The Blood In the Beginning (7 page)

I became aware of an incessant beeping. It bore into my head. My lids were stuck together, the left in particular, but when they finally opened, a black monitor with squiggly green lines came into focus.
Electrocardiogram?
Fear washed over me and for a moment I was back in CHI Tech, curled up tight, a helpless kid in the midst of a scientific horror house. The panic threatened to overwhelm until I looked at my wrist. It blurred out.
When did I lose my contacts?
I couldn't read the details, but I knew the difference between a plastic ID and a metal restraining band — the latter being standard CHI Tech issue. I held my arm at just the right distance and made out the words.
LA South General.
So … hospital. I took a few calming breaths. Written beneath could easily be Ava Sykes.

As a kid in the Aftermath, I'd been a ward of the State, tossed from foster home to foster home, and finally handed over to CHI Tech, the Centre for Health Investigations and Technology. I promise,
investigations
is a misnomer. They were experimenting on us; me and about a hundred other homeless kids were subject to things I wish I could forget. When my cellmate died, I took her ID and broke out. Been flying under the radar ever since. I couldn't have been the only one who celebrated when the LA branch of CHI Tech was gutted by fire. Was it my fault it happened the same night I escaped? Once free, I'd sworn never to be a victim again, but here I was, plugged into monitors, no idea what day it was or why I was here.
What the hell happened to me?
I forced myself to evaluate the situation, rather than panicking, starting with my stats.

I could read the heart monitor, a benefit of my science education plus an ex-boyfriend — and still good friend — who was also in pre-med. I quizzed Tom on everything. Who knew it would come in handy in such a personal way? I located my P wave, the lowest of the peaks. It looked good. My heart muscle was contracting every second; R wave spiking up, also good. Short downward S wave; predictable. The QRS complex showed all were within normal range. The T wave following meant perfect relaxing of the heart. Okay. Good enough. Time to make a move.

Curtains were drawn around the bed, my clothes nowhere in sight. I pushed down the covers, which gave me pause. I wasn't wearing anything more than an oversized paper towel. Maybe I could find some scrubs. In the back of my mind, there was something I had to remember, like an itch I wanted to scratch, but for the life of me, I couldn't reach it.
How did I end up here?
I couldn't recall a thing.

I went to throw back the covers the rest of the way only to find my right arm strapped to my chest.
Looks like my shoulder popped out.
I must have slept through the fix. A few fractured images flashed in my head. On second thought, maybe I didn't sleep through it. I might even have to apologise to someone, or something. I had uncanny strength when in a rage. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet found the floor and I stood up. Bad choice. The room whirled at the speed of light.

‘Steady there, Ms Sykes.' A nurse in blue scrubs stood before me, a lanky, Monet-blur of a dude. He tucked me back into bed.

My throat felt so dry, I could hardly talk. ‘Can I have a drink?'

He pointed to a saline drip above my head and an empty blood bag. ‘Sorry, Ava. NPO. It means …'

Latin for ‘nothing by mouth'. I know.
‘What happened?'

He nodded at the wall. It was a floating cloud without my contacts, but the plaster and the brick behind it did cave in at about elbow height. Cracks spread out from the epicentre, reaching to the ceiling. It wasn't exactly what I had asked. ‘Was I admitted with a sledgehammer?'

The nurse chuckled. ‘You'll have to ask Dr Rossi.' He made a note in the file and put it back on the rack.

‘When does she make her rounds?'

‘
He
checks ICU patients, morning and night. He'll be along in a few hours.'

‘I'm in ICU?'

‘If you'd seen yourself when you came in, you wouldn't be asking.'

I closed my eyes and it hit me like a tidal wave. VIP, the walk home, the attack. ‘I need my phone!'

‘Take it easy, Ms Sykes.' He turned an amber-coloured drip wide open with one hand while pinning me down with the other. ‘Breathe.'

‘You don't understand. I have to call Rourke.'

‘Your boyfriend will be notified.'

‘Not my boyfriend. Detective …'

Another nurse appeared. ‘It's alright, Ms Sykes. You rest now,' she said, glancing at my drip, sweat beading on her forehead.

I felt a rush of euphoria run down my limbs. ‘Wait.'

They did, until I couldn't keep my eyes open or lift a finger. Everything went delightfully languid.

I don't know how long I lay in a sedative-induced haze, but when I woke again, I took it real slow before trying to sit up. The hospital room stayed still, even while bending forward to retrieve my chart. Small blessings. It did feel a bit like my brains were sloshing in a jar, but I bore it. Damn, that asshole hit me hard. The stalker's taunts echoed in my head as the horror of the previous night rushed over me. Would he come here? I had to talk to Rourke. I also had to make doubly sure the CHI Tech logo wasn't anywhere on the treatment schedule. I pushed the welling fear back and read my chart. It wasn't easy, without contacts, but I adjusted the distance until blurry lines came into focus, almost.

The police had been notified.
That's good, I guess …
as long as I could talk to Rourke first. It said the cops had picked up an evidence bag, the one containing a thin ribbon they'd cut from my wrist.
A little charm bracelet from my stalker?
I barely remembered that, but his parting gesture after I made it onto the bus stayed crystal clear … so were the images burned into my mind from VIP. Those people chained to walls, looking like they were bleeding out. Daniel had convinced me it was just a performance, but floorshow or not, I had to persuade Cate to stay out of the basement. She was way too sensitive to be immersed in scenes of that kind, no matter what the pay. I planned to make sure she didn't so much as cross a street alone at night. I guess there had been something good about her Joey taxi service after all.

I flipped to the next page, surprised this was my second bag of blood.
I slept through them both?
What a perk. Being transfused was not my favourite thing, for several reasons, none of which I wanted to think about. I read on. The treatments were simple: manual reduction of dislocated R-shoulder, transfusion, fluid therapy, a single intra-muscular jab of long-acting antibiotics, no analgesics, and no more sedatives ordered, once I regained consciousness.
That would be now.
It instilled confidence. Some ER doctors would have sent me straight to the psych ward for observation, if I'd come in swinging, and according to the nurse and the wall, I had. That was … I squinted at the date. It couldn't be right.

Dr Rossi's signature at the bottom was like a relief map of the Sierra Nevada. I couldn't begin to guess his first name, but a picture was forming in my head: short, thin, late fifties, wire-rimmed glasses, bald head and bit of a pot belly. Kind eyes, but small, and close set. A nasally voice. Smart as a whip. With that image in mind, I drifted back to sleep, the treatment chart clutched to my chest. No CHI Tech logo anywhere.

* * *

I woke to liquid rushing in. It was all around me, cold, pounding, like going over a waterfall. My mouth opened to scream and water poured down my throat, into my lungs. I was drowning, soundlessly. Hysterically. Crying for help without voice. It was a familiar feeling, part of the nightmare I had on unconscious speed-dial. After struggling like a maniac, I went catatonic, immobile as the sea consumed me. I sank like a rock.

Colours flashed before my eyes as I adjusted to the aqueous depths. Light was on a new spectrum, surprisingly vivid. The dull shades of mono-green that comprised the basis of my vision burst into dozens of brilliant tones. I saw colours I had no memory of and struggled to name them: wild blues, rainbow chartreuse, yellows beyond description. Was that red? I tried to scream again, maybe this time in excitement, but there was no air. Only water. I went back to fighting for breath with everything I had.

Images flashed in front of my eyes, like a time-lapse geological history of the sea in fast forward. Make that super-fast forward. There were global extinctions, a woolly mammoth being torn to bits by sharks, a whale the length of the Empire State Building, a human child falling into the sea, still alive, kicking, wrapped in chains. He landed on a bed of corals that came to life from his touch. They entwined him and he closed his eyes, smiling as he fell asleep. The chains rusted away to dust as a single word came into my head.
Ma'atta
.

I watched as more children floated gently down toward the tombs, each embraced by the waiting corals. They looked peaceful. Asleep. Then the scene sped even faster. The entombed children matured and rose like naked spectres from the sea bed. On it went, young drifting down, some adults too, all embraced by the coral, all soon to rise, graceful, beautiful, at home in the sea. It distracted me enough to dump some of the fear-crazed thoughts. For a second or two. Then everything blurred into a murky, muddy vision. Once again, I found myself gasping for air.

* * *

Ms Sykes? Are you with us?

I took a few quick breaths, my eyes locked on the man leaning over me. It took a minute before I recognised him. Seat A15.
Shit, another dream?
I frowned, unable to work out how he could possibly be here otherwise. This guy in my bedroom? That's a hook-up I wouldn't forget.

Who are you?

Was it my question, or his?

‘I'm wondering the same thing.' The words slipped out of my mouth.

He didn't respond for some time, but lingered within my range of vision. ‘Do you find that interesting reading, Ms Sykes?' He nodded to the chart I clutched.

Chart?
Of course. Not my bedroom. Hospital. After being beaten to crap by some crazy stalker. I rubbed my wrist and tried to sit up. Was he holding me down?

‘Easy. You're safe now.' His voice was deep and warm, a California accent, with a hint of Eastern Euro base. I wasn't in the space to be this analytical, no matter what my Virgo horoscope said, but the sound ringing in my head when this guy spoke had my attention. It was musical. Alluring. I blinked away the underwater dream and focussed on what was real.
Whoa
… A15 looked even better close up. That is, he did when he was the right distance away for me to see him clearly, which was about a foot and a half.
I need my damn contacts!
He stood tall, really tall — six four at least — with those dark almond-shaped eyes that had stared at me in the UCLA lecture hall, a strong jaw, and that wild, windblown hair, a look that didn't go with the lab coat and stethoscope draped around his neck. I shrank back. Too many times, expressionless men, and women, in similar gear had …

You're safe now.

He turned his back and checked my monitors. His words would be comforting, if I believed them.
Stay Zen, let the sedatives wear off completely — along with the hallucinations — and make a run for it.
Meanwhile, I needed a distraction to focus on and decided Dr Rossi could be it. I forced myself to breathe slow and deep when he turned back to me to check my shoulder. His skin was tan and smooth, not a wrinkle. Looked mid-twenties but had to be older, didn't he, to be a senior lecturer with a ‘Dr' in front of his name? He wasn't wearing intern scrubs. I squinted as he leaned over me. His face …
holy wowza.

He raised his brows.

Heat flushed over me. Had I said that aloud? I didn't think so … but he'd hear that a lot. This guy was all kinds of gorgeous. I squinted to read his name tag: Dr Miguel Rossi. ‘Miguel, is it? Never would have guessed from your signature.'

I'm glad you're recovered enough to read it.

I pressed my hand to my temple. Maybe I wasn't as healed as I thought. Either I'd just blacked out, or this guy was a ventriloquist.

He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘How old are you?'

‘Twenty-four.'

‘Home address and phone number?'

‘Isn't it on my file?'

He smiled. ‘Sure, but I'm trying to ascertain if your brain still works.'

‘Oh.'

‘Favourite colour?'

Normally I would say green as it was mostly what I saw, but my mind jolted back to the underwater dream. ‘Red!' I'd have to talk to someone in neuroscience to see if that was possible, to ‘see' red in my dreams, even though I was colour blind in waking life. What would my reference be?

‘Topic of your presentation last week?' He kept up with the questions.

‘A survey of auto-immune diseases. Insights and analysis from genome-wide association studies.'

He asked a few more questions, then finally said, ‘One of Teern's?'

I drew breath to answer, which seemed to fascinate him for some reason, and then exhaled without saying a word. After a moment's pause, I said, ‘What?' As I spoke, the sea dragged me down again.

It was quieter this time. I could see forever, an entirely aquatic view. Whale songs echoed in the distance. Shimmering fish darted by. I sank, and the bottom came up fast, a patchwork of deep blues and black, edged with tracks of white sand. Suddenly the world snapped into super-sharp focus, revealing a rugged seascape teeming with life. It was like my eyes had a zoom lens that kicked in wherever I looked. Schools of yellow, black and silver-blue fish shot away from me. Blazes of purple coralline algae waved back and forth in the current, and a velvet gold backdrop of bull kelp rippled like streamers in a light breeze. Then a shadow crossed overhead and the fear crept back.

I looked up, and a ton of water weighed down on me. The corner of my mind that remained sane assured me it was a dream.
This isn't real.
A school of manta rays pumped their graceful wings up and down as they flew by in slow motion, their creamy white underbellies showing off rows of gill slits that looked like emaciated ribs. I had to remind myself that these giants didn't eat people. I'd done a semester of marine bio. I knew where I sat on the food chain. In this environment, it was definitely not on top. A long arm of kelp wafted in front of my face. I held on, like a boat to an anchor, so I wouldn't be swept away.
Like ‘away' would be any worse?
I spun in circles, stopping at twelve o'clock.
What the hell? A temple?
A rush of cold current thrust me into the middle of the ruins.
Not a temple.
It was a sunken graveyard with rows of tombs. I tried to dart away. Damn, I needed to learn how to swim!