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May 15, 2001 Outside of Atlanta The light from the sun as it came through the window was so bright that it seemed to almost possess weight. It washed out everything else in the room. Thatcher could not make out the details of any objects beyond the foot of his bed. Furthermore, a groggy feeling of detachment overwhelmed him. The sense was similar to floating on water, where there was nothing solid for him to hold on to. He tried to get up for a moment but just could not summon the energy to move. Rolling his head to his left, he saw an IV plugged into his arm. “A hospital, I’m in a hospital,” he said aloud. His voice sounded strange and distant. He looked again at his arm. It was covered in bruises and bandages. The memory of all the pain that he had endured was
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