The rhythmic beeping of the machine next to me is both simultaneously irritating yet comforting. I never want to hear the beep again but the consistency of the sound also gives me something to hold onto. Especially during these sleepless nights.

The curtains are drawn and the only light I have is the red flashes from the same machine beeping beside me. Visiting hours ended a while ago so my friends have left, but I’m not alone. The other patients I share the room with are asleep, no one else being awake at three in the morning. Some get woken up regularly for medicine, the nurses being as quiet as a breath and carefully avoiding waking anyone else up. My last nurse came at one and I’ve been awake since. My brain can’t seem to shut up, and instead of fighting it I’ve just made my peace with the fact, letting my thoughts run wild.

My self created peace is briefly interrupted when the patient next to me starts to sleep talk.

“It wasn’t me… she isn’t… dead…”

Though the words were mumbled I still snap to attention. It could be nothing, a lucid dream, or it could be something completely relevant.

I sit through the rest of the night with my brain repeating the same question.

Who did he kill?