It had been a while since I had a dream so calming. In retrospect, it was probably my mind trying to shelter itself from the trauma. I dreamed I was playing at a pub, my fingers dancing on the keys skilfully, my voice loud and steady. As performances go, it was a good one. By the time I ended with a flourish the entire bar was ensnared by the music and the regulars, singing along.

Then the dream shifted. I was at the gym, training mitts covering my hands. My little brother was shaping up nicely. His footwork had gotten a lot better since he started training with me and for his size, he was a hard hitter too. As his gloves met the mitts he made an even rhythm, the sound resonating deep within my mind. The beat took on a hypnotic character and as I my senses got lost within it, the two dreams converged.

The music from the first met the beats from the second, slowly growing louder; then slipping into chaos and cacophony. Bright lights flashed before my eyes. There was a loud crash like a thousand storm clouds thundering at once. And then, sounds alien to both the dreams entered the fray.

I could hear an incessant beep. I felt it all the way in my chest as it synchronised with my heart. Beep, beep, beep, it was slowing down. And then it all stopped. The silence was deafening. The most inexplicably terrifying thing however was the lack of that beep.

I woke with a start, breathing heavily. A sense of vertigo overcame me as I realised my body didn’t lurch as I expected it to. In fact, it didn’t move at all. I could feel no restraints on me so the lack of movement left me utterly confused and a little frightened. I couldn’t remember falling asleep.

Only then did I think to observe my surroundings. I was in a pristine room painted a light shade of blue. It smelled like antiseptic and the distinctive smell of a hospital wafted in through the ajar door. I tried to turn my head to get a better look of the room but my neck explodes into agonizing pain.

My panic started to rise but before I could completely lose my cool a nurse entered the room. Saying she looked surprised to see me awake would be an understatement. She dropped the tray of syringes she carried into the room and hurried out, calling for a doctor. That reaction, of course, did nothing to calm my nerves.

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The doctor entered the room with the nurse in tow. They were discussing something in hushed, agitated tones. Finally, the man with the stethoscope around his neck – who I assumed was the doctor turned to me and said, “You are probably feeling a little disoriented but I need you to state your name for me.”

“Uh, Matthew Mercer,” I said, glad I was able to answer that with certainty. Normally, I would consider that question a cliché, but it was what grounded me.

“Mr. Mercer, good morning,” he said with a hesitant pause. “How are you feeling? Any pain in your back? Coldness? Anything at all?” he asked. It occurred to me that he looked rather nervous. Nothing was more frightening than a nervous doctor, especially if you’re the one on the hospital bed.

“No actually, I can’t even feel the restraints. Speaking of which; why am I restrained?” I looked at him intently, searching his expressions.

He was young for a doctor. He couldn’t have had much experience. He likely wasn’t even in charge of me, probably just the closest person with the authority to brief me. His brow furrowed as he hid his nervous expression behind the clipboard handed to him by the nurse.

Meanwhile the nurse had picked up the tray she had earlier dropped and was giving me a sympathetic smile.

“Mr. Mercer,” he broke off, “Matthew. You were in a car accident two days ago. You fractured your vertebral column but we were able to remove the splintered bone, effectively nullifying any future damage. However, we couldn’t know for sure the extent of the damage already done to your body,” he looks at me for a second and then returns to the clipboard. “Unfortunately you are showing signs of paralysis. We will have to run some tests but I have been pinching your leg with increasing force during this conversation and you have had no reaction. This is usually a bad sign.”

His words made my heart go cold. It wasn’t possible. I was going to have my first real gig that Saturday. “What day is it?” I asked panic clearly evident in my voice.

The doctor no longer hiding behind the protection of the clipboard replied, “It’s Sunday Matthew. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”