Kora woke up for a second time. Her eyes—heavy. Pain all over. Not as comfortable as last time she woke. Last time, she'd been under painkillers, was her assessment.
She was still here, in the same hospital room. The bright lights were on overhead, but they weren't hot anymore. She realized they'd never been hot.
Her mind had been playing tricks on her the first time—she'd been drugged.
She propped her head up on her pillow to examine the room. She'd only been to a hospital one time before in her life. It was after getting a hefty paycheck for one of her smuggling missions. During the mission, she'd gotten stabbed with a sword, through her side. She'd bandaged it up on her own, hoping it would heal, but it had gotten worse and worse looking and the bleeding was difficult to stop. Her skin started turning different colors. Days went by before she finally gave in and went to the hospital.
She was still angry about that hospital visit. It'd cost her half her paycheck—the best paycheck she'd received up until then.
Her last mission would have been her biggest until she'd failed it.
Her client was angry because she'd lost his shipment. He visited her at the prison. Told her he expected a refund when she got out. Kora hoped that by the time she got out, he will have forgotten about her. She would need to save all the money she could.
This room had small rectangular charts and graphs and pictures on the wall that explained the human body. This room was for females, as there were pictures of females exclusively.
The room smelled fine, antiseptic.
Kora raised her right hand—connected to the IV by the bedside.
She lay her head back down and took a deep breath.
She was coming awake this time.
And her thoughts went to Alex. She hoped Alex was in a hospital room as well. They would need each other back in the prison, with Theresa. And other prisoners they'd hurt or offended during the riot. Her pulse was rising.
Kora wondered why she was in here for only a concussion. Normally a prisoner in this region needed a better excuse than a concussion to get hospital leave.
Just to be sure, Kora wiggled her toes, lifted her legs, one at a time. Everything seemed to be working fine. She wiggled her fingers, moved her head side to side.
She had some pain—bruises—but nothing more.
Still, it got her wondering. Was there something else wrong with her?
And freakin' Alex. Where was she?
Kora lay here, waiting, waiting.
Waiting.
Her heart rate wouldn't go down, and she was starting to get annoyed. She heard noises through the door. Doctors and nurses shouting to each other. Footsteps. The door was thick, so she couldn't make out any words.
Finally, she got tired of laying here.
She got up. Looked at the IV. The pouch of water was half empty. She disconnected the needle from her hand, went to the door.
She was dressed in a hospital gown. It was open in the back. She looked around the room for her prison clothes. Didn't see them anywhere.
Then she noticed what she should have originally noticed. No handcuffs. If she wasn't mistaken, when prisoners were moved to hospitals, they were always handcuffed to the bed.
Why hadn't they handcuffed her?
Because she looked nice, maybe.
Like a protagonist.
The door opened right then. The doctor's eyes were married to his clipboard. When at last he looked up and saw her, he jumped. Let out a scream of fright. Then placed his hand to his heart. "You scared me." He looked at her for a moment. "And you took out the IV. Have a seat on the bed," he said.
Kora took a seat.
He sat in a chair and rolled up closer to the bed, looking over papers on the clipboard.
He was taking his time, unconcerned.
"Why am I here?" asked Kora.
"Concussion," he said, not looking up from his papers.
"Anything else?"
"Nope."
"So I'm going back to prison today?"
"Nope," he said.
"Tomorrow?" she asked.
Kora stared at him, waiting for further explanation.
He looked up from his clipboard. "Oh, they didn't tell you?"
Kora squinted.
"You're free. You were exonerated. New evidence showed that you weren't guilty. Congratulations." He barely glanced up from his clipboard. Her exoneration meant nothing to him.
Kora gulped. But she had committed the crime, and the evidence had been substantial. She was literally caught smuggling a shipment of illegal weapons.
"You sure?" she asked.
He looked at her. "You're Kora Diaz?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm sure."
Kora hesitated. "I'm free, then. I can just walk out this room?"
"No. That's what we're waiting for. The commissioner is coming by to finish the paperwork, then you can go."
"When will he be here?"
The door opened. A man in a suit, older guy, stepped in.
"That's him," said the doctor.
*****
The next few minutes felt like a dream. The commissioner apologized. Said they were wrong for busting her. Said they caught the real smuggler. She was free to go. He had her sign a few papers, and then he left. The doctors told her she was perfectly healthy. The concussion wasn't a big deal. She just needed rest. They didn't have any clothes for her, though. They told her to keep the hospital gown. They gave her a pair of nurse's pants. Told her the location of the nearest clothing store.
Kora walked down the halls of the hospital.
Everything was a blur.
She was having a hard time breathing—wasn't really thinking about it.
She knew this couldn't be real. Could it?
Free. She still had three years left on her prison sentence.
And then the freakin' commissioner comes and apologizes.
Kora walked faster and faster, feeling that at any moment someone would block her exit and tell her she was being pranked, that she was still, indeed, a prisoner.
But then she pushed through the exit doors.
And found herself on the street, a busy street, in the Vasiliaete district. There were people walking down the street on either side. Vehicles bustling by. People shouting at each other. Horns honking. The air smelled like work, and grease—the district was known for auto repair—and freedom.
Kora, in hospital garment, began walking down the side. People stared at her, because of the clothes. She didn't care. She was free. Apparently.