The night nurse was coming.
Every night, after midnight, he could hear her tell the other nurse that she was taking her lunch break and the squeak of her shoes down the dark hallway. The break room was across from his room and he could hear the TV being flicked on. The beep of the microwave heating whatever small thing she ate before slipping off her squeak shoes and crossing the hallway to his room.
Tonight was no different. After what he thought was not more than ten minutes she was in his room. A flabby night hag packed into a tight polyester nurses dress uniform. Most of the other nurses wore scrubs these days, brightly colored or patterned. But she wore the one uniform that would make her appear uglier instead of human; or humane.
"Hello Mr.. Wilson, how are you today?" she purred. She knew he was awake. Could sense his fear and disgust, the flash of what little light there was off his eyes as they rolled. "Aren't you looking fine tonight?" She had personally bathed and shaved him earlier. She always did when she intended to visit him. She began to undress, coyly slipping off the dress and the enormous white cotton panties and the functional white bra. Her dugs hung down her chest and she played with the nipples, near her navel, as she crossed to him.
He tried to scream out for help, he tried to ball up his fists. But since the motorcycle accident the only power he had in his still athletic body was the ability to breathe and open and close his eyes. Doctors were hopeful that after the swelling of his spine went down he would recover greatly. They were encouraged by the fact that a lot of his automatic functions were operational. He couldn't tell them verbally but motioned with his eyes yes or no that he had some feeling as well. But he was also, for the moment, paralyzed beyond speech or movement. But by then, when he could tell them of his abuse at her hands, the night hag would have moved on.
