Cold, callous light pierced my safe abyss.

I fought against the insistent invasion, trying to hide deeper in the darkness, but it was pointless. The light cared nothing for my desire for oblivion. Bit by bit, it forced me wider and wider awake until I swam into consciousness.

Dim lights illuminated the white, antiseptic walls surrounding me. A machine I could not see beeped with a steady rhythm. Starchy sheets covered me, but I was cold. The chemical scent of high strength cleaners was everywhere. Everything felt muted and distant, like I was not fully there. My body was torpid and unresponsive.

I couldn’t move my arms.

Everything felt disconnected and distant, as though my mind and body weren’t entirely connected anymore: must have been some heavy drugs. Rockefeller Center came back to me in a flash and I tried to sit up. Pain and vertigo kept me from going too far; that and the straps on my arms.

In that attempt, I saw I was not alone.

A woman wearing a doctor’s coat over khakis hovered by my bedside. There was a name tag over her left breast but I couldn’t see what it said. Her hair was pulled back out of her face and I saw her eyes flicker to me with a look of something like shock in them.

“Don’t exert yourself, Ms. Delaney,” she said in a cool, professional voice.

“So I’m not in heaven then?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you don’t exactly look like St. Peter.”

She chuckled. “No, you are not dead.”

A knock on the door took her attention away from me. Before she could answer, the door swung open. A tall, willowy man leaned into the doorway, clutching the knob for support. He stared straight at me with piercing grey eyes and a perfect smile.

“I see our guest is awake,” he said.

“That was fast,” the doctor lady asked.

He stepped into the room. “Oh, believe me, I’ve been watching the monitors with baited breath.”

Tall and wiry, his blond hair was cropped just below his chiseled jaw. He wore a casual grey suit coat over a fitted black button up and grey slacks. I guessed he was only a few years older than me, maybe mid twenties at the latest. The briefcase he carried seemed out of place for someone caught between modeling and teaching a college history class.

Behind him, a grim faced man in an army uniform stared at me, though he tried to hide it.

“Who the hell are you people?” I asked.

“Can I have a few minutes alone with her, Doctor?” he asked, ignoring me.

The woman turned stiffly. “Now?”

“I won’t be long, but I really must speak with her.”

The woman stood silent for a moment, then said, “We’ll need to do tests, so make it quick.” With that, she left the room, brushing past G.I. Joe.

“I’m sorry, is this thing on? Who the hell are you people? Am I still asleep? I could swear I’m talking,” I said. I hated being blanked.

The strange man smiled at me again, and my stomach churned. Pulling a chair from the wall, he sat down beside me and laid the briefcase down next to him. His nearness caught my breath, and the monitors betrayed my rapidly beating heart.

“I’m sorry about all this, Ms. Delaney. Where are my manners? I’m August Riley. I’m here to check up on you after your…incident.”

“Incident?” I asked and it all started coming back again. The memories surged up, threatening to overwhelm me. I didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to see it again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said as he leaned closer towards me.

He was so close now I could smell his musky aftershave, feel his heat. Chills swept my skin while my insides twisted. I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss him or slap him. What the hell kind of drugs did they have me on?

I was painfully aware that my hands were restrained.

“Do you mind?” I asked, looking down at my arms.

“Oh, sorry, of course,” he said. Quickