Beatrice was aware she's dreaming.
She was lying in a hospital bed again. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, pale and sterile. She could hear the rhythmic beep of a monitor, soft and steady. And beside her sat someone she hadn't seen in what felt like lifetimes. Her best friend from the real world.
"You're awake," her friend said, closing a thick paperback on her lap.
Beatrice panicked.
"How long was I out?" she asked, voice scratchy and wild. "Am I dead? Is this heaven? Did I relapse?"
Her friend blinked. "It's only been an hour. You fainted and the doctors said your blood pressure dipped, but you're stable. You scared the hell out of us."
Her gaze snapped to the book in her friend's hands.
"Give me that," she said, reaching out weakly. But her arms wouldn't lift.
"No, you need to rest," her friend insisted, trying to ease her back.
"Is there a second book?" she gasped. "A sequel? A spinoff? Who is Gertrude? Is there a House Aurberg? And Thomas, what happened to Thomas?!"
