A syncopated rhythm rattled Grace's skull, pulled her step by shuddering step back to consciousness. Waking up surprised her in and of itself. The last she remembered, the ocean dragged her down into the depths, hammering her against the bottom before burying her under all the unimaginable tons of water in the Zhujiang river estuary. Now her head pounded with every mistimed beat of her heart, that problematic organ thumping away just a touch behind the rhythm of the world.

She kept her eyes closed and listened, hoping for some clue as to why she hadn't died. She might even find a clue where she'd slept, or who had changed her from her skirt and blouse into soft, dry pajamas. Soft yet insistent electronic beeps pinged through the room from half a dozen different locations. Eight tiny electric fans filled the room with the soft susurration of air currents too soft to feel, with one larger brother distanced from her by a long, convoluted square metal tube.

A woman interrupted Grace's auditory examination of the room; cloth rustled and springs squeaked as she rolled over in her sleep. Her breathing settled down once more, no louder than the small fans or the beeping, but now that Grace thought to listen for it, she heard slight groans of pain with every breath.

A hospital? Not unless the price tag hovered higher than any she'd ever been in. Absolutely none of the sounds of nursing staff going about their daily business filtered into the room, which meant either no such staff existed, or the walls blocked such noises out. Grace had never visited a hospital with that level of soundproofing. Of course, an expensive care facility would explain why she didn't rate a private room.

She lay there, listening to the quiet, repetitive sounds fill the room, hoping they would carry her off to sleep once more. Her head wouldn't pound like this if she didn't need rest. For that matter, she shouldn't be noticing how her heart didn't beat when it should. Thoughts of why her heart logically couldn't be exactly three quarters of a second late each and every beat filled her head, and she finally gave up on sleep.

She cracked her eyes, immediately grateful to whichever kind soul had turned the lights down to a single nightlight. Even that tiny spark lanced straight into her brain, setting the syncopated drumbeats on fire. Forcing her eyes to stay open despite the pain, she pushed herself up on unsteady arms, looking for an exit. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm on her skull; blank cinderblock walls, institutional gray, not in the least hidden or decorated by a few unfamiliar pieces of medical equipment.

The lights came up as she rose, indirect lighting set against the ceiling. She swung her head around, looking frantically for the light switch, terrified she'd see nothing but a blank, padlocked door. Her terror faded to irrelevance when she looked upon the face of an angel.

The raven-haired beauty lay on her belly, half covered by a sheet so thin it clung to her like wet paint. Broad shoulders, almost too strong to be feminine, shifted, and Grace lay fascinated by the interplay of muscles under the skin of the woman's back. The blanket slipped down, and the lights followed it.

"I'm sorry," a woman's voice whispered in her ear, "I roomed you together because waking in an empty room after an extended period of unconsciousness can be traumatic, and we didn't have the spare hands to babysit either of you right now. Unfortunately, I didn't realize my assistant hadn't dressed your roommate." The woman hissed those last words, and Grace caught the telltale static of an ear bud microphone.

A moment later, an older man's voice, quiet with distance from the mic, confirmed Grace's suspicion. "I'm sorry, Doc, but I didn't pick Drew up with a sheet of plywood because I thought she had cooties. I dumped her in the bed, poked her once with the scanner, without looking, flipped a sheet over her and got out of Dodge."

Grace scrabbled at her hair. She didn't find the ear bud until she ran her fingers through the hair behind her ear. She unclipped the barrette and brought it around in front of her. The unknown man and woman hadn't stopped arguing.

"She's already going to go ballistic when she wakes up. You think she's going to be in a better mood if she winds up naked and filthy from the explosion?"

"Hey, I walked her and the sheet of plywood through a car wash."

Not a bit mollified, the woman continued. "She's still developing. Worse, I can no longer get samples from her."

A younger man, equally distant from the microphone, broke in, "Hey, I'll go get some fluid samples for you."

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Shut up, Steve," both of the previous speakers chorused. After a few moments of the two men arguing unintelligibly as they moved away from the microphone, the woman spoke to Grace once more.

"I'm sorry about that. They're both far more professional than they sound. I'm on my way to you right now."

Grace considered her words carefully before speaking. " Nǐ hǎo. Zhè shì màikèfēng zhù?" Hello. Is this microphone live?

She barely caught the muttered profanity before the woman answered her. " Nǐ hǎo. Nǐ hái jìde shénme yīngyǔ?"

"Yes, I remember English. Your accent and idiom are terrible." Grace kept her voice low, out of consideration for her angelic roommate's continued sleep.

