"I'm sorry, son. Nobody could have made it out."
The fireman's words echoed in his head. It's not fair, he thought. We've been through so much together. Why do I have to lose her, now? What was worse, they had been fighting. He didn't like her attitude towards Gary's overdose, and when she ignored him, he just walked away. He walked away and she died. If only he had talked it through with her. If he had stayed a moment longer, he might have noticed the faulty wiring and got her out of there. If only...
Spike Thomson shook his head. He had no idea how long he had been standing there looking out his window. He couldn't see anything, tears were blurring his vision. All he could think about was Lynda. Lynda Day. The woman he loved so much, but they never seemed to get it together for very long. They fought too much. Most of the time it was good-natured, but sometimes...Sometimes they were serious and said things that hurt. Now Lynda was gone. She was only nineteen. How could it be right for her to die so young, when she had so much to live for. She may have been a bitch, but as she pointed out to Sarah once, that's what made her a good editor.
Brushing his hair back, Spike could not get the image of Lynda burning out of his mind. Try as he would, he could not make it leave. In despair, he turned away from the window. He wanted to remember her how she was, not how she died.
The image of her burning tortured him, not even allowing him the peace of sleep. Tossing his head, he turned and opened his eyes. A familiar shape was silhouetted by the street lights shining through his blinds. Lynda...At least he'll get a sense of closure, even if it is only a dream.
"You're dead." Spike finally spoke.
"Yeah," she replied, "but we needed to talk."
"I wish we could talk," he sat up a little, leaning on his elbow. "I wish I didn't have to dream it."
"Dreams will do. There's just one thing I have to know before I...er...leave." She paused. "Was it you who told the magazine?"
Spike half laughed, half shrugged. Even in death, Lynda wanted to know who hurt her Junior Gazette. That's his Lynda. "No one did." He sighed. "They would have found out at the hospital. You never did understand reporting, did you?"
"No."
"I love you, Lynda." He had to say it. He had to tell her one more time.
"Then forgive me."
Spike was puzzled. "For what?"
Lynda turned on his lamp "Winding you up."
Spike could not believe his eyes. There she was just standing there. Admittedly looking a little worse for wear; her hair was dishevelled, her clothes marked with soot, and there was a nasty-looking cut on her left cheek. Surprisingly, she was not burned.
"You utter bitch!"
"Too late," she smiled smugly. "You said you loved me; and you've now said that eight more times than I have, so that means I'm definitely winning in this relationship."
The bed squeaked as Spike pulled back the covers and stood. "The fireman said no one could've got out." Slowly he walked over to Lynda. "You were dead."
"Yeah," she paused again. "But I didn't like the company. Losers." Even as she said this, Spike reached for her hand. He needed to touch her, to feel that she was there.
Lynda took a deep breath and continued. "The good news is the insurance on the building is going to be a real boost for our finances. Plus, news stories of my miraculous escape should divert attention from Whatshisname. I've also paid Colin a visit, and got him back working for us."
"He knows you're alive?" Maybe this wasn't a dream. Was it wishful thinking that Lynda would visit her boyfriend first?
"Not precisely, no. I told him I'd risen from Hell on a mission for Satan to explode his brain. He signed an exclusive contract for the next twelve thousand years."
Spike hesitated before speaking again, changing the subject. "If I kiss you, do I wake up?" he asked. "I don't think I want to know if this is a dream." He preferred the dream to the tormented Hell of life without Lynda.
"Your choice." Lynda said simply.
Biting his lower lip, Spike made his decision. He took a step closer and leaned in. Anticipating the move, Lynda tilted her head to the side. The kiss was soft, gentle, tentative, yet probing.
She flooded his senses. The smell of her singed hair, the soot on her clothes. The acrid taste of smoke in her mouth. The feel of her hand in his, the movement of her lips against his. She was alive! He knew this even before she let go of his hand to wrap her arms around his waist.
Spike drew back and stared disbelievingly into Lynda's eyes. "Lynda?" He brushed her hair back from her face, watching her flinch and his fingers accidentally touched the cut on her cheek.
"You're not dreaming, Spike."
