The first thing he noticed after struggling back to consciousness was the lack of tiredness. It seemed that feeling which had haunted him for decades was finally gone. Then a more troubling thought came to mind, what if he was really dead? That the experiment had failed. All the things he had done in life scrolled through his mind and notions from his Catholic upbringing that he scoffed at suddenly frightened him.

Then his other senses started to report in. With each breath his nose picked up typical hospital smells along with, he sniffs again, lilacs? Perhaps there are some in the room he thinks. Next his hearing tells him fewer machines are around his bed making noises, in fact it seems his hearing is sharper than it has been in years because he can hear sneakered feet outside his door. A nurse probably.

He starts to relax, obviously the afterlife would not make him stay in the hospital. So he opens his eyes and feels his eyelids flutter. Just to see a typical drop ceiling though none of the tiles show any age or stains. His mind puzzles over the fact that it seems his color perception has changed but he is not sure.

Next he takes a deep breath and is amazed at well he feels. Then he notices a certain heaviness to his body but he shrugs it off as just some lingering effect. All he wants to do is savor feeling healthy again. Without moving his head, he glances around and that is when he notices the seated visitor to his left. He glimpses a man, lean and of middle years in a gray business suit and a face that he remembers meeting before in relation to the experiment.

"Ah you are awake, we were worried." The accent is typical south Boston.

He turns his head to get a better look and receives another surprise as honey blond hair obscures his view. Without thinking he brushes it away with a hand while wondering where did all this hair come from.

"Excellent motor control. You are adjusting well." With a very clinical tone. He thinks this guy has to be one of the doctors who came up with the process.

"How," is all he croaks as he finds his throat feels like the Mojave.

The man finally stands up, reaches for the pitcher on the little table, pours out a glass of water that he hands over. "Take a sip, you have been out awhile and are on IVs."

The patient reaches out and takes hold of the glass. It feels cool to the touch and the water tastes like nectar as he drinks and feels it sooth his throat. The sight of his hand is strange, but he expects that from this process and ignores it as he ignores other odd sensations that he chalks up to adjusting.

"It has been two days since your funeral. It was a spectacular event, even the President of the United States showed up."

That causes the patient in the bed to smile, he can feel his facial muscles smile. And he thinks the President damn well better show up after he handed the office to the man.

After another sip of water he hands the empty glass back to his visitor. "Who am I?" His eyes widen a bit since the voice sounds far higher than the whiskey damaged voice he had, could he now be a teenager? Go through puberty again and high school? He shudders at the thought and hopes its just another glitch. He looks up to see the man's pale blue eyes studying him intently.

The man then does something unexpected, his sits on the side of the bed and takes hold of one of his hands. "Well this is going to be a bit awkward to explain."

He opens his mouth and the man shakes his head to quiet him. "Let me explain."

Giving a brief nod of assent, the man nods in return. "As you know this process required a unanimous vote to be carried out. It is very experimental and in the wrong hands, well you understand."

He is growing impatient as the man seems to beat around the bush or just loves to hear himself talk. "So?"

"Certain stipulations were placed on your operation." He feels his new stomach knot up and shifts his weight, the odd sensations from his body come back but his attention is focused fully on the other man. He decides to squeeze the man's hand to prompt him to continue and finds his grip is weaker than it was. Still the man nods.

"Yes some on the board were very angry with you because of some of your actions. They would not sign off unless their demands were met."

"Why?"

"Why weren't you informed? It was a matter of security we did not want it to leak. And by the time we were 100% positive it would work, you were already too ill to be informed. So we asked a relative for permission."

His fresh stomach turns to a mass of lead and presses against his spine at the mention of relatives. He dreads it being his wife or children. "Who did you ask?"

"None of your immediate family, we asked Caroline and she agreed."

He lets out a breath he had been holding in relief, Caroline was a good choice. As opposed to his children who seem to always finds ways to get into trouble. He sees the man nod again, in satisfaction he guesses.

"Then luck blessed us with a young body with no close relatives. Victim of assault on campus and so traumatized catatonic with no hope of recovery. And when Caroline mentioned to the distant fourth cousin who would pick up the bill if they signed some paperwork, it was done in an hour."

"What was done in an hour?" He hates how high pitched his voice now sounds.

"Caroline became your legal guardian."

Now he blinks in surprise and relief, so he was still part of the family and with time access to the family trusts and wealth. Things are starting to look better for him he thinks. Still he is worried about who else knows the secret. "Who else knows besides Caroline?"

Again he gets that patented saccharine doctor smile. "No one else in your family."

Now he decides it is time to ask the important question. "So who am I?"

"Well you are now 22 years of age. Sophomore in political-science and French at Brown. Born in Tuscon, Arizona. Both parents dead and no siblings."

As the man rolls of those statistics he thinks it all sounds very good, but still what were those conditions, that still causes his gut to clench. "So what's the catch?"

He knew it, something really stinks as the man looks away for a second before smiling again and holding his hand in his larger rougher hand. When did his hand become so small and his skin so sensitive?

"There are no catches, you are perfectly healthy with no obvious genetic abnormalities young woman."

That is when his whole world falls out from under him and turns into a beckoning chasm. He gasps and barely mutters one word while making it sound like a curse. "Woman?"

"Well yes, as I said certain members of the decision board were quite wroth with you and your past actions." The man smiles again trying to reassure, but it is lost on the patient.

For that is when Ted Kennedy finally looks down at his body and sees these huge twin peaks poking up from under the blankets that are covering his body. He suddenly knew with certainty he was in Hell. And that is when he screamed before passing out.