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At quarter of two in the morning, Charles Beeson, an orderly on the third floor of Regional Hospital, is playing Fruit Ninja on his phone.

“Chuck? Chuck!”

He turns and is startled to see Danny Coughlin limping toward him.

Danny’s johnny flaps around his knees.

He’s barefoot.

One hand is pressed against his abdomen.

Tears are running down his cheeks.

They are tears of pain, but they are also tears of horror.

“Mr.

Coughlin, you’re not supposed to get out of bed until the doctor gives you permiss—”

“My phone,” Danny says.

He’s hoarse, panting.

“It’s in my drawer, but the battery’s dead.

Please, I have to charge it up.

I have to make a call.”

The pain wasn’t bad when he fell asleep, but walking down the hall has awakened it.

He grimaces and almost falls.

Chuck gets an arm around him, but that’s not good enough.

He hoists Danny into his arms and carries him back to his room.

Once he’s in bed, Chuck holds out his own phone.

“Here.

If it’s important, use mine.”

Danny shakes his head.

His hair is sticking to his forehead.

Sweat runs down his cheeks.

“I need my contacts.

I put her number in my contacts.

Even two per cent will be enough.

I have to make that call.”