Yes, Harker thought, I'm waking up. Returning to the blurred world I left behind so long ago.
He was still bound to that world. It would not release its grip on him. It wanted him, was calling him.
Recalled to life!
With a sudden convulsive moan and whimper, Harker woke.
His mouth tasted cottony, and at first his eyes would not focus. Gradually the world took shape about him. He saw three faces hovering above the bed in which he lay; behind them were green electroluminescent hospital walls, broken by a window through which warm summer sunshine streamed in. Yes, he thought. Recalled life. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
He matched faces with identities. The squarish face badly in need of a shave—that belonged to Mart Raymond. The oval one, tinged by blonde hair shading into gray—that face belonged to Lois. And the other, the lean ascetic rectangle of a face, that was owned by Father Carteret.
Harker said, "I guess it worked. Where am I?" His voice was hoarse and rusty-sounding, like a musical instrument long neglected.
Mart Raymond said, "It worked beautifully. You're in Newark General Hospital. You've been here in anesthetic coma for two weeks. Ever since the operation."
Two weeks, Harker thought. It seemed like two minutes ago that Vogel had lowered the anesthesia cone over his face.