Free Dream Runner by Gail McFarland Page A

temporary as she knew it to be, Libby uttered another prayer on her way back to her vinyl chair.
    * * *
    It was hard to break free of the seamless black sleep, but hearing the electronic drone around her, Marlea found a way to open her eyes. Without moving her head, she let her eyes travel from left to right. Picking out bright metal and gray-toned monitors stacked on a rack beside the white-sheeted bed where she lay made little sense. Ignoring the strain, her eyes tracked, and her brain struggled to register sterile white walls, a side-pulled curtain above the bed, closed doors, and a wall-mounted television.
    This place looks like a hospital. Did Libby say I was in a hospital? Hospital. The word gave her a strange feeling. Why would I be in anybody’s hospital? Besides, if I am in a hospital, wouldn’t I remember being brought here? Wouldn’t I know the reason for being here? Her eyes tracked the white-walled room again. Wouldn’t I?
    Marlea sighed hard and felt a dull, unspecific total-body ache. Kind of like what you would feel if you were in a car wreck , she joked to herself.
    Car wreck. That’s a good one, but if it’s a joke, why am I in bed? A hospital bed? She dragged herself up on an elbow, surprised at how tired she was. The white room was draped in shadows and bluish electric light. Damn, this sure does look like a hospital room. She tried to remember. What was it Libby said about a hospital? Marlea’s fingers probed a tender spot on her head. When did I hit my head? I don’t remember doing it, but I must have hit it, ’cause even thinking hurts. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Damn, this place even smells like a hospital.
    Across the room, Libby slept in a blue vinyl-covered chair. She was twisted to one side, her head curled down toward her chest and her knees tucked high. She was snoring lightly, sleeping hard. If this is a hospital, and Libby is all curled up in a chair, why am I in a hospital bed?
    The last thing I remember is driving away from Piedmont Park. She looked toward the windows. It was dark outside. How could that be? Her sigh was shaky against her dry throat. Something was very wrong; she felt it in the pit of her stomach . It couldn’t have been close to noon when I left the park, and now it’s dark. How?
    This is way too close to The Twilight Zone for me , she finally decided, pushing the covers back. Moving too suddenly was a mistake, her swimming head told her. Fingers still caught in the edges of the crisp sheet, she gave in to a wave of nausea and lowered her head to the pillow behind her. Head on pillow seemed to trigger the lowering of her eyelids.
    Two minutes , Marlea promised herself. I’m going to keep my eyes closed for two minutes, just until I feel better, then I’ll get to the bottom of this.
    And she saw her feet pacing the distance across the cinder track, could feel the cool breeze prickling the thin sheen of sweat along her neck and shoulders.
    “Runners, take your mark…”
    She approached the start, coiled low, and pressed her heel against the block. Breathing hope, she dropped her head and waited.
    “Get set…”
    The sound of the gunshot freed her. Long legs working with hydraulic precision, her feet ignored gravity. Marlea felt speed and adrenaline pump through her muscled thighs at 100 meters. At 200 meters, all she could hear was her own breathing. Chasing time, riding the wind, she barely saw the competition. Breath pulled tight through her nose and rushed out past her open lips. Her mouth felt dry, her lips were parched, but her legs felt as though she could run for an eternity.
    “…Marlea Kellogg…”
    It seemed she heard her name in the distance. She couldn’t remember the finish line, and her head ached with the effort of trying to hear…
    “Ah, you’re awake. I just wanted to check on you before I left for the night.”
    “Awake,” she echoed dully. But I was running. How? Her weary thoughts tried to balance logic. The race