“That’s very good. I’ll prep the OR for a procedure tomorrow to repair the damage. You may need to wear glasses for the rest of your life,” Dr. Piner says.
I take a deep sigh, and pain ratchets through my body. I moan and try to wrap my arms across myself, but they’re restrained to the bed. “Can I be unrestrained?” I ask.
“Of course. That was for your protection. The nurses noticed you were moving around as you came out of the coma, and they didn’t want you to injure yourself further,” Dr. Krusher says.
Through my narrow vision, I watch as a nurse immediately appears to remove the soft cuffs from my wrists.
I lift both of my arms carefully. They’re wrapped in bandages, one encased in a brace, with tubes and wires snaking along for IVs and monitors. I close my eyes, trying to picture in my mind’s eye what my arms looked like before and what they might look like now with burns and other damage.
As I lower my arms, I can’t stop the tears from falling onto the gauze covering my face, making it damp. I hear movement on the side where Maisy is, but I don’t want to open my eyes. Do I want to live like this? I wanted to save myself, but I’ve lost so much. Who I was before and even what I looked like.
“I’m going to gently wipe your eyes,” Maisy says as her voice cracks with emotion.
When she leans close, I open my eyes. I can barely make her out. It’s like Snow White is leaning over me. Her hair is black as a raven’s wing, her skin milky pale, but it’s her eyes that pull me in. They’re a soft icy blue, like a glacier, but not cold. There’s warmth in them, a kindness she exudes. It’s as if she understands me and truly wants to help.
Maybe I should trust her. She’s all I have right now. Her red lips tip up in a soft smile, almost a grimace, as the washcloth comes between us.
She gently dabs near my eyes. I try not to make a sound, though every touch sends a ripple of pain through me. A soft beep comes from one of the machines as the pain meds are administered. A sick thought rolls through my mind. If I had access to that controller, I could keep pumping the medication into my body until I don’t feel anything anymore. I could slip into oblivion, fade away into nothing. Really die and let go for good this time.
Finally free.
“Death isn’t the answer,” Maisy says so softly I barely hear her. “Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s why I was out there. I have to help others.”
I don’t hear anything else as the drugs pull me under.
Chapter Two
Titan
No one knows I’m here. I’m on an assignment for my employer down in Portland. When I heard about a Jane Doe showing up at a local hospital, I knew I had to check if it was her. Using the badge I carry for my job, I’m able to get past hospital security. After an incident a few months ago in Alaska, where I now live, the head of our covert unit got us badges and shields. We aren’t officially part of the NSA but work through them, so we can state that when necessary. Most of the time, we don’t clarify who we are and just use the official government business line.
There are no guards on her door in the ICU. Maybe this isn’t my girl. Maybe they don’t know she was sold to a human trafficker. Or that she is missing from Alaska.
It took only one look for me to know Stormy was meant to be mine. Her pale sky-blue eyes and vibrant purple hair called to my soul. For the first time in years, my heart beats faster for something other than the thrill of the chase, a ride, or the hunt. That one moment sealed my fate.
I quietly slip into the room. The patient in the bed has gauze covering one wrist and a brace on the other arm. One leg is exposed, also in a brace. Her head and eyes are covered with gauze padding. What did she go through? It must have been terrifying.
She senses me instantly, and her body tightens.
“Who’s there?” she asks, her voice scratchy.
“NSA,” I answer, keeping it official since she can’t see me. “We’re investigating a human trafficker. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to you and maybe help me. I’m looking for someone.”
Her fingers start fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, and I watch as she cringes back slightly. I need to calm her. I can’t see the color of her hair beneath the gauze, so I move closer and spot strands of medium-blond hair.
“Don’t be afraid. Can I call you Jane? You can call me Atlas.” I give her my real first name, not my road name.
“Everyone else calls me Jane.”
“Do you know what your name is?”
I pull out a chair that screeches along the linoleum floor and fold my six-foot-two frame into it. There are days I wish I didn’t still have humanity and morals, so I could hack her medical records, confirm everything she tells me, and maybe find hints as to who she is.
“No. I don’t remember who I am. Maisy said she found me in a park like this. Detectives have been coming every day since I woke up six days ago, asking me questions. I’m starting to think they’re drilling me, expecting me to admit I did this to myself.”
Without thinking, I reach out and touch her arm. She cringes back, and a groan of pain escapes her.
“I’m so sorry. I was just trying to offer you some comfort. I didn’t even think. Please accept my apology.” Something about this tiny woman makes me want to protect her. I don’t know if it’s Stormy, but why else would I react like this?