"Lynda." Tears blurred his vision again, but he didn't pay any attention to them. He just kissed her again. Hard.
"Now do you believe you're not dreaming?" she asked when they broke for air.
"Lynda..."
"Yes, Spike, you know my name. Can you say anything else?"
Despite the situation, Spike had to shake his head and chuckle. Some things never changed. "How did you get out? The fireman said no one could have."
"But the fireman didn't know about Colin's secret exit, did he?"
"I was down there, Lynda. I watched the fire destroy the place. I kept praying that you would somehow make it out of there. I watched Colin's secret way out. There was nothing."
Lynda stared at Spike for a moment, confusion etched on her face. "I don't know how I got out," she said finally, turning away from Spike and sitting on his bed. "All I remember is heat, a lot of smoke and screaming your name. Then everything seemed to blur, from the fire to David."
"David?"
"David Jefford. You remember..."
"Yeah." It was hard to forget. David Jefford was a spoiled, lonely, rich kid who wanted so much to be liked that he tried to blackmail his way from the graphics team to the writing team. Lynda initially agreed to David's terms at first, but later told him that he had to work his way on to the writing team. She also told him a few home truths. After they had left, David put a loaded shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Lynda felt responsible for that and it took a lot of talking to persuade her otherwise; and now Spike wondered if they had succeeded. Why would she mention David now? Did something else happen to her?
Spike sat on the end of his bed, and gently held her hand. "What happened in there, Lynda?"
"It's kind of a long story..."
"A long story?"
"You remember what happened when you left?"
"Yeah, I asked if you were gonna ask me if I had told the magazine. You ignored me and I walked out."
"Yeah, well, just as you left, I called out after you, but I guess you didn't hear me." As she expected, Spike shook his head. "I was following you out," she continued. "When I noticed that the power point was buzzing. I pushed at one of the plugs, and the next thing I knew I was thrown back. That must've been how the fire started."
Spike nodded. "That's what the firemen thought, though it was pretty hard to tell. What was that about David?"
She looked away. "I don't want to talk about it now, Spike."
He knew from experience what would happen if he pushed her, so he just dropped the subject. "That's okay. Have you told anyone else? That you're alive, I mean."
"No. After what happened, I had to see you first. I needed to see if you hated me."
"Lynda, I could never hate you. Believe me, I've tried."
"You've tried to hate me? When?" Lynda's paranoia was setting in.
"When you dumped me for the paper, when you stole my passport, but that doesn't matter now. That's all over. It was over the minute I can back to England. I knew I could never hate you, so I came back."
"You really tried to hate me?"
"Lynda..."
"Sorry."
"So, you planning on telling your parents that you're back from the dead? Or are you planning on scaring them with reports of your miraculous survival?"
Lynda glanced at Spike's clock. "I don't want to wake them in the middle of the night with this. They might think it is a crank call. I'll call then in the..." she trailed off, shaking her head and touching her fingers to her temples.
"What is it, Lynda?"
"I've just got a bit of a headache, that's all."
"Well, that's not surprising. You probably hit your head when you fell." He reached for the phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Calling an ambulance."
"Spike, I'm fine."
."Lynda, you were electrocuted, knocked out, and probably inhaled a lot of smoke. You need to be checked out by a doctor."
"Can't this wait until morning?"
"Humour me, Lynda. You owe me that much for that stunt you pulled." There was no answer. "Lynda?" Spike turned to see Lynda lying unconscious on his bed. "Lynda?" He shook her, gently at first, then with a little force, but there was no response. "No, Lynda, don't die on me now." After checking to see if she were still alive, he reached for the phone.
The phone rang in the darkness. Incessantly rang. Annette Day glanced at the clock. It was ten past one in the morning. Who would be ringing at this hour? Couldn't they leave me alone in my grief for the night at least?
"Come on, come on," Spike muttered. The phone was ringing out, but he refused to hang up. Unlike Lynda, he felt the news that their daughter had survived the fire justified waking her parents up in the middle of the night. Especially since Lynda was now in the hospital with a head injury and an uncertain future.
"Come on, Mrs. Day, please answer the phone."
