L hadn't even been in the hospital for four days and he'd had privileges revoked. Though he was allowed visitors, he was confined to his bed, strapped into it so he didn't wander off again to engage others in anemic fisticuffs. While he was talking again, he wasn't particularly full of cheerful things to say. Guilt and anxiety were keeping him busy enough.

He was bored and restless; the television was helping nothing. A bowl of jell-o sat untouched on a folding tray next to him; it wasn't like he could reach his own mouth with the spoon. He didn't want to sleep, since sleeping meant vicious nightmares, so his fingertips worried the edge of an envelope. Several papers were spread out on his lap; they appeared to be some kind of application. It was filled out for the most part, with just some dotted lines silently asking for signatures.

He wished that someone was around, if only to change the channel, even if he wasn't sure how he'd handle the company once he had it.