106
. . . and if no one’s Uncle John is out in the wood lot west of town banging away at quail or pheasant; if the only sound is the slow beat of your heart, you can hear another sound, and that is the sound of life winding down to its cyclic close, waiting for the first winter snow to perform last rites.
—Stephen King, Salem’s Lot
The low pulse of a digital monitor beeped with each heartbeat. Jana felt like she was in a dream. Yet, an unbelievable feeling of calm ushered into her core. There was no pain. It felt simply like all the worry in the world had vanished. At first, she didn’t want to open her eyes, but after a few minutes, she realized she couldn’t open them. She couldn’t move either, for that matter. Yet the feeling of calm so permeated her, she saw no need for worry. Instead