It was still ringing. Why won't it stop? Annette Day sat up suddenly in bed as a thought struck her. What if somebody had told Kenny about what happened, and he was calling to convey his sympathies? Being in Australia, he might not realise the time difference. Sighing, she went downstairs to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Day?"
Annette recognised the American accent straight away. "Hello, Spike, how are you feeling? I tried to ring you before, but I couldn't get through."
"Yeah, well, most of the news team rang me to...you know." Spike broke off, and paused before continuing. "I guess you're wondering why I'd be calling in the middle of the night."
"Actually I thought it was Kenny calling from Australia."
"I wasn't able to get through to him. Maybe Julie did, but I...I'd better tell you why I called. You'd better come down to the hospital."
"Why?"
"Lynda's here."
Annette blinked back tears. Do they want me to ID her body? Couldn't you do that?"
"Not exactly. You'd better just come down here. I'll explain then."
"Spike!" A young, familiar voice called out.
Puzzled, Spike hung up the phone and turned around. There, running down the corridor, oblivious to the frowns cast in her direction was Tiddler. "Tids, what are you doing here?" He allowed her to hug him.
She held up her left arm, showing him the row of stitches. "I couldn't sleep after what happened, so I went downstairs to make some hot chocolate. Only I didn't turn the light on and I tripped. What are you doing here? Did they find Lynda's body? I thought everything was too badly burned."
"Yeah, well, they didn't exactly find Lynda's body, but she is here." Spike took a deep breath. "She didn't die in the fire Tiddler."
"What?"
"Somehow, Lynda managed to get out of the building, and she turned up in my flat." Spike smiled at her incredulous expression. "I know, I didn't believe it at first either. I thought I was dreaming."
"How is she? Did something happen? Why is she here?"
"Whoa whoa, slow down, Tids. She was electrocuted and hit her head just before the fire started. In fact, that's how the fire did start. She lost consciousness just after I found out she was alive, and an ambulance bought her here. She's in a coma."
"Will she be all right?"
"I hope so, but the doctor hasn't spoken to me yet."
"Toni, what do you mean by running off like that and scaring me half to death?"
Startled, Spike and Tiddler turned to see her mother, Hannah Tildesley standing behind her daughter. "Sorry, Mum," Tiddler replied. "But I saw Spike and I had to talk to him."
"Hello again, Spike. I was sorry to hear about Lynda."
"Thanks Mrs. Tildesley. But that may be a little premature. Lynda managed to get out of the fire, she's alive, but in a coma."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Not really, Tids. I just spoke to her mother, but I thought it would be better to wait until morning to start phoning the news team."
"I could stay and help you with that if you like."
"Thanks, Tiddler, but it would be best if you went home on got some sleep. You can come back in the morning. I won't be phoning anyone till then."
"Okay," Tiddler gave Spike another hug. "Don't worry, Spike. If Lynda managed to survive the fire, I can't believe that she would let a coma beat her."
It was dark. Cold. A blessed relief from the heat of the fire. But it was so silent. There was no David talking to her. No one reasoning with her, or telling her there was no way out. Did she get out of the fire? She could not remember. She remembered talking to David Jefford, and Whatshisname...and Spike. She remembered talking to Spike in his bedroom. She remembered kissing him. She must have made it out of the fire, But where was she? Why was it so quiet? More importantly, where was Spike? Spike! her mind called. Spike!
"Spike?"
Spike looked up at the familiar voice, half-expecting to see a doctor. Instead he saw Lynda's mother approach him from down the hall. "Mrs. Day," he said, standing up.
"Spike," Annette could not help but notice how haggard Spike looked, how much older he seemed. "What is it? Why did you ask me to come down here? What is it about Lynda?"
Spike took a deep, shuddering breath. "She's alive."
"WHAT?! Is this some kind of prank...?"
"No," Spike answered quickly. "It's no prank. She turned up in my flat about an hour ago. I thought I was dreaming, but she was there."
"But how did she get out. The fireman said..."
"I know, I asked her that, but she said she didn't know. She said something about Colin's secret way out, though."
"How is she? Is she all right? You brought her here just to be checked out, right?
