She says, “I’m just the physical therapist.”
He doesn’t… understand, necessarily, what that means. He knows what a physical therapist is—part of him does, anyway—but it’s just there, out of reach, an idea he can’t quite get a grasp on. He says, “For what?”
She drops her hand from her breast and takes a deep breath, like she’s trying to regain her composure. “For you, Mr. Hughes.”
He frowns. Or at least he thinks he does. “I’m not Mr. Hughes. I told you, my name is Mike. Mike Frazier?”
“Okay, Mike,” she says. “That’s okay. Please don’t tell Dr. Hester or Dr. King that I said that.”
“I don’t know who they are. I know Doc, but he’s… huh. Name must have slipped my mind. We just call him Doc, anyhow. I won’t tell, don’t you worry.”
“I just need to finish, Mike.”
“Finish what?”
“Your therapy.”
“My what?”
“Your physical therapy. You’ve been… out. For a long time.”
He doesn’t understand that either, but he knows it’s pointless to argue in a dream, so he just says, “Okay. You do that, Allison.”
She takes a hesitant step toward him. “Are you in any pain? I can get the nurse if you’d like.”
He snorts. “No pain in dreams.”
“This isn’t… okay. So, no pain.”
“No.”
She takes another step. “I’m going to need to put my hands on you. Is that okay?”
“Why?”
“For the therapy.”
Things are starting to get a little hazier. “The therapy.”
“Yes, Mr. Hu—Mike. It’s to help you.”
What do you know about schizophrenia?
He feels a cold chill run down his spine.
“Help me with what?”
“Your muscles. When someone has been in… in your position, there’s a tendency for muscle degeneration. It’s going to take time, Mike. It’s going to take a long time, but we’re going to help you, okay?”
He doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and maybe she’s starting to frighten him a little. She seems kind, but he’s wary of her. “My position?” he asks.
“I’m just a therapist,” she says, sounding a little desperate. “The doctors will be here to explain more later, okay? Just let me get through what we need to get through.”
He nods. She seems surprised at that.
She’s standing next to him again, and she’s reaching down toward his arm. Her fingers are trembling, but he says nothing of it. He feels the moment she touches him again, and he’s not sure he likes it, but she’s obviously being careful with the amount of pressure she’s putting on him. She starts with his hands, working his fingers, and he tries to squeeze back, but finds it hard. His fingers twitch, but won’t do what he’s asking them to do.
She moves to his forearm, and there’s even more pressure, and then she’s lifting his arm and he—