Everything hurts. I can't understand why. I'm asleep, I shouldn't be hurting. But I am. Everything is throbbing dully, as though I have been in pain for much longer than this.

I open my eyes to find myself in a strange room. Panic accelerates my heart. Where am I? Why am I here? I want to believe that this is a hospital room, that that's where I am. But the room feels off. My only exit right now looks to be an automatic sliding door. I don't think any hospitals have those kinds of doors just yet.

Have I been in a coma for so long that technology has advanced that fast? At this point, it could be very possible. I could be in a different year right now and not even know it. Or, I can go with a more out-there theory—I've been abducted by aliens.

I turn my head slowly to see tubes hooked into me. I look away instantly; I'm not a fan of having things inside of me that are associated with the medical field. Blips and beeps tell me I'm being monitored.

I don't understand why I'm here. What happened that caused me to end up here, in a strange hospital that doesn't seem like one? Somebody can give me answers, surely, but do I want them?

I know for a fact that I'm not dead. If I was, I definitely wouldn't wake up in a bed with railings attached. It's slightly comforting to know that I'm not restrained to the bed, so that rules out an asylum...sort of. But I know I'm not crazy. People usually know if they're sane or not...

Don't they?

I know I'll have authorities on me for this, but I have to get out of here. Some deep part of me tells me that this isn't where I want to be, that something isn't right with where I'm at.

As fluidly as possible, I yank out all the tubes and everything that's stuck inside my body. I find my glasses on a small table before I grab them and adjust them on my face. It's so much better to take in details now.

I get out of the bed a little slower than I would like thanks to my body aches. The worst pounding is in my legs and around my abdomen. With my breaths running fast, I feel slight pain.

What the hell happened to me?

I creep cautiously to the slide door, looking around suspiciously before finding my ticket out. I push the button, and the door moves out of my way. I tiptoe out, seeing that the outside is much different than inside my room. The halls are darker and more technological looking. I've got two directions to go, and I choose right.

I don't run; I walk collectively as though I'm perfectly okay with being in a strange place in a strange hospital gown. I'm fully aware that the gown I'm wearing actually covers my ass, which is nice; I don't want any perverts getting a good glimpse of me from behind.

My hands go to my ribs when I inhale or exhale deeply. My stomach, on top of everything else, growls at me. On top of being in pain, having no idea where the hell I am, I'm starving too.

I freeze when two figures come my way in the distance. I try to think up my next move when they both see me. I do the most logical thing I know: I run away from them.

"Cut her off!" one of the women yells, to whom, I don't know.

I run past my room only to find someone else coming for me in the other direction. I begin to hyperventilate, seeing as how both of my paths are blocked. They're herding me, I realize. Did they know I was trying to make a break? Are there cameras in that room? Are there cameras in these halls? My head starts to pound from over-worrying. They want to make this as peaceful as possible. Don't know if I want to do that.

I find myself retreating to the door, seeing that it won't open. I see why: it requires a handprint for access, and I highly doubt the patient's handprint counts.

My pursuers walk calmly my way from both angles, all of them women. None of them wear the appropriate doctor or nurse attire.

I'm beginning to think that this isn't a hospital.

"We don't have to get violent," says the one woman with raven-dark hair that's pulled back into a rather neat bun. "Just let us put you back in your room." She's wearing some kind of uniform, a dark navy color that has some sort of patch on one of her shoulders. Something that resembles a bird. A hawk? Eagle? I'm not sure.

"I want answers!" I demand weakly.

"You'll get them, just cooperate with us," says the second woman, whose hair is an alarming shade of red-orange. It's pulled back into a slick ponytail behind her head. She, like the first woman, is wearing the same kind of uniform.

I shy away from the raven-haired woman as she puts her hand on the scanner. We all wait a moment before the door opens behind me. The three women herd me back into the room. I guess I'll fight my way out.

As they continue to make me backpedal towards the bed, my mind is conjuring up escape plans. I really don't want to have to hurt any of these women, but I want out. Even though I want answers, I feel like I won't get them from these three.