Spike shook his head. "I don't know if she's all right. She was electrocuted right before the fire started and knocked out. She said she had a headache while we were talking, then just slipped into a coma. I don't know anything else, the doctor hasn't come back yet. Maybe I shouldn't have called until..."
"No, Spike, I'm glad you called. I would rather be told than go on believing that she's gone."
"Where's Mr. Day?"
"He was on his way to a conference in Germany when I got the news. He doesn't know yet, I'm afraid."
There was a moment of awkward silence. "I don't know if I can take this," Spike said finally.
"Take what?"
"The waiting, the uncertainty. When I thought she was dead, I would have given anything to have her back, but at least then I knew. Now..."
"I know how you feel, but there's not much else we can do. At least we're not alone. That would be the worst I think. Trying to bear the waiting alone."
Spike was spared from answering that, as the doctor chose that moment to approach them. "Mr. Thomson?"
"Dr. Sanders, er, this is Lynda's mother.""How's my daughter?" Annette asked
"Lynda's a very lucky girl, surviving both the electrocution and the fire. The problem now is with her head injury. She has a contusion at the base of her skull, which resulted in some bleeding. We've drained the blood out, and she's in a coma. She'll be in the ICU in about one-and-a-half hours."
"Will she be all right?"
"It's hard to say. She could wake up in the next day or so, or it could take days or even weeks. There's no way to tell in situations like this."
"Can we see her?"
Dr. Sanders turned to Spike. "Only family are allowed to visit patients in ICU."
"Oh, come on..."
"Please," Annette interrupted. "He's Lynda's boyfriend, and she's practically the only family he has. It would mean so much to both of them."
Dr. Sanders looked form Spike to Annette Day. "All right," he said finally. "Follow me."
"Why'd you tell him all that?" Spike asked Annette under his breath.
"I know how much you want to be with her," Annette responded. "Besides, I didn't want a repeat a what happened when Lynda tried to get in and see you that time. She made quite a fuss."
"So I've heard."
Spike! her mind called. Spike!
"He can't hear you," a disembodied, yet familiar voice spoke in the darkness.
"Who said that?" Lynda demanded.
"My, how you forget old friends so soon."
Lynda suddenly found herself back in the large arm chair, in the large room with stained-glass windows. And sitting across from her, in the other arm chair, was David Jefford. Unlike the last time though, the room was cold, and more dimly lit.
"What am I doing back here? I got out of the fire. I told you I wasn't going to take your way out."
"Yeah, you did. And you did make it out of the fire. Pretty amazing stuff that. As to why you're here, now, maybe you still want to die. Maybe you still think you don't deserve to live."
"That's nonsense."
"Is it? Why didn't you stay with Spike then, if you want to live so much?"
Lynda did not have an answer for that.
It was strange, watching Lynda being brought in on a stretcher, seeing her hooked up to the machines. She was so still, so pale.
Dr. Sanders seemed to understand their hesitancy. "Just sit by her, talk to her. Let her know that you're here and that you want her to wake up. It has been proven that coma victims do hear what is going on around them while they are under. However, I think you should probably rest for tonight, and visit her in the morning."
"No way," Spike shook his head. "I couldn't sleep. I'd rather wait here."
"I feel the same way," Annette added.
Dr. Sanders shrugged. "Suit yourselves. Remember, if there is any change in her condition, press the buzzer."
It was eerily silent after the doctor left, the only sounds heard were the soft beeping of the heart monitor. Spike took the initiative and sat in one of the chairs by the bed, sandwiching Lynda's hand between his. "Hey, Lynda, the doctor said we should talk to you, so here goes. You're about to have your head talked off by an expert talker, and if you want it to stop, you're gonna have to wake up."
"Hey, Lynda."
Lynda turned at the familiar voice. "That's Spike. Spike?" she called.
"He can't hear you," David replied.
"Why? I can hear him."
"You're the one who has to choose whether to live or die."
"Well, I'm not choosing to die."
"Then why are you still here? If you really wanted to live, you would be awake by now."
Without an answer, Lynda turned away from David to listen to what Spike was saying: "...it you want it to stop, you're gonna have to wake up."
"What does he mean by 'wake up'?" she asked David.