"Yeah, well, I just learned it about three hours ago after we brought you in. I figured you might be in a fugue when you woke. You're not in a fugue state, are you?"

Grace couldn't help it, a smile crept onto her face. "I wouldn't be able to tell if I was, would I?"

"Well, no, but your response might tell me if you were."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Am I in a fugue state?"

The woman let out a quiet snort of laughter. "I have no idea. I doubt it, but more importantly you're still talking. Keeping you awake and communicating won't hurt at this point. If I'd wanted to deal with patients who can't tell me if something hurts, I'd have been a surgeon. Or a vet."

"Do you have a name?"

"Oh, god, I'm sorry. Uh... just a second. Can you do me a favor, Grace?"

Grace's smile disappeared when she realized she hadn't told the woman her name, but she replied with a simple, "Sure."

"I'm coming into the room. I need you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you otherwise, okay? It's for your own safety, really."

Grace's heart raced once more, setting her head to pounding anew, but she held herself motionless. Trying to attack the woman as she came in would only make things worse. Her path out of captivity would be political and economic, not physical. She closed her eyes, covering them with her hands for good measure.

"Ready when you are."

Light speared through the gaps between her fingers, slipped through her squeezed shut lids, and poked her right in the brain. She squinted harder, but only succeeded in making her head hurt more. Muted thunder rattled her skull as a big piece of thick fabric unfurled. An army blanket, by the sound of it. A moment later the woman spoke again, her voice coming from beyond the angel's bed instead of Grace's ear bud.

"You can open your eyes now." Grace lowered her hands and squinted at the woman moving around to the side of her bed. "I'm Doctor Merilyn."

She stuck out her hand, and Grace gingerly reached out to take it. Merilyn's hands were as strong as Grace's own, but far less calloused. "I'm Grace Chung."

"I know. Of all the weird things I've seen over the last four weeks, finding out Steve is an aficionado of classical music has got to be the most disturbing."

"Steve. The one who offered to get the fluid samples?"

Merilyn's cheeks colored, and she pulled out a small hand flashlight. "You heard that?"

Grace flinched when the doctor leaned in, pointing the light at her eyes. She reacted immediately, pointing the light at the ground. "Headache?"

"Incredibly bad."

"Well, let's get you some aspirin." After a pause where she glanced at the blanket shrouded figure on the other bed, Merilyn continued. "Actually, let's get you out of the room before Midnight decides to kick her covers off again. Do you feel up to walking?"

Grace tried to pull her knees up. Her legs wobbled fiercely, but she hadn't escaped before without an abundance of determination. Inch by inch, she slid her legs sideways until they dangled off the edge of the bed.

"That would be a no, then." Merilyn held out her hands, arms spread and palms up, the posture one would use to lift a child. "Do you mind?"

Grace shook her head, fear clutching at her throat too much to speak. She'd finally slipped the sheet from her own hospital-shift covered body. Her normally thin arms and legs were nearly skeletal. The doctor slid her forearms beneath Grace's thighs and lower back. Grace clung to the woman as she straightened without apparent effort. Without further hesitation, Merilyn walked out of the room into a broad, brightly lit room festooned with medical equipment. Grace shut her eyes and listened to the door close behind them.

"Jack?"

"Yeah, Doc?" Jack whispered from the doctor's ear bud.

"I need you to keep an ear out for Midnight. You don't have to go in if she wakes up, just talk to her through the intercom. Get her to put some clothes on, for god's sake."

"On it, Doc. Jack Hammer out."

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Grace?"

"I have two questions before you medicate me."

She felt the doctor's head turn sharply her way before she spoke. "I'm reconsidering the medication; I think you need fluid and food more than anything. I'm taking you to the cafeteria and getting both into you before we try any drugs."

Grace wanted to leap down and flee, but knew neither would work, if she even had the ability. "Where am I?"

"You're in Blue Bloods headquarters. One of the mostly finished portions, anyhow. Labs, infirmary, and cafeteria all still need to be painted, but the hardware is in place."

"Blue Bloods? What is that? Where are these headquarters?"

"Something tells me that's not your second question. Don't worry, I'll fill you in as best I can until Mr. Morgan is available. Short version, you're in a half-built corporate headquarters about thirty miles southwest of what's left of New York City."

So many questions bursting in her mind like fireworks, but she needed to focus. She firmed her grip around the doctor's neck, braced herself for the worst, and asked the question she'd feared the answer to since she woke.

"Am I free to go?"