ojandtostitos commented on michimonster's post in blueridgeschool:

It was still dark outside, probably another hour or so before the sun would actually come up, when Tatum woke up, sitting bolt upright in a rather uncomfortable hospital chair. Whatever room she was in, it smelled way too clean and sanitized and just.. medical. She might have been in pre-med, but she liked to think no one enjoyed that hospital smell that always hung around. There was a faint steady beeping, and some other noises from machines around the room, distracting her.

What had she been dreaming out? She couldn't put her finger on it. When she began to look around the room, however, the redhead quickly realized that she had to still be dreaming, or something else was wrong. She felt fine, never better. But she wasn't the only Tatum in the room. Lying in the bed in the middle, hooked up to all of those annoying machines, was a much more haggard version of herself.

She was glad that of body experiences seemed to be painless, because she looked like shit in that bed, like she had a much rougher night. Which was true, of course, as she began to remember everything that went on the previous evening. The wolf, coming to the hospital..

Tatum reached out a hand as she stepped closer to her own bedside, tentatively trying to poke at one of the bandages on her own face. She jumped a little when her hand just kept going, slipping through herself like water. "H-Holy shit," she managed to get out. "I-I'm dead, I'm actually.. I-I'm done," she decided.

What other explanation was there!? Who else could stand outside their own body and put their hands through things. Turning, she tried to pick up a glass of juice from the side table, her hand going right through that too. Her eyes widened, and she tried to turn to face her body again, when she noticed another slightly more familiar figure standing across from her, on the other side of the bed. Now she was sure that she was dead. "F-Frankie?" she managed to sputter out.