Ten hours after he fell asleep, Roger Pearson opened his eyes. I’m alive, I’m alive, he thought. He was aware that he was breathing through a ventilator tube and that his forehead felt hot when he touched it. But I think I’m going to be okay.
He glanced to the side and saw that a man in a white doctor’s coat was asleep in the reclining chair next to his bed. He realized that was just as well. He wanted to give his name and say that he had gone overboard from Queen Charlotte. He had a very clear memory of the maniacal expression on Yvonne’s face as she charged at him and with all her strength shoved him backwards. He certainly intended to let her know that he was very aware of what she had done, but he was not ready to share what happened with whoever on this ship was going to ask him questions.
Roger closed his eyes and gave in to his sense of being blissfully warm and tucked into heavy blankets. As long as I live, I’ll never go swimming again, he thought, as the memory of being freezing cold, and trying to spit out the salty water, flooded his mind.