Leo’s phone buzzed against the cheap motel nightstand. 3:00 AM. He didn’t need to look. He knew who it was.
“You had a seizure last Tuesday,” she continues. “In the mall food court. You’re in the ICU. Your body is failing. Your brain, however…” She taps her iPhone. The screen flashes white. “Your brain is still online. Trapped in the phone you were holding when you fell. I’m not a woman, Leo. I’m a recovery algorithm. Every flash is a defibrillator for your consciousness.”
Night five, he didn’t go to work. He sat in his car outside the Galleria, watching the food court entrance. At 3:00 AM sharp, the automatic doors slid open. No one walked through. But his phone buzzed.
Leo looks down at his hand. The phone is warm. Almost hot.
The flash came from his own screen. Then darkness.
Leo opens his mouth to speak, but the words die. Because behind her, reflected in a dark mirror on the wall, he sees himself. Sitting in that chair. Wearing a hospital gown. Tubes in his arms. Eyes closed.