MIRROR IMAGE

CHAPTER ONE

She clawed her way up through the gray mist.

The clearing beyond it must exist, she reassured herself, even if she couldn't see it yet. For a minute, she thought that reaching it couldn't possibly be worth the struggle, but something behind her was so terrifying it propelled her ever forward.

She was steeped in pain. With increasing frequency she emerged from blessed oblivion into a glaring awareness that was accompanied by pain so intense, so encompassing, she couldn't localize it. It was everywhere-inside her, on the surface. It was a saturating pain. Then, just when she didn't think she could stand it an instant longer, she would be flooded with a warm rush of numbness-a magic elixir that washed through her veins. Soon after, the prayed-for oblivion would embrace her again.

Her conscious moments became extended, however. Muffled sounds reached her despite her muzziness. By concentrating very hard, she began to identify them: the incessant whooshing of a respirator, the constant bleeping of electronic machinery, rubber soles squeaking on tile floors, ringing telephones.

Once when she surfaced from unconsciousness, she over­heard a hushed conversation taking place nearby.

''... incredibly lucky . .. with that much fuel splashed on her ... burns, but they're mostly superficial."

"How long . .. to respond?"

''. . . patience . . . trauma like this injures more ... the body.''

''What will ... look like when ... is finished''

"... surgeon tomorrow. He'll ... procedure with you."

''When?''

"... no longer danger . .. infection." "Will . .. effects on the fetus?"

"Fetus? Your wife wasn't pregnant."

The words were meaningless.  They hurtled toward her like meteors out of a dark void. She wanted to dodge them, because  they intruded on the peaceful nothingness.  She craved the bliss of knowing and feeling absolutely nothing, so she tuned out the voices and sank once again into the cushiony pillows of forgetfulness.

# # #

"Mrs. Rutledge? Can you hear me?"

Reflexively, she responded, and a low moan escaped her sore chest. She tried to lift her eyelids, but she couldn't do it. One was prized open and a beam of light painfully pierced her skull. At last the hateful light was extinguished. "She's coming out of it. Notify her husband immediate­ ly," the disembodied voice said. She tried turning her head in its direction, but found it impossible to move. "Have you got the number of their hotel handy?''

"Yes, Doctor. Mr. Rutledge gave it to all of us in case she came to while he wasn't here."

Lingering tendrils of the gray mist evaporated. Words she couldn't previously decipher now linked up with recognizable definitions in her brain. She understood the words, and yet they made no sense.

"I know you're experiencing a great deal of discomfort, Mrs. Rutledge. We're doing everything possible to alleviate that. You won't be able to speak, so don't try. Just relax. Your family will be here shortly."

Her rapid pulse reverberated through her head. She wanted to breathe, but she couldn't. A machine was breathing for her. Through a tube in her mouth, air was being pumped directly into her lungs.

Experimentally, she tried opening her eyes again. One was coaxed into opening partially. Through the slit, she could see fuzzy light. It hurt to focus, but she concentrated on doing so until indistinct forms began to take shape.