Brian floated in and out of consciousness.
Fluorescent lights flickered above like dying stars. Somewhere, a baby cried like a siren. Nearby, someone coughed with enough force to summon ancestors.
Tygerberg Hospital.
Even unconscious, his body knew it.
When he came to properly, it was to the scent of Dettol and old sweat, and the sound of an auntie shouting in Afrikaans about her bunion being "worse than stage four!"
His throat was dry. His stomach felt like someone had used it as a practice dummy for a plumbing course. Everything hurt, even his dreams.
He tried to sit up but winced, collapsing back into the stiff mattress.
That's when he saw her.
The woman.
The one from the alley.
She sat in a cracked plastic chair next to his bed, legs crossed, scrolling her phone with long acrylic nails that sparkled under the dying lights.
She looked up and smiled.
"Hey. You're alive. Congrats."
Brian blinked. "What the hell…"
"Shhh," she said. "You'll pop your stitches. Again. You already pulled one when you had a nightmare about Spider-Man or whoever you think you are."
Brian squinted. "Where am I?"
"Tygerberg," she said, grimacing. "Sorry for your loss."
Brian groaned. "No wonder I feel like I got stitched up by a blind plumber."
She laughed. "You're not wrong. I think the guy who fixed you up also changes oil at a garage in Parow."
Brian finally managed to sit up a little, groaning. "You… you were there. The woman. From the alley."
"Ja. Farren," she said, tucking her phone into her Jacket like a true Capetonian. "I'm the woman you saved, remember? You punched a guy like a real-life Tekken character. Then got shanked like a chop."
Brian looked away, embarrassed. "Yeah, well. Didn't go how I planned."
Farren leaned forward. "You planned that?"
"I was improvising."
She snorted. "You nearly died trying to be Batman with a budget."
Brian smiled weakly. "I'm more like... Backyardman."
"More like Flatman," she shot back. "But I'm glad you're not dead. I wanted to say thank you. For stepping in."
He looked at her, surprised. "You didn't have to come."
She shrugged. "It's visiting hours. Besides, your only other visitor was a nurse who asked if you had medical aid and disappeared when you said no."
Brian sighed. "Yeah, that sounds like Tygerberg."
There was a pause. Then Farren tilted her head and said...
"Also… I think you're kinda cute."
Brian blinked. "Wait... what?"
"You know," she said, grinning. "In a 'gets stabbed for strangers' type of way."
He snorted. "This the drugs talking?"
She pulled a pen from her bag, grabbed a napkin off the bedside tray, and scribbled something. "Nope. This is me being nice before I remember that I hate men."
She handed him the napkin. Her number was written in curly letters, with a little heart over the "a" in "Farren."
Brian stared at it. "I almost died. Literally bled out."
"And now you got a number out of it. You're welcome."
Brian looked up at her, smirking. "So what you're saying is, I should get stabbed more often."
She pointed a finger at him. "You get stabbed again, don't call me. I'm not dating a porcupine."
They both laughed.
Just then, a nurse barged in with a tray of cold mashed potatoes and what might've been chicken in another life. She dropped it on his table like it owed her money.
Farren stood up, grabbing her bag. "Alright. I've got work later. Call me when you can stand without looking like a newborn calf."
Brian grinned. "Thanks for coming."
Farren winked. "Thanks for not dying. I'll be mad cute at your funeral, but I'd rather not plan it."
She walked off.
Brian leaned back in his bed, napkin clutched like gold.
His side still hurt.
His mask was probably in a plastic evidence bag.
But for the first time in a long time… he smiled.
And somewhere inside him, that voice whispered again...
"Now it begins."