Slowly waking up, I groaned. The memories of the last few hours came rushing back—the trip to the emergency room, the massive internal bleeding, the surgery. I wanted to stay asleep.
Someone was leaning over the bed, watching me. “How are you feeling?” a deep, slightly odd voice asked. I focused my blurry vision.
“What the…” Clearly I was not lucid. I was staring into a pair of warm, chocolate eyes. Eyes that belonged to a dog.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Umm, where is the nurse?” I asked, not wanting to be rude.
“Oh, she’ll be back. I’m Grisham; I’ll watch over you for a bit.”
“Grisham…” I muttered. Suddenly it clicked. “Grisham! You’re EE’s dog!”
He nodded pleasantly. “I understand you’ve had some bad luck lately, and I wanted to help. I’m going to read your manuscript.”
A tear dropped from the corner of my eye. “Oh, really?” I said. “That means so much to me! Thank you!”
“So, where is it?” he asked.
“Where is…wait, where is my manuscript?” I peered down at the flimsy hospital gown I was wearing. I didn’t even have shoes, much less a copy of my book. “Well, given the rush this morning, I don’t have it here.” He sighed. I continued quickly, “But I can email it to you!”
Giving me a flat look, he held up one blunt paw. “I’m not exactly made for typing.”
“You’re not exactly made for talking, either,” I said, desperate. He lowered himself and started walking away.
“You can’t do this to me!” I called, trying and failing to sit up. “It’s evil!”
“Like master like pup,” he shrugged, turning the corner and disappearing.
Overwhelmed with losing so much blood and my one shot at publication, I slipped back into welcome oblivion.