Sunset Ridge by Nicole Alexander

have the strength. Then the coughing began.
    When the hallway beckoned again it shimmered with light. His hands travelled gently across the walls of the narrow tunnel. There were figures ahead. ‘Wait, please wait.’ The words stretched over his tongue but made no sound. Something stirred him, trying to gain his attention. The shaking grew in intensity until in annoyance Dave tried unsuccessfully to brush whatever it was away.
    â€˜The fever’s broken.’
    â€˜Thank heavens.’
    His shadow-eyed mother and a young man in black towered above him. Dave blinked at the light streaming through the window. He could smell lavender water, and something pungent. The stranger removed the weight from his chest and placed a stethoscope against his skin. The cold of the metal caused Dave’s drowsy eyes to re-open.
    â€˜Can you hear me, David?’
    Dave wanted to answer but the words lay buried in river sand. He imagined digging up the moist soil and searching for the voice he had lost. Instead, a long, racking cough left him exhausted.
    â€˜It will take some time, I’m afraid, to regain his strength. There may also be some initial confusion when he wakes up. The delirium was particularly bad, an effect of the high fever and that cough . . . a most unfortunate coincidence to develop pneumonia. I’ll re-dress his hand, Mrs Harrow, and return in a couple of days.’
    The man was stippled in sunlight as he unwound a white bandage and dropped the material in a basin. ‘It was a severe infection, and David was lucky that it didn’t develop into acute sepsis. Your lad here was very fortunate, very fortunate indeed.’
    Ointment was smoothed across Dave’s palm and then a fresh bandage applied. He grew dizzy watching the white material as it was wound firmly around his hand.
    â€˜I suggest at least another week’s bed rest, and do try to get some nourishment into him. He’s skin and bone. Broth and bread for the next couple of days, Mrs Harrow: a small amount every two hours at first until his strength begins to return.’
    â€˜Of course, whatever you think.’
    â€˜And tomorrow another four mustard plasters applied for no more than thirty minutes throughout the day. And ensure that the powdered mustard is combined with only flour and egg white, no water. I shall leave some flannel cloth for the dressing.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    The snap of the doctor’s bag and a swish of his mother’s skirt signalled their exit.
    Â 
    Dave woke disorientated. A deep blackness engulfed the space surrounding the narrow bed. He blinked, trying to clear the strange visions infiltrating his brain, aware of his mind growing clearer, his thoughts becoming whole. A dream of Miss Waites pressing her lips to his brow was mixed with strange shapes. With wakefulness came a sudden clarity, as if a bucket of cold water had been tossed over his head. Dragging aching legs from beneath the covers, his numb feet hit the cold boards of the floor and he stood unsteadily. The room tilted and then slowly resettled itself as he took a tentative step, his arms outstretched for guidance. Through the window above the rumpled bed a weave of stars circled the black sky. He stared at them until they began to move, forwards and backwards, side to side. There was a great void between and around them and he reached out his hand as if he could push through the willowy darkness to see what lay on the other side. The pull of muscles startled him and he leaned against the roll-top desk for support while searching for a sketchpad and a stick of charcoal. Then, on a whim, he pulled the bedclothes free from the foot of the bed and moved a pillow to the timber foot-board. Light-headed, he crawled into bed as his breathing grew even.
    The star-filled sky dominated the window. He lay awake watching the glittering dots until the first smudge of light filtered across the sky. He wondered what the day