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who hopes I will die, no doubt.”

    “No.” Nurse McStupid sent an appealing glance toward the doctor. “No, not your employer.”

    Dr. Campbell shook his head at her.

    Gary pounced on that. “What about my employer?”

    Dr. Campbell said, “Mr. White, you really should focus on your recovery—”

    At the same time, Nurse McStupid said, “There’s been an accident.”

    He looked back and forth between them, then saw the technicians were watching the television, eternally turned on and now muted.

    The Gypsy Travel Agency building, a sight Gary knew all too well, flashed across the screen.

    Gary reached for the remote, turned up the sound, and got the last of the story.

    The Gypsy Travel Agency had exploded five days ago in a still unexplained demolition that left the building and everyone in it vaporized.

    The technicians and nurses were shaking their heads as if it was a tragedy.

    Nurse McStupid was watching Gary anxiously, as if expecting him to dissolve in surprised tears.

    But he felt nothing but a bone-deep satisfaction.

    Dr. Campbell took the remote out of Gary’s hand and turned off the television. “The world has changed while you were asleep.”

    “So true. It appears I’m no longer employed.”

    “But you do have at least one relative,” McStupid said. “The very night of the explosion, you had two visitors, a woman named Martha—I thought she was your aunt—and an elderly man who escorted her. He was tall and black; I don’t remember his name.”

    “Irving,” Gary said with loathing.

    “Yes, that was it. Your aunt said you used to be a hero.”

    “I am a hero.” Being a hero was how Gary got in that coma, and without help from any of his “relatives,” he had gotten himself out.

    “You’ve been one of our favorite patients. The story of the blast that caused your head injuries indicated that you tried to save six lives at great risk to your own. It’s that kind of behavior that has won you the admiration of everyone here.” Gary could see through the doctor’s machinations. He was trying to make Gary be a good guy and live up to his reputation.

    Gary had spent his life living up to that reputation, and look what it got him. Four damned lost years. “I am not going to hang around here, being a human guinea pig so you can get published in the New England Journal of Medicine .” The doctor wanted to speak, but Gary had no intention of yielding the floor. “So bring me food, help me get on my feet, and get me out of here as fast as you can.”

    The festive atmosphere in the room faded as the medical staff grew quiet, hostile.

    “Well,” Dr. Campbell said stiffly, “I’m sorry to hear you feel that way, especially about the nurses who have worked so vigilantly to care for you for so many years.”

    The doctor wanted Gary to feel guilty.

    He didn’t.

    The doctor straightened his skinny shoulders and prepared to throw his weight around. “Nevertheless, your best interests are at the heart of my concern, and I intend to personally supervise your recovery. Until you can stand up and walk out of this room, this is where you will stay.”

    “Walk out of this room? Is that all I need to do?” Shoving the covers aside, Gary sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

    The floor nurse, Miss McStupid Cow, rushed to his side. “Mr. White, you shouldn’t do this.”

    “Let him go.” Dr. Campbell watched with the grim satisfaction of a man who expected to be momentarily vindicated. “He wants to prove something to us. He’s going to prove something to himself, instead.”

    Gary wanted to laugh, but he saved his breath for the effort of getting his feet on the floor.

    The linoleum was cold. So was the bed rail he used to steady himself. He leaned against the mattress until the muscles in his legs were once again used to holding his own weight; then slowly he pushed off.

    The nurse hovered there, hands outstretched.

    He snorted. Lifting his foot, he