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2.) Answers

        Despite the IV's running into Kara's arm to remedy some severe dehydration, it was comfortable in the hospital bed. It had been much less comfortable in the ambulance, and not just because she had been lying on a rubber cot. She had refused to allow herself to ask any more questions until she had a wealth of knowledge around her to supply sufficient answers.  

        Kara did learn through silence-filling small talk that the nametag Jackson wore displayed only his last name. His first name was Roger. She also made the mistake of asking him what day it was as another sorry attempt at small talk, since she could not give an answer when he had asked her earlier. He went ahead and scooped another helping of question casserole onto the already heaping plate by informing her that it was mid-January. 

        Tears had pricked at her eyes at the revelation, but she quelled their persistence by chewing on the inside of her cheek and focusing on the various items that covered the wall of the ambulance to her left (three rows of cabinets of varying sizes, a defibrillator in a hazard-yellow case, and a laminated sheet of information that didn't mean anything to her). Roger Jackson was sitting to her right on the short cushioned bench fit for one, and she was afraid if she made eye contact her tears would spill over. For the rest of the ride, she remained quiet, and waged a silent war against the lump in her throat.  

        "Kara!" her mom shouted as she burst into the room, the hem of her tailored black dress moving stiffly about her knees. Her face was still wet, mascara running down her gaunt cheeks. Kara didn't think her mom had stopped crying since they left the church.  

        "Momma!" Kara said, with all the joy she could muster. It was not easy for her to conjure up the same excitement for seeing her parents. She didn't remember the last four and a half months, but she tried her best to appease them. Her mother intertwined her fingers through Kara's again, her white-gold wedding band cold against Kara's finger. Her dad wasn't far behind. 

        "Kara!" he said, repeating her mom's exasperated greeting as he came through the open door. She greeted him with a smile, which he returned. More tears skittered over his cheeks and he moved to the other side of my bed and gently held her hand with both of his, careful not to disrupt the sharp stuck in her arm.

        "We love you, baby girl," her mom cooed between shaky sniffles. She ran her free hand through her mussed hair, trying to tame the greying, hairsprayed strands that had betrayed her.  

        "We are forever grateful that we have you back, sweetheart," her father said, his voice shaking as well. Kara watched as he dipped his head, a small, bald circle on the top of his head coming into view, and kissed her upturned palm.  

        "I love you guys," Kara said, looking down at the outline of her body underneath the thin, baby-blue blanket that she had been provided. "I'm glad I'm back, too." Her voice wavered, threatening to allow the heightened emotion that surrounded her to penetrate her mind.  

        "We thought we lost you, Kara." Her mom was ugly-crying again. Kara wanted to wrap her arms around her and squeeze as tight as she could like she had done so many times in the past, but she was shackled to the bags of fluids hanging next to her bed.  

        "We did lose you," her dad corrected. "You're sure you aren't in any pain? The doctor is working on forming a diagnosis yet, and we need to make sure you aren't feeling any adverse reaction from..." He trailed off.  

        "I'm good, Dad," Kara confirmed with a forced smile. They kept their eyes trained on her with grateful, weeping eyes. There was something beneath the love and relief, though, that troubled her. Maybe it was worry, but the longer she studied it, the more it changed, bristling in their pupils like a living creature was holed up in there. It was terror.  

        "Can we get you anything?" her mom asked after a beat of silence between the three of them.  

        Kara shook her head. She was getting all the fluid she needed and her tongue wasn't begging for hydration. "I'm okay." She mulled over the question she needed to ask in her head, turning it over and over, running her mind's fingers over it like it was a card she wasn't sure she wanted to play, but she knew she needed to make a move either way.  

        "I don't remember being gone," she admitted finally. Her dad blinked and her mom's eyebrows stitched together.  

        "What do you mean?" her dad asked.  

        "I thought it was still August when I woke up. The paramedic guy told me it's January," Kara explained, casting her voice low and looking up from under her brow like a wounded dog.  

        "You don't-" her mom started, stopping when Kara shook her head. 

        "Kara, a drunk driver drove into our house going thirteen miles over the speed limit." Kara's mom started crying again, reliving the traumatic experience.  

        "Oh, my God!" Kara exclaimed. Her dad nodded. He had to wipe at his face a couple of times before continuing with his chin trembling. 

        "You were closest to the window and the blow of the car sent you headfirst through the wall. You had severe brain trauma that caused you to fall into a coma later that night at the hospital, and a broken neck and two broken collarbones. The couch somehow protected the rest of your body." 

        "Were you guys okay? Was Riley okay? Is the house okay?" Kara's room for questions had reached full capacity, and they were dropping out of her mouth without warning.  

        "The man hit the house at an angle. There was some pretty severe damage to the living room and the wall between the living room and the kitchen, but your mom and I and Riley were all unharmed," Kara's dad said, taking her questions in stride. 

        "I was in a coma? Well, how did I die?" Kara asked. She turned her attention to her mom, who, apparently, was unable to answer. It made sense when she looked at her face, though, deep troughs of tension and the unbearable loss of her only child running through her forehead and around her mouth, her expression frozen in silent sobs. Kara decided maybe that wasn't the best way to ask how she ended up in the coffin, but she did deserve to know.  

        Her dad was running his palm over her own, stroking down to her fingertips over and over again. "The trauma was too severe for you to fully recover from. They told us you would be able to live without life support, but you wouldn't be capable." His chin was trembling something fierce and his voice wavered between two or three different pitches. His grip around Kara's hand had tightened to just barely painful. In his mind, he couldn't bear to let go for fear of losing his little girl again. "We took you home after four months in the hospital and made you comfortable in the living room. Your heart wasn't beating when we tried to wake you for breakfast." More tears spilled over and down his face. The monster lurking in his eyes crawled under his skin and painted the rest of his face with wary lines under his eyes and around his mouth.  

        "I'm sorry," Kara whispered, tears welling up in her own eyes.  

        "Why are you sorry, love?" her mom asked, catching enough of her own voice to finally produce a statement. 

        "I wish you guys didn't have to be put through that." Tears slipped from her eyes.  

        "We're together now. What has happened is no longer important," Kara's dad stated. There was happy, contemplative silence between their small family. Any more words out of Kara's mouth and she feared she might instigate another crying fit from the both of them. She didn't want that. She postponed the rest of her questions- including several about Riley- for a time when the shock of the situation was better settled in everyone's bones.  

        A hunger gurgled in her stomach, loud enough for her parents to hear. 

        "Are you hungry or something?" her dad teased with a laugh. It was good to see the old smile spread across his face. Kara nodded. Her dad's hands slipped from hers and he made a move towards the door. He stopped short when he noticed who was standing in the frame.  

        "Riley?" Kara squeaked out. He met her eyes, and his were drained of their usual warmth. A smile that looked like a grimace stretched his mouth, but his eyes stayed empty.  

        "Nice to have you back, Kara." His voice matched his eyes.