The IV drips into a tube running down from the machine. It follows the curve upwards through the rails of the hospital bed, under the starchy white covers, and reaches its final destination through the needle inserted into the arm of the unconscious woman. The coated wires snaking out from the thin, barely blue gown connect to yet another machine beside the bed, emitting a steady rhythm of beeps into the nearly empty room.

As the waning sunlight peeks through the minute space between the faded green curtain panels, a nurse in maroon scrubs steps into the room. He stands next to the hospital bed to perform a quick visual examination of the patient whose care had been a part of his rotation for over a month: her skin and lips the normal hue; the movement of her chest indicating her functioning lungs; and the heavy bandages around her head intact.

He turns his attention to the machines to check the numbers and records the data into the small computer on the side. After a few taps of the keys, he scans through her file for any updates.

Another day without visitors.

He purses his lips together in a quick moment of sincere pity and spares her a concerned glance before walking over to the white board on the wall facing the bed. His crisp capital letters, P-E-R-R-Y, fill the space designated for the nurse on duty.

By the time he exits the room, the day's warm glow has gone, the sliver between the curtains revealing only the dark moonless sky.

Silence makes itself comfortable amidst the usual sounds of the life-signaling machines and the clock, when the room erupts in a violent acceleration of beeps.

Just below the edges of the bandage around her forehead, dark eyelids fly open, uncovering a pair of brilliant blackness that threatens to change into red, then green and blue under the harsh artificial lighting.

Air rushes in through her nose and gaping mouth, scrambling to fill her lungs. The unused muscles in her body scream awake as she sits up and turns her neck to take in her surroundings. She absently tugs off the wires on her chest and yanks the tube from her arm as the mild tones of the room assault her senses.

The abrupt silence is still too loud for her ears, which have already picked up on the frantic footsteps approaching the door.

A man runs into the room, followed by two women in the same maroon and a tall woman in a white coat.

From her position on the bed, she watches with confused detachment as the two women in maroon go to either side of her and hold down her arms while the lone male pins her legs.

With a slight swing of the arm, the nurse on her right goes flying, hitting the machines on the way to the floor.

The nurse on the left and Perry strengthen their hold, unwilling to let go. The doctor prepares a syringe as a trio of security guards crowd into the room. They take their positions around the woman, supplying the two exhausted nurses with much needed support. The doctor goes to her side and grabs her right arm.

Before she can break skin with the metal tip, the woman's eyes burn red. The doctor lets out a small gasp as she releases the syringe from her hand and takes a step backwards. The nurses and security guards follow suit. In the span of a few breaths laced with fear, the room fills with intense heat. The air around them wavers as if the summer sun is directly overhead.

The five humans look to each other. Screams for help would not come, as each breath is fire upon their bodies, the air burning them from inside out.

They collapse onto the floor.

The woman rises out of the bed, her feet firmly touching the warmed tiles. Her legs stretch to their capacity as she takes the few steps to the mirror in the side nook, just beyond the body of one of the maroon clad females, a thin line of blood streaming out of her nose.

Using the reflection as her guide, the woman unwinds the bandage on her head. Once completely removed, she runs her fingers through her short black hair, the part above her right ear a shave shorter. She traces the scar on her otherwise unblemished skin, from the center of her forehead to behind her right ear.

She locks gazes with the pair of black eyes framed under tensed eyebrows. She braces her head in her hands, her brain pounding against her skull as she attempts to remember what happened to her. Where she is. Who she is.

She turns away from the mirror to be met with specks of dust suspended in the air. The pressure in her skull subsides as she directs her attention away from her lost memories and on the wall in front of her.

Under the clock, which ceased its ticking, the white board distorts into temporary oblivion as a whirling sphere of gaseous colors forms in its place.

A short figure emerges from the dark center of the sphere, her dusty silver hair swaying into the sharp angle of her chin as she takes a crisp step into the room. Her black leggings and oversized metallic sweater allow her the freedom to approach the woman in curious silence.

The woman remains by the foot of the bed, her eyes now glistening with an emerald sheen. She presses her fingers into her neck in a futile attempt to soothe the scratchiness as she forces the words out of her mouth. "Who are you?"

The visitor taps her pointer finger lightly on her chin. "The more important question is: who are you?"

The woman's eyes narrow at her answer, growing more red by the second.

Unbothered by this shift, the visitor says, "Follow me." After a quick glance at the bodies on the floor, she spins on her heeled boots and walks back into the sphere.

Without a second's hesitation, the woman follows her into the swirling dark.

***

Thank you for reading Pelonitra: Part 1! I apologize for all the headhopping point-of-view shifts. There is more of this in Part 2, but it was done purposefully... :P

For readers who've found their way here from my book of snippets, maybe the visitor in the end of this Part 1 seems familiar? Who could it be?!

See you in Part 2!

P.S. Come check out the prequel snippets ("The Lunar" microseries) in my book That's All I Have to Say for Now :)