Spike took a deep breath. "Sorry about the jokes, Lynda. But you were the one who told me that I joke when I'm nervous, and you always knew how to make me nervous. You still do. You're in hospital, Lynda. I know you told me you were fine, but you collapsed, and I didn't know what else to do. It was a good thing I called too, because you were bleeding and they had to fix you up. If you're wondering why I'm telling you all this, well, you're in a coma, and we want you to wake up. Although, as it is about three am, you'll probably have to go right back to sleep again. But we want you to wake up anyway."
"I'm in a coma?" Lynda turned back to David"
"You must be," he replied.
"And all I have to do is wake up?"
"That's what Spike says."
"Then why haven't I woken up?"
"I think only you can answer that." There was a long pause. "What do you have to live for?"
"What?" Lynda frowned.
"It's a valid question. What do you have to live for? Is there anything left in your life? What about the Junior Gazette?"
"What about it?"
"There is none. The building burned down. Do you really think that Bobby Campbell will want to finance the re-opening of a paper whose future is uncertain. Who recently had a run of bad publicity."
"That was Whatshisname's fault, not ours."
"Whose fault is it that he decided to overdose in the first place?"
"Not mine. That was the spin the magazine tried to put on it, but I didn't ask him to go shooting up in our toilet, and I didn't drive him to use drugs in the first place."
David silently regarded her, and she bristled under the stare. "Are you trying to say that I drove him to use drugs?"
It had been a long four days with no change in Lynda's condition. Spike never left her side, unless it was to answer the call of nature or to have a quick shower. He never bothered to shave, and he hardly slept, except when he nodded off with his head by Lynda's hand. Nobody could convince him to go home and rest, and it took quite a bit of convincing to get him to leave her long enough to have a shower.
So it was a vision of an unshaven, haggard-looking Spike dozing at Lynda's bedside that greeted Sarah Jackson when she walked into the room. "Hey, Spike," she called softly.
Spike started, rubbed his eyes and glanced up at Sarah. "Hey, Sarah," he said, then frowned. "What are you doing in here? They said family only in ICU."
"What are you doing here then, Spike?" she countered. "You're not exactly family, either, unless there's something that you're not telling us."
"Very funny. No, I just refused to leave."
"I can see that. Any change?"
Spike shook his head. "At one point I though I heard her say something, but I must've been dreaming. No one else heard anything. So how are things with the paper?"
"I think you can pretty much guess."
"That bad, huh?"
"Bobby Campbell has given us a reprieve for a few weeks, probably anticipating high sales from Lynda's miraculous escape. He's holding off on a permanent decision until we know for sure about Lynda. She has a lot of explaining to do about Gary."
"I didn't realise until I saw the magazine exactly why Lynda wanted to keep it quiet. I accused her of not caring."
"And now it's eating away at you?"
"Yeah. So what else is happening?" Spike changed the subject.
"Julie's acting like Lynda's never coming back to the paper. She's handling everything pretty well, but she's not..."
"Lynda. I don't think anyone else could do the job Lynda did there. She's got to come out of it, Sarah."
"For the paper's sake...or yours?"
Spike shot her a look.
"Right, I had to ask. Maybe if you told her about Julie's antics, she may get mad enough to wake up."
"I've tried that already. I'm not giving up, though. I've talked so much these last few days that I'm starting to lose my voice."
"That'd be a first. Spike Thomson, not talking."
He chuckled. "So how long are you staying down for?'
"Until Lynda's okay, or until the paper's back on it's feet. Whichever comes first. Listen, I'd better go, before the nurse kicks me out of here. I just wanted to say hi."
"Thanks for coming by, Sarah."
Sarah gave him a quick hug before continuing. "Oh, by the way, a friend of mine at the university said that you sometimes have to really convince someone to wake up from a coma. That you really have to talk them into it, give them a reason to wake up. I thought it might help."
"I've been pretty much doing that already, Sarah, but thanks anyway."
Spike brought Lynda's hand to his lips. "You see, Lynda, the paper can't function without you."
Time had no meaning where Lynda was. While days had passed in the outside world, she was still debating the point of "Whatshisname's" drug use with David.
"Are you trying to say that I drove him to use drugs?" she asked again.
