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"So," Sam sat on the hospital bed, smoothing the sheets. "Day Eight, post-lightning. How's the body?"

"The body feels like shit," Leo complained.

"And the head?"

He held up his hands in front of his face, spreading his fingers wide. "Five and five. I guess the head is okay. If it just wasn't connected to the body I'd be fine."

"I could have told you that."

"Stop picking on me. Can't you see I've been struck by lightning?" He looked past her. "Say, where's Amy?"

Amy was Sam's ten-year-old daughter from her first marriage. She looked up to Leo as a father figure. Sam and Leo hoped to make the role official during the next year.

"Amy's sick."

"Bronchitis?"

"Yep. Pretty bad this time."

"Shit, I should be with her."

"No way. You were too busy hallucinating."

Leo eyebrows shot up.

"The nurse told me that you really freaked out."

"It's over," he stammered, somewhat embarrassed. His hand instinctively moved to the notebook.

Sam leaned against Leo's chest. He wrapped his arms around her, protective. "Please don't go crazy," she whispered. "We need you. I need you." Her body felt warm and for a moment, he was safe and happy.

Then his eyes fell upon a crumpled page laying next to the trash can. Something disturbing showed through the clutter of lines -- something only he could see.

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