Once I'm backed close to something useful, I take it. I hold out the long pole that has a monitor attached, using it to keep the women back. They all watch me with guarded eyes, especially the redhead. The third woman, whose hair is a golden blonde, is the closest to me.

"Put it down," the dark-haired woman commands of me.

"Back away!" I shout in hysterics. "I will use this!"

"We know you want answers," says the blonde. "Put down the monitor, and we'll give you what you want."

When she edges closer, I swing the monitor at her. I chip her abdomen, and she stumbles backwards. There's something I catch in her eyes, something that I don't understand. Why does she look pitiful towards me?

I'm blindsided by the other two women. I screech loudly, thrashing despite how much pain I'm in. I elbow them in their breasts, hoping that it hurts like a bitch. I knock my body against theirs so that I can jostle myself free. But these women overpower me and have me back in the hospital bed. Each of them restrains me by my arms.

"Help!" I cry. "Somebody help me! Get off me! Whatever you want, I don't have!"

"Just calm down," says the blonde.

"Are you going to kill me? Are you assassins?" I shoot.

"No."

"Am I in the nuthouse?" I pale at the thought.

"You might end up there if you don't settle down."

"I don't know what I've done to deserve this!" I continue my struggle.

"Listen. To. Me."

For some reason, the blonde's words make me stop struggling. My restraints still hold even though I stop fighting.

The blonde has her arms crossed over her chest, and she looks me dead in the eyes. "We're not here to kill you; we're here to help you."

I scoff. "Prove it."

"Tell us a few things first, and then we'll prove it. Deal?"

I ponder the proposal for a second. "Deal."

"What's your name?"

"Are you serious?"

"Answer me."

"Fine, fine. Danielle Finley."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Birthday?"

"Why do you want to know?" I retort.

The blonde's eyes narrow. "Just answer the question."

"June seventh, nineteen eighty-seven."

"Birthplace?"

"San Francisco, California." My brows come together. "What's this all about? If you've got me here, surely you would already have all that basic information."

"We do. I'm testing you."

"Why?"

The blonde sighs. "You're in here because we saved you from a sticky situation. We're trying to see how much you remember."

"Are you saying that I was in an accident?"

"Yes. We rescued you, but you were unconscious at the time. You received a decent blow to the head."

What did I lose, then? I know all my basic information. What are they searching for? "Okay...?"

"Does this"—she points to the symbol on one of her shoulders—"mean anything to you?"

I shake my head. "Never seen it until today."

The blonde looks at her counterparts with a grave expression. I steal a glance at the three women. There's something they're not telling me, I know it.

"We should've expected it," says the redhead. "With the way he found her, it's a miracle she remembers what she said."

"Who found me?" I question.

"You'll have plenty of time to ask questions," says the raven-haired woman. "But for now, we need you to trust us when we say that you need to stay in here."

"Why should I?"

"We saved your life, that's a good enough reason." Her expression hardens. "Just note that if you try to run away, we'll have people bring you back here."

"So...I'm not really in a hospital?"

"You're in our infirmary area," says the blonde. "Don't worry; we've got nurses and a doctor that will do rounds to check in on you. Looks like they'll have to rewrap your head."

"There's nothing on my head."

"You didn't check, Ms. Finley. I can assure you you've got bandages on you."

"Take me home," I demand.

"We can't."

"Why not?" I scowl.

"We'll tell you when you're ready." With a look to the other two, the blonde and her companions begin to leave.

"Are you sure we want to leave her without restraints?" asks the redhead. She barely whispers it, but somehow I manage to catch it. "What if she tries to run off again?"

"We've got to have faith in her, Tasha," the blonde murmurs right back. "She'll have to realize that she's got no choice but to listen to us. And you know as well as I do that she can't run away, she'd have nowhere to go but down."

Nowhere to go but down? What the hell does that mean? I am a little surprised that they haven't called nurses on me to tie me down to the bed.

My stomach roars at me again. I should have asked if I could get some food.