Oleta is alone. She is alone and not being watched for the first time in so long that the foreign sense of it practically stops her breath all over again. There's so much that she doesn't remember - funny, isn't it? To remember old things and forget new ones. No, it's not funny at all. Oleta does not remember being strapped down, she does not remember being injected with things meant to fix her, she does not remember getting ill from the treatments.

She does not remember dying.

Oleta remembers Hester. Hester, whose hands on her had been loving even when doling out pain so white-hot she thought she was going to die. Hester, Hester, Hester. Oleta stands on shaking legs and closes her eyes, breathing. She feels her lungs expand and contract, listens to the sound of the oxygen keeping her alive (moist yellow cake it's not). She hears Hester's voice and does not believe it is real.

Nothing here is real.

Oleta moves slowly, carefully, jaw tight and set as she walks - she's stolen a sheet from a bed and turned it into a makeshift dress, sort of, kind of better than paper if you think about it - and picks her way around.

Hester's voice continues.

Hester's voice is real.

Hester is real.

Oleta breathes and sees with eyes focusing for the first time since she was a child. She is in the hallway. They are both in the hallway. They are here. "Hester."