Emma remembered that she wasnât always like this. Once upon a time she would jump out of bed in the morning and hit the ground running. And then sheâ¦didnât any more. Her muscles ached, her energy was low, and there was a constant hum in her ears, like a deep voice whispering to her while she slept, constantly whispering, never leaving her alone.
Youâre mine. All mine. I will consume you, piece by piece, and I will never be doneâ¦
Her body convulsed around a pain centered low in her gut, like something was hollowing her out, bite by bite. âNo. Please, noâ¦â
Yes. Oh yesâ¦.
Emma's body was so heavy, lead-heavy, limbs heavier than the floor, even her skin aching and delicate with exhaustion. Something had happened? She had been so tired all week, all month, but this wasâ¦this was worse. It was like being pushed toward a cliff and then finally going over kind of worse.
A laugh sounded in her ear, low and satisfied, and she felt a shiver run across her skin. Was that her boss's voice? She didnât like that laugh. It wasnât a nice laugh, and it was in her head, and she didnât like that, either. It made her tired just to listen to it.
âWhere are the damn paramedics?â Her boss wasnât laughing. In fact, he sounded panicked. Their construction manager never panicked, not even when all hell was breaking looseâ¦
âTheyâre on their way,â a womanâs voice assured him. âEmma.â A hand lifted hers, smooth cool skin touching hers. âEmma, can you hear me? Twitch, if you can hear me.â
Emma wanted to twitch her hand, but it was too much effort. A sigh escaped her lips, and someone squeezed her hand. âGood girl. You just stay down, and the cute doctors will come and take care of you, okay?â
Stay down. Yes. She could manage that. Emma stopped listening to the voices over her, and in her head, and stayed down in the dark cool place where she didnât hear anything at all.
The hospital bed was too hard in the wrong places, too soft in the wrong places, and too narrow everywhere. Emma was exhausted, but the bed wasnât letting her sleep. Even after they took the machines away and stopped prodding her and making her look into lights and even after they drained half a gallon of blood for endless tests, she ached too much to sleep. Arms, legs, ribs, even her scalp, ached like someone had taken double handfuls of her hair and pulled for a day and a half.
The paramedics told her that sheâd passed out in the office. The last thing she remembered was reaching down for an allocation request form, then being hit by a wave of exhaustion and hearing that voiceâthe same one that always seemed to be whispering in the back of her mind these days.
What had it said? She couldnât remember.
Doctor Gan came in, carrying his PDA and looking professionally jovial. âAnd how are you feeling?â
âI want to go home.â
The doctor didnât pretend not to hear her softly-voiced request, the way the nurses did. âI know. But we still donât know why you collapsed, andââ
âAnd I have insurance, so you want to milk me for whatever you can get.â
The doctor, who was fifty-something, bald and not as jovial as his expression would suggest, closed his PDA with an exasperated snap. âActually, I want to figure out what is making you so tired, so you can be not quite so tired, and not collapse again, and not end up in my ER again, so we can keep the bed for someone whoâs actually in need of it.â
They glared at each other, and Emma dropped her gaze first. It was too much effort to argue. Her feet itched, and she rubbed the sole of one against the mattress. Alissa had brought her pajamas when they admitted her from the ER, and the cotton fabric, usually soothing, felt scratchy under the too-thin blanket. Suddenly all the noises and smells were too much, too overwhelming. A headache formed in her left temple, a by-now familiar and unwelcome counterpart to her aching scalp.
âIâm sorry,â she said quietly, trying to will the headache away.
The doctor sighed. âI know you want to go home, Ms. Roberts. Very few people appreciate our accommodations. But I canât in good conscience release you when we donât even know why you ended up here.â
They had run their tests and ruled out Lyme disease, fibromyalgia, myasthenia gravis, pregnancy, thyroid disease, heart disease, and an old-fashioned lack of potassium, among possible causes. The overwhelming and increasing fatigue that caused her to collapse seemed determined to keep its origins secret. Emma had done her reading of the pamphlets they gave her: chronic fatigue syndrome, the catchall for anything that didnât match up elsewhere, was probably the inevitable diagnosis. But Doctor Gan didnât seem ready to dump her into that basket just yet.
At this point, Emma would have taken a diagnosis of shingles, if it meant theyâd let her go. She wasnât used to being helpless, and certainly not to being treated like she was helpless. It was unnerving, and made her exhaustion and headaches even worse.