"What do you think?" David countered. "You are a hard task master. You push people, make them cry. You've driven Spike away more times than you can count. How many times have your closest friends called you a bitch?" There was a pause. "But that isn't the point here."
"Yes it is. You're trying to say that I drove Whatshisname to use drugs. I had nothing to do with it, that was his choice, and I said that before."
"Then why are you still here? Why haven't you woken up? Do you think you have anything to live for? The Junior Gazette's gone. Is there anything else in your life?"
"Spike." But Lynda's tone was doubtful. Ever since Whatshisname's overdose, all they seemed to do was fight. Even when she told him she was alive, he called her an "utter bitch". If she woke up, would he still be there, or had she driven him away for good?
Sometimes you have to really convince someone to wake up from a coma. Sarah's words echoed in Spike's mind. Give them a reason to wake... What could he say to Lynda that he hadn't said already? Her parents were talking to her now, and for once Spike was content to sit back, listen and wait...and think about what he was going to say next.
"I saw Sarah Jackson on the elevator as I was coming up here," Malcolm Day's voice cut into Spike's thoughts. "Did she come up here to see Lynda?"
"Yeah," Spike said, glad for an opening. "She snuck in here while the nurse wasn't looking."
"Did she say how long she was down for?"
"Until Lynda wakes up, or the paper is back on it's feet. Which probably won't be until Lynda wakes up. She's helping Julie keep the paper together, and from what I gather, trying to convince Julie that Lynda will be back. Julie's carrying on as if Lynda's never coming back to the paper. I think Julie just likes being in charge, I don't think she can do it on her own."
Spike squeezed Lynda's hand. "Did you hear that, Lynda? Julie's trying to take over your position. Are you going to let her?"
Annette frowned. "What are you doing, Spike?"
"Something Sarah suggested. We've got to give Lynda a reason to wake up. With everything that has happened lately, she may not want to.
"Sarah also said that Bobby Campbell has given the paper a reprieve for a few weeks, but he won't make a decision until he's seen Lynda. Lynda, I know that you're dreading that confrontation. I also know that you had a reason for doing what you did. You have to explain that to Campbell. I can't, Julie can't, and I don't think we should even let Colin try...not on his own, anyway.
"The Junior Gazette isn't dead yet, Lynda, but it needs you to fight for it. After everything you've been through for that paper, I can't believe you'll give up now."
Spike paused, and cleared his throat. This next part was one of the hardest things he's ever had to say. "Lynda, there's something I need to tell you. Before, with everything that happened with Gary, I said some things I now wish...I accused you of not caring, because I couldn't understand why you acted the way you did. When I read that magazine thing, I kind realised where you were coming from. That doesn't mean that I fully understand it, I think I need you to explain that to me, but I know now that I was off base.
"Lynda, when I thought you were dead, I regretted everything that had happened. I would have given anything to have you back so I could talk to you again, and take it back. I thought it was a dream when I saw you in my bedroom. I wasn't happy with your little stunt, but I was...am...happy to have you back."
Malcolm cleared his throat and tugged on Annette's hand. By mutual agreement, Lynda's parents gave Spike some privacy to say what he needed to say.
"I love you, Lynda, and I need you. I need you in my life. I tried living without you, after you put that tape in Zoe's Walkman and we split up; but I couldn't do it. I loved you too much. You never asked, but that was why I came back to England.
"There you have it, Lynda. The Junior Gazette needs you, and I need you. I don't know what is more important to you, I'd like to think it is me, but with you...I'm not even sure how you feel about me. But don't give up Lynda. You have a lot to live for." Spike paused and just watched Lynda for a moment. No reaction. The silence in the room was so thick he could feel it.
Spike closed his eyes in despair. "Why am I doing this? I don't even know if you can hear me."
In her alternate reality, Lynda sat in the armchair, uncertain. She heard everything Spike said, but something was holding her back. Not even the news that Julie was planning on her not coming back to the paper could make her wake up.
"It's up to you," David said.
"What?"
"You're the one who has to decide whether you will give up or not. Whether you believe what Spike is saying. That's your choice, Lynda."
