With a sudden, gasping inhalation, Chrissy wakes up. Her body lurches with it, torso lifting off the ground, and the remnants of a scream tear out of her throat, a sound she didn't know she could still make. He's still close, too close, and she wants to pull away, to get herself free —

Only it's not him at all. Eddie Munson is kneeling over her, hands at her shoulders, and even as part of her doesn't trust any of her own senses right now, she doesn't think she's ever been so glad to see anyone in her life. "Eddie?" she asks, her voice small and weak. She can't even bring herself to be embarrassed by how she sounds, at least not yet, or by the fact that there are tears in her eyes again, a hitch in her breath that comes out as a tiny sob.

Rather than pulling away, now, instead, her instinct is to move closer, hands clutching at his shirt like a lifeline, like he's the only thing keeping her from whatever awful fate she just narrowly escaped. If this isn't real either, then at least it's better by far than the rest of what she's been seeing. At least, for a few moments, until one or both of them comes to their senses or everything distorts again, she can feel something resembling safe.