It was night, so it was easy to sneak about the shadows. He finally located her and shut the door behind him. Leaning over her bed, he stared into her eyes. They spoke volumes; relief, love, happiness and confusion were all he could make out in the semi darkness.
"Hi there. I hear you can't move or talk," he whispered into her ear.
Sharline blinked, her eyes flooding with tears. He was alive and he would straighten all this out! He would tell them she wasn't Crystal and that she knew no Michael. The guilt of her actions had been eating at her. If she hadn't flirted with trouble they wouldn't be in this mess. She wanted to apologise, to tell him that she regretted what she had done but her mute and immobile body stayed frozen, with nothing but tears to convey her feelings.
Staring at her, he was fascinated by the myriad of emotions flickering through her eyes. The tears he had not expected at all. Was a person supposed to be so awake when they were supposedly being drugged?
He walked over to her chart and looked at it. Hmmmm. They were giving her anti-psychotics but at a very minimal dosage. Maybe if he changed it? Paul looked about and found a pen and added a one in front of the number already there.
Paul had disappeared from view and Sharline had begun to wonder if she had hallucinated him. Her ears had become overly sensitive and she could hear someone in her room. If it was Paul, he was still there. What was he doing?
He returned and peered back into her eyes. Laying a hand on her arm, he bent close and kissed her. Pulling back, he smiled.
"Everything is going to be fine. It is all going to be as it should be."
Her heart raced in ecstatic relief. He was going to take care of her.
As silently as he appeared, Paul slunk through the shadows back to his own room. That buxom nurse was going to be on night duty and had offered to help him shower.
It was a great night, they both thought.