"Help me...Please!"
"You've got to help me, kid. Please." Her voice and eyes
both convey her desperate mood, so you carefully walk over to the bed
and place your hand over hers. With a grip like a vise she grabs your
wrist and pulls you in close to her panicked face. "They're
trying to kill me -- you've got to get me out of here before the
doctor gets back! Please, now!"
Not really knowing what to do, you decide
to...
Your mother is lying on the sweat-soaked bed, nearly as white as the
twisted sheets. Strands of her long brown hair cling to her forehead,
and her fists are clenched onto the bed's silver siderails.
