He was once awakened by a woman’s voice in the deepest hour of night. She asked, “Are you cold?” He was too inebriated by dream melt to register whether the voice was interior, a mere nocturnal hallucination, or spoken aloud by an intruder in his bedroom. But he was jostled enough to turn over onto his right side, away from the comfort of a solid wall and toward what felt chillingly like a voice touch. It seemed to him, oddly in that moment between coma and consciousness, that the question had nothing to do with care; rather, it was asserting, as people often do, “I’m cold, how about you? Do you mind cranking up the heat?” Something about this tension impelled his eyes to open, haltingly, and there she was.