, but maybe from something Evelyn did after I was anesthetized. I try to recall what time Evelyn told me, a what the time on the OR clock had been, and I think it’s been more than an hour. That’s time to do quite a few things. My throat hurts, so I’ve probably been intubated. The memories are missing, but I know, deep down, she’s done something.

I pull at the thin hospital gown, searching for any signs of surgical intervention.

"What did you do to me while I was out?" I ask, my voice carrying an edge of fear as I examine my lower body, looking for incisions, stitches, anything out of place. "Did you… operate on me?"

Evelyn watches my frantic self-examination with amusement in her eyes. She tilts her head slightly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. She lets me search for a minute; I can tell she’s enjoying it.

"You won’t find anything amiss this time, love. Nothing that left a mark or that’d put you out, really." She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I suppose I did start the world’s most painless IV. But I might do more next time. Wouldn't that be interesting?"

I try to not to react to how close she is, or her comment. I think I shiver slightly. Maybe in fear, but maybe very much not. I look into her eyes, and for moment, there’s only the sound of the patient monitor taking my blood pressure again.

"I'm not restrained," I observe, quietly. After being tied down in the OR, the freedom feels strange, almost suspicious.

Evelyn smiles widely now; since she’s not wearing a mask anymore, the expression is fully visible. "Do you need to be? You're hardly in any condition to cause trouble. Besides, you agreed to cooperate, remember?"

I nod slowly, though I’m still somewhat conflicted. Did I agree? I recall the moment of surrender, the choice made. It was surely made under duress, but was also driven by something deeper, my special interest, and the connection to Evelyn that I’m not quite ready to admit.

"There's water if you need it," she says, gesturing to a plastic cup with a bendy straw on the bedside table, stepping back. "But nothing to eat, and nothing to drink after midnight. You're scheduled to go back to the OR first thing in the morning."

My stomach tightens at her words. "Back to the OR? For what?"

"For whatever I decide," she replies simply. "We have a full weekend ahead of us, remember? Different induction techniques to try. And once you’re asleep, whatever I want." Her tone is light, conversational, as if discussing plans for a casual outing rather than forced unconsciousness and potentially surgery.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the movement causing the IV tubing to pull slightly. The floor feels cold beneath my bare feet. This is my chance. I could rip out the IV. I could leave now. Evelyn is alone, I'm not restrained, and despite my headache and lingering soreness, I’m confident I could overpower her now that she’s not holding an anesthesia mask. Or I could just run. I could run out the door. I could tell someone what she’s done. Or I could try to keep it all a secret.

But I hesitate. I don’t do any of that. Not yet.

Evelyn watches me, head tilted slightly, a knowing expression on her face. She's not moving to stop me. She's not threatening me. She's simply waiting, as if she already knows what I'll decide.

"Get some natural rest," she says finally, turning toward the door. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

And just like that, she walks away, her footsteps fading as she crosses the PACU. At the doorway, she pauses to turn out the main lights, leaving only the dim glow of the single patient monitor and the emergency exit signs. Then she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I sit there on the edge of the bed. She left me alone. Unrestrained. With a clear path to escape. I think through it all again. I could pull out the IV, find my clothes, and be gone before she returns. I could report her, or I could simply say nothing. She’s surely cleaned up all the evidence already. I could just leave.

Instead, I find myself thinking about what she said earlier in the OR. About how we’re similar. My fascination with experiencing anesthesia, her desire to administer it. Two pieces of a disturbing puzzle that somehow fit together perfectly.

I groan. My body is sore, and my head pounds. I'm exhausted from fighting and from the drugs still circulating in my system. My thoughts aren't entirely clear. At least, that's what I tell myself as I swing my legs back onto the bed and lie down again.

I'm just too tired to make any decisions tonight. I'll think more clearly in the morning. Then I'll decide then what to do. In the morning.

I roll onto my side, adjusting the thin PACU pillow under my head. Despite everything, despite the danger and the fear and whatever else I’m feeling from my complex new connection, I feel myself drifting back toward sleep. And somewhere beneath the exhaustion and confusion, a small part of me knows that by putting the choice off, I’m making the choice.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

I close my eyes and shut down again, back to dreamland.