His words echoed as his image faded away. Your choice, Lynda. She remembered the African tribal wisdom about crocodiles and choices. Everyone had choices to make in their lives, and they have to live with the consequences of those choices. Some people, like David and "Whatshisname" chose to die rather then live. She herself had chosen to live, by coming to and saving herself in the fire. Was she going to blow her second chance at life now? Did she have the courage to live with the consequences of her choices?
Dimly she heard Spike. "...I don't even know if you can hear me."
I can hear you Spike!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Spike glanced down. Did he imagine it, or had he felt Lynda squeeze his hand? "Lynda?" he asked. No reaction. "Lynda, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand." Still no reaction. "I love you Lynda. If you can hear me, please wake up, even if it only to tell me how many times I've said that more than you have. If you won't for me, then wake up to stop Julie from taking over the paper, you always said you'd prefer Tiddler as editor than Julie."
Spike stared searchingly into her face, looking for visible clues that Lynda was finally waking up. Nothing. Then...
"You need to shave."
A nervous chuckle erupted from Spike. "After four days of being in a coma, and that was the first thing she said to me," he grinned.
"I could have started yelling about Julie, only I don't seen to have the power to yell yet. What is she up to anyway?"
"Sarah said that she is acting as though you aren't coming back to the paper. Are you gonna prove her wrong?" As he spoke, Spike pressed the buzzer to call for the doctor.
"Get her in here right now, I'll soon..."
"Whoa, hang on there, Lynda. Dr. Sanders has to check you out first, and I think you should speak with your parents. They're..." Spike trailed off, glancing around. The last time he looked, they were in the room. "They must have stepped out for a while. Anyway, Julie can wait. She'll find out you're awake soon enough; besides which, she is the least of your worries."
"I know," Lynda fell silent.
"Don't worry about it yet, Lynda. I think Campbell will wait a few weeks before calling you in. And I'll be there with you, offering the only support I can -- immoral support."
Lynda smiled. "All support gratefully accepted"
They both looked up as Dr. Sanders entered. "Ah, it's good to see you finally awake, young lady," he nodded to Lynda, then turned to Spike. "Could you wait in the hall while I check her out?"
"Yeah, sure, I'd better tell her parents that she is awake anyway." Spike started to stand, but a tug on his hand stopped him. "What is it, Lynda?"
She gave his hand a squeeze. "I love you."
Spike gaped down at her, at that infrequent declaration. Unable to speak, he just leaned over and kissed her. "You said it," he said when they could finally speak. "You actually said it."
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it. You've been saying it often enough lately that I felt that I could afford to." Spike shot her a look and gave her a quick kiss. "I love you too. See you later," he backed out of the room, not wanting to take his eyes off her.
The phone rang, startling Spike awake in the pre-dawn light. Groaning, he reached over to answer it.
"Merry Christmas, Lynda!" an annoyingly cheerful voice practically shouted.
Despite being awakened at an unearthly hour, Spike grinned at the sound of Kenny's voice. "You've got the wrong person, Kenny."
"Spike? I thought I rang Lynda's number."
"You did." Spike yawned. "Sorry, it's early here."
"How early?"
Spike glanced at the clock. "About half past five."
"Whoops, sorry."
"That's okay. Merry Christmas to you too."
"Before you out Lynda on, one question. What are you doing at Lynda's place at that time of the morning?"
"Kenny..."
"Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know. Just put Lynda on."
"Mmmm?" Lynda mumbled.
"Merry Christmas, Lynda!"
"Kenny?!" Lynda sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. "Er, Merry Christmas to you, too. How are you?"
"I should be asking you that. You're the one who almost died."
"Yeah, well I've recovered from that now, I'm back to normal -- well as normal as I'm ever going to get."
"What happened anyway? When Julie phoned me, she said that no one could have got out. How did you manage to survive?"
"I still can't remember exactly how I got out. All I know is this. I had a choice, whether I wanted to live or take the easy way out and die. I chose to live."
As Lynda spoke, something occurred to her. David Jefford was no longer haunting her. At last, the spectre of his suicide had gone away. She had finally reconciled herself to the fact that it was his choice to die, just as it was hers to live.