The Scarlet Dagger (The Red Sector Chronicles, #1)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There are no words to describe the sensation of being reborn. Your skin feels like fire and ice all at once, the venom of the bite like honey in your veins. Then you feel nothing, and you’re floating along, somewhere between life and death, until a little ball of warmth, like your own personal sun, sparks to life deep within you. The warmth spreads through your core, down to your fingers and toes, until you’re cradled by sunshine. And then the light goes out and you’re left alone in darkness.

***

One by one, sounds trickled into my head.

Somewhere to my left was an incessant beeping. It was steady, sounding the same pitch every time, and a hazy image floated across my mind.

It’s a heart monitor.

I tried to open my eyes, but they felt swollen shut. I reached out with my mind to the rest of my body. My limbs were far too heavy, like I was made of cement. My legs felt bare. I managed to wriggle a toe and then a finger, tracing coarse fabric. I was lying on something lumpy, with my neck supported by a fluffy bump.

A mattress, a pillow… I’m on a bed.

More curious than ever, I pried my eyes open. Everything was a blur and much too bright. Blinding white lights overlooked me, glaring down on me as if I was lying right under the sun. Dust particles floated on the air, sparkling like diamonds. There was a buzzing in my ears that I wasn’t aware of when I had my eyes closed. My eardrums tingled like I had been at a rock concert without any ear plugs.

Slowly, I picked up other sounds; the trickling of an IV; the low hum of a television; the sharp clip-clop of approaching heels, accompanied by a sultry, French-accented voice.

“She’s coming around,” the woman said, though “she” sounded more like “zee.”

A dark blur appeared above me, shining a light into my eyes. I hissed and shrank away. “Where am I?” I croaked. My voice sounded like I had swallowed broken glass.

Just as I was about to demand she turn off that damnable light, it vanished. The blur-woman disappeared behind the spots firing before my eyes, not saying anything. I heard her scribble something on a piece of paper, so rough it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I ground my teeth together and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sound. Why were my ears and eyes so sensitive? I had migraines sometimes, but they were never this excruciating. I tried hard to remember what had happened but kept drawing a blank.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the French woman said sarcastically. “Does that bother you?”

I looked to my right. My vision was beginning to clear, and I could make out the tall frame of a young woman who appeared to be in her mid twenties. She removed a stethoscope from around her neck. “I forgot how disorienting it can all be. I’ll try to be more considerate.” She gave me a fake smile, pressing the cold metal a little too hard against my sore chest. 

I immediately decided I didn’t like her. She seemed awfully hostile for a doctor. “Who are you, and where am I? What happened?”

She straightened, pulling away her stethoscope. “I’m Dr. Paris De Lange.” She whipped out a board and wrote something on it. “And you’re in a hospital.”

I looked around. The walls were cinderblock, and all the wiring was sticking out, giving it a crude appearance. The bed was basically a cot, and the only chair in the room looked ancient, like whoever had assembled the place had done so in a hurry, as more of an afterthought.

More like a dungeon than a hospital. “Why am I here?”

Paris moved to check my IV and heart monitor, ignoring me. The mist in my eyes was slowly disappearing, allowing me to see more details.