Recovery

The drop ceiling's white-speckled tiles are broken up by opaque glass letting off a clinical, bright light. Darkness claws at the edges of Thea's perception. She rolls her head and eyes around trying to get her bearings and takes in a deep breath through her nose. Overwhelming countless smells: Mulberry, gooseberry, mistletoe, the dentist office for some reason; And pain; And sound: wails and coughs and beeps.

The darkness gains ground amid the cacophony of stimuli, so Thea pinches her nose. The smell dulls, but that makes the pain leap forth. A groan escapes her throat, joining the orchestra of tormented souls around her. Thea lays her head back down and stares at the ceiling. Well this sucks.

A smiling figure blots out a portion of the light overhead, its glow seeps through the cascading waves of auburn hair. Thea smiles back. This is it. The answer to what lies beyond realm of the living.

The figure raises a hand and pries a blue glove off of it. Thea feels it close around her wrist, and cold shoots through the veins of her arm and down her spine. Relief floods her entire body as the pain evaporates. Thea coughs through shivers. "Why couldn't God start with that? Not a very kind welcome."

The doctor slips the glove back on and speaks with a not-quite-as-mystical-as-expected voice. "Actually, you're still with us Thea."

"Guess that whole afterlife thing is still a question, then."

"Sure is! I'm Dr. Helen. Now that you're awake, are you ready to hear the goings-on?"

"Might as well."

"So good news first: You're lucky. Most are injuries you can bounce back from with a little time. The biggest problem is your hip has a minor fracture. You've already been in surgery to patch it up, but you'll have to stay a couple nights up here before we transfer you down to physical therapy."

The numbness of Thea's body flows into her mind. "And how long will physical therapy take?"

"About two weeks."

Thea sighs. At least she has insurance.

---

Generic jazz music broken up by static comes through the phone. Thea sits with her legs dangling over the edge of the bed she was assigned in the physical therapy ward. The music stops and a practiced, calm voice speaks. "Sorry, Ms. Aalberg. I've triple checked and there isn't anything we can do."

Thea's eyes and mind glaze over, her other hand loosens around the cane resting between her legs. "Uh huh. Nothing I can do then?"

"Unfortunately not. The appropriate hero activity warnings were issued, so it was on you to heed them. The data from the stations and your motorcycle's earpiece show that the signal was received."

"Alright, thanks."

"Centra Health thanks you for the understanding! Anything else I can help you with today ma'am?"

Thea hangs up and drops the hand holding the phone into her lap. At least she has savings.

---

The apartment building's hallways are drab as always. Thea walks down them, foot after cane-and-foot. Could swear they were longer now. A window air-conditioner at the end of the hallway kicks on with a rumble; A folded piece of paper flutters with the new current and the doorjamb of unit 208 refuses to let go. Thea squares herself in front of it and rustles around in one of her cassock's pockets for the keys.

Everything inside has a thick layer of dust. The smell of two-and-a-half week old dishes permeates the space. Thea lowers herself into the recliner and unfolds the paper. A late rent notice. Grimacing, she tosses it onto the coffee table next to the stale tea.

Birds nestle together on the balcony railing, a couple mourning doves plump as can be. Thea watches them for a while, maybe nodding off here and there. A car passing -- blasting music from an unknown genre -- sends vibrations through the apartment's walls. Thea's eyes shoot open and she gulps for air. The sun is setting and the room is mostly dark beyond fiery projections filtered through the balcony doors.

Thea pushes herself up with more effort than she remembers needing and walks over to the kitchen. Tea may help. The cabinets are near empty, but there is a single clean mug and a half-used box of twenty Earl Grey tea bags.

She puts a kettle on and waits, eyes fixed on the spout. It's boring. What else is there though? Bank account is empty, the motorcycle is sitting in the mechanics yard, and her skills chock up to reciting mass and smelling sins. Back to the monastery?

The kettle whistles and steam shoots out of the spout. Thea drops a tea bag into her waiting cup and pours. No, not the monastery. There are options. Maybe there are opportunities nearby? No way they'd pay enough to cover rent though... What about a deal with the mechanic? Then she'd be able to do her usual gigs.

Evening is fully set in. The usual traffic bellows up from the street, vibrating the walls once again. Thea walks back to her recliner, twists the knob on the lamp, and sits down with a nod. Yeah, that may work. Do a payment plan or something.

A pair of green, slitted eyes appear in the darkness of the balcony, but disappear just as quick with the sound of an engine's backfire. Thea blinks a couple times before dismissing it as some cat and turns on the television. At least that works. Mostly.