The Awakening by Angella Graff Page B

other ways of identifying the world around me.”  It was a phrase Mark used often, and it was a lie for him, because he had no intention of doing anything other than removing his contacts and setting his eyes on Yehuda for the first time in a hundred years.
                  “Forgive me,” the doctor said again.
                  “Room two-four-five is it?” Ben asked.
                  The doctor cleared his throat.  “Uh yes.  If you need anything else, have me paged.  Before you leave I'd like to have a word, should you positively ID him, just a brief medical history.  We've received some questionable blood work and his chart is incomplete.”
                  Mark felt his blood run cold.  Blood work.  He wasn't sure that Yehuda had ever gone through blood work before, and he could only imagine what modern day science might discover should they get their hands on any significant amount of his DNA.
                  Mark was pulled from his thoughts by Ben's swift steps, and they walked down the carpeted hallway until Ben came to a stop in front of the room.  Absently, Mark reached out and found the number plaque on the wall, his fingers mapping out the Braille tag reading the numbers two-four-five.  This was it. 
                  Mark didn't need the Braille, nor did he need to set eyes on the man in the bed, because just standing outside of the door, Mark could feel him, feel the connection between them, the immortal soul lying there, trapped in his body, in his madness. 
                  Not waiting for Ben, Mark pushed the door open and walked inside.  Turning his head from side to side, he could hear the room was mostly empty, save for a few machines.  The window let quite a lot of light filter in, and somewhere above his head a television was playing at an extremely low volume.
                  The subtle beeping told Mark that Yehuda was strapped to monitors, keeping an eye on his vital signs.  He did not say aloud that the monitors would expire long before Yehuda's heartbeat ever would.  He stuck his cane out, walking forward until it collided with something large and metal.  The hospital bed.
                  Ben and Abby had stayed back near the door as Mark moved forward, hands outstretched as he found the bed, his hand coming to rest on the unconscious man's ankle.  At contact, the man in the bed shifted, just slightly, but it was the first time he had moved of his own accord since being taken into the hospital.
                  Mark knew this, because this had happened now more times than his mind cared to remember, and his eyes welled with tears.  He swiped at them with the back of his hand, clearing his throat.  “This may take me a moment,” he said, his voice thick and rough.
                  “I'm uh... I'm going to go get coffee,” Abby said.  “Ben, want to come?”
                  “I can't,” Ben said, sounding pained.  “I want to but I can't leave Mark alone here with the John Doe.”
                  “Right,” Abby said.
                  “It's fine,” Mark said, his back still to the pair.  Mark waited for a moment, until he knew that it was just him and Ben in the room, and he reached up, giving a pinch near his eyes and pulling the contacts out.
                  He blinked a few times, clearing the blur from his vision and letting his eyes adjust to full vision and light.  By Ben's silence, Mark knew Ben hadn't noticed the contacts yet, which bought Mark a little time to examine Yehuda and the state he was in.
                  Mark trailed his hand up from Yehuda's leg to his arm, and looked down at the face of the man he hadn't seen in a century.  He was unchanged, his friend, save for the black circles under his eyes.  He was thin, sallow but his olive skin was clean shaven and