Gwynn drifted.

His body became weightless— up and down ceased to exist. Freedom with no limitations. His body was fluid, twisting and turning like a champion swimmer. His movements met with no resistance. The feeling of something drawing him forward existed as the sole bearing on direction or movement. The sensation intensified. The featureless void shattered with light. Bright, beautiful. Gwynn's feet touched down on a firm surface.

The light narrowed and thinned, transforming into a set of headlights cutting across his vision. Blinded, disoriented, he couldn't move. The silence filled with the sound of wheels locking against pavement, a vehicle twisting in a manner never intended. As the lights veered away, his vision returned, and he found himself staring into his own confused, eight-year-old, eyes.

The car flew off the road, disappearing into the woods. The bell-like sound of shattering glass and the tortured screams of ripping metal tore a gaping wound into the night.

Gwynn's eyes opened.

A foreign ceiling greeted him. Harsh florescent light stung at his eyes.

Gwynn tried moving his head. The room spun, and he fell back against the pillow with pain stabbing at his temples. Feeble attempts at movement revealed his right arm immobilized with restraints.

"Hello?" His voice sounded dry and hoarse. "Anybody?"

"I was starting to think you wouldn't wake up," a male voice, one Gwynn didn't recognize, said.

Trying to respond felt like walking through neck–high mud. The stranger's words spun around in his mind. Why wouldn't he wake up?

"How long have I been sleeping?" Gwynn had a hard time forming the words. They creaked and groaned— their bones old and settled into place.

The man stepped into sight. He wore the long white coat of a doctor. He studied a clipboard

"According to this, you've been in a coma for four days."

"Four days?" Gwynn's shock sent him straight up, which resulted in yelps of pain and him retreating to lying down.

"Easy, don't overdo it. From what the chart says, you've had a hell of a time," the man said, his voice warm and full— baritone with hearty low notes. A slight lilt accompanied his words, some accent long abandoned but not forgotten.

"What happened?" It hurt even to talk. Gwynn wished he had slept longer.

The stranger pulled a penlight from his pocket and clicked it on. He leaned over and shone the light in Gwynn's eyes.

"Do me a favor. I'm going to hold the light in front of you. Follow it with your eyes."

The light moved side to side. It stung worse than the fluorescents.

"Do you remember your name?" the man asked.

"Gwynn. Gwynn Dormath."

The light clicked off, and the stranger gave Gwynn a long, probing look. "My name's Pridament Alcandre. I'm a doctor here at the hospital, though I'm not assigned your case. When I heard your name, I had to check. I knew your parents years ago. I went to university with your dad. I've checked in on you the past couple days, but I haven't seen them."

"They...died. In a car accident." It didn't matter how much time passed, admitting his parents were gone still hurt like hell. His physical pain paled in comparison.

The man, Pridament, swept his hand through his bushy brown hair and let out a remorseful sigh. He gave his short–cropped beard a long, thoughtful stroke. "I'm sorry to hear that. They were the best kind of people. So who are you living with now?"

"My mom's sister, Jaimie."

"Really?" Pridament's voice rose in surprise. "I didn't know her, but from what your parents used to say, she didn't strike me as being very...maternal."

Gwynn couldn't help chuckling. Waves of pain and nausea ripped through him. "Oww. I mean, yeah, she's not exactly. Still, she's great. I'm lucky to have her."

"I hope you tell her," Pridament said with a parental air.

Gwynn shifted painfully in the bed, his mind returning to its purpose. "You didn't answer my question," Gwynn huffed. "What happened?"

Concern filled Pridament's gaze. "You don't remember any of it?"

"It's hazy." Gwynn tried to search his mind, but his jumbled memories read like a book written backward. Recognizable enough to decipher, but foreign enough it wouldn't give up its story without effort.

"All I know are the sketchy news reports," Pridament said. He rubbed his temples. "An explosion happened at an abandoned house outside of town. Two teenagers sustained injuries and were taken to the hospital. A third person, a homeless man, died. What actually happened there, that's up to you."

Wheels clicked into motion in Gwynn's brain. Images splashed across his mind's eye in a rapid and painful succession. Pridament's words gave him the most important cue. "Sophia."

"I'm sorry?"

The memory of pain kept Gwynn still, but he wanted to leap from the bed and tear through the hospital searching for her. "Sophia Murray. She must've been the other person brought in with me. Is she okay? Can I see her?"

Pridament held up his hands. "Whoa, slow down. First, I guess she is fine. Everything I heard said you were the worse of the two. Second, and this is another reason I think she's okay, no you can't see her because she was discharged yesterday."

Gwynn drew a deep breath. He tried to quell the anxiety making his legs jumpy. "You're sure?"

Pridament shook his head. "I wish I could tell you I was. Like I said, I overheard things. Once I knew it was you, I let a few docs know. They've kept me in the loop. All I know for certain is her injuries weren't that severe, and she left the hospital yesterday."

"Good." Fatigue wrapped its soft fingers around him. "That's good."

Pridament gently clasped Gwynn's bandaged hand. A stranger whose touch should've been foreign and unwelcome. Instead, a feeling of calm emanated from it. The stirring in his soul eased.

"I need to do something," Pridament said, his voice soft, comforting, but tinged with a current of earnest concern. "It's vital I remove the bandages from your right arm and inspect it."

His arm. Despite Pridament's voice and the calming touch of his hand, the mere mention of Gwynn's arm flared his anxiety. Clouded memories hovered out of reach, dark storm clouds threatening unknown terrors.

"But...you said you weren't my doctor. Why would you do that?"

Pridament locked eyes with Gwynn. His touch and voice were calming, but his eyes showed fear. "I need to check your arm. If I'm right, if I see what I think is there, then I'm the only person who can help you. I won't do it without your say–so." Pridament's grip on Gwynn's hand tightened. "If I'm right, and you wait until your doctor takes those bandages off, you'll need someone here who can explain what you're seeing."

Gwynn's stomach knotted. Every muscle tensed, sending waves of ache and stabbing pain. Anxiety didn't describe it. No, fear penetrated deep into his soul. Doubt and a sense whatever lay beneath the bandages would change everything, fed his fear. But why should he feel that way? And this man, who claimed to know his parents. What proof did he have? Should he trust him?