DEAD SPACE MARTYR Epilogue 2
2 When he woke up, he was still strapped down to a bed. He was alone in a small room, something very like a cell. He struggled against the straps, but they were firm. He slept, he woke, he slept again. Occasionally a nurse would come in and change the bag of fluids hanging beside him. His head throbbed. Once when the nurse came, she took out a small pocket mirror and held it so he could see himself. His head was wrapped in bandages. He hardly recognized his own face. “There, see,” said the nurse, and gestured to the top of his head. “That’s where you had your accident.” “Accident?” he said. “Yes,” she said. “Where you slipped and fell.” “It wasn’t an accident,” he said. She smiled. “After head trauma, sometimes things can get confused,” she said. “No,” he said. “I know exactly what happened.” Her smile looked painted on, fake. “I’m not supposed to talk to you,” she said. “Those are the rules.” She backed slowly out the door. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man with a hypodermic entered. When he wo…
