Slowly, I slipped out of bed, wishing that they gave me more than an uncomfortable hospital gown to wear, and settled into the wheelchair, wincing as the man strapped my ankles and wrists to it.
From there, I couldn’t see his face, so if he said anything I didn’t know it as we moved through the maze of cold, sterile hallways to the room that I had quickly learned to dread.
It looked like an operating room in some kind of soap opera, three metal tables underneath the brightest lights imaginable and several long trays full of tools that I hoped would never be used on me.
This part of my new daily routine was the most confusing as I was unstrapped from the chair and led to the center table.
Assistants appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, helping me up onto the table and settling a warm blanket over my body in an almost loving manner as my arms were left bare, resting flat on either side of me.
Next, a needle was placed in one of my arms, connected to a long, clear tube. Blood immediately began to filter down the tubes, making me feel dizzy and cold as the man continued toget ready. The room around me vibrated dully, telling me that he must have been listening to something as his assistants helped him dress in a smock and pulled long blue nitrile gloves over his hands.
Then he turned to me, a mask over his face, making it impossible for me to understand anything if he said it to me. His eyes crinkled in the corners and I knew he was smiling at me.
A shiver rippled down my spine and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out whatever came next.
I had no idea what he was doing because the loss of blood was starting to make me feel dizzy and as the faint feeling grew stronger, another needle slipped under the skin of my other arm.
This time an almost burning warmth filled me as I felt my insides seem to twist in response to whatever he was doing. A gasp of pain left my lips and I felt someone give me a pat as I fainted, just as I had the last two days.
Later, when I awoke again, I quickly realized that the cell next to me was now occupied.
A familiar redhead was sitting up and facing away from me.
Reaching out, I knocked on the thick plastic, making her jump and whirl around to face me.
I could hardly believe what I was seeing as I stared at her.
Peregrine Chandler’s wide, gray eyes met mine as her pink lips opened to form my name.
The last time I had seen her, I’d hated her with every fiber of my being. She had walked down the aisle to a wedding that I had dreamed about in secret for years.
That day I could have clawed her eyes out, but now? Now I was just relieved to see a familiar face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her lips moving almost too fast for me to catch each word.
I lifted my stiff, bruised hands that had been curled into tight fists from the earlier pain and tried to sign to her—to explain my story.
She waved her hand quickly in front of my face before talking too fast for me to keep up. “I’m sorry—don’t know—read lips?”
I sighed. Most people didn’t talk to me at all, but the ones who did were familiar with sign language.
I nodded and gestured for her to talk slowly with my hand.
“Where are we?” she asked much slower this time.
I tried to figure out the best way to respond to her. I could mouth words back, but Peregrine hadn’t spent her entire life lip reading, so the chances of her being able to understand me were slim. There also wasn’t much in my plastic cell other than my cot, a toilet that I only used in an emergency, and a sink.
Staring at where my hand was resting on the cold plastic, I realized that condensation was gathering around my palm and an idea came to me.
Leaning forward, I breathed on the wall and quickly wrote my response, trying to be as brief as possible.
‘Russians,’I had to erase in order to write the next part.‘Took 2 days ago.’
Peregrine seemed shocked about it, her eyes widening even more. “Two days? Have I been here for two days?”
I shook my head, quickly growing frustrated with how stilted this conversation was. Elio, Dante, Ranieri, or Nicolo would have understood it immediately and been able to sign back. I’d taken just a gift for granted before now and I regretted it.
I should have gotten over my stupid pride and talked to them after their failed wedding because now I was worried I’d never get the chance.
