SIlence.
There was nothing but black.
Then, Snow could hear a telephone ringing, but they couldn't tell where the sound was coming from. They strained their hearing, trying to reach past the muffled echo, but they couldn't make sense of anything that moved past their ears. It was murky, as if they were underwater, pressurized by the weight of the ocean.
It rang again.
A light from above shone down on a telephone atop a wooden side table, a beacon in the darkness. They looked down and took a shaky step forward, then another, slowly shuffling toward it. Pain shot through their head. They put a hand to their temple and stopped in front of the telephone, steadying themself on the edge of the table.
The phone rung.
Snow shakily picked up the handpiece and held the receiver to their ear.
"Hello?"
A voice, muddled by static and noise. A single word, hardly intelligible.
"Mindcrime."
Snow slammed down the phone and stepped backward, their heart racing in their chest. Anxiety prickled at their gut.
Then, the phone rang once more. Snow swallowed the lump in their throat and reached out, picking it up again.
Snow shot up to a sitting position with a gasp, trying to catch their breath.
They sat alone in a bed with freshly-cleaned sheets, the lights in the ceiling dim and needing to be replaced. As they came to their senses, they began to make out the infirmary, their eyes scanning the countertops and cabinets that held medical supplies.
Then, the same white-hot pain shot through their head again just as fast and intensely as the bullet did. They gasped again and gritted their teeth, holding the top of their head, where the pain seemed to radiate from. White spots dotted their vision and halos that shone in rainbows of color surrounded the lights above.
Snow closed their eyes tightly and tried to filter out the noise of the room. The hum of the lights. Various medical equipment. People in other rooms. They couldn't think. They couldn't concentrate. They only wished it would end.
"Take this." came a voice from nowhere. Snow opened one of their eyes, and in front of them was a hand holding out a single pill. Another had a small cup of water. Without hesitation, probably against their better judgment, they grabbed both and swallowed them down. They could hardly see through the stabbing in their head, but lay back down when the hands guided them back to the bed.
Snow could see a vague shape at their bedside, taking the cup somewhere else in the room. They could hardly form any words, much less a question to ask.
Nausea rose in their stomach. The world beneath them spun and they felt as if they were falling backward in their bed. Everything was too loud and too bright.
"Take deep breaths, Snow. Wait a couple of minutes."
They tried their best to control their breathing, which was shuddery and ragged, until after a while, the pain slowly began to subside.
"Perfect." the same voice said gently. Snow opened their eyes and squinted against the light. There, above the bed, stood Silver, his hands clasped behind his back. He smiled. "Good morning."
Snow worked themself back up to a sitting position and rubbed their head again. Silver handed them their glasses.
"What did you give me?"
"Vicodin. And there is more where that came from." Silver answered. He walked away to fiddle with something on one of the worktables. "You should consider yourself very lucky. Or perhaps not. I am a miracle worker, after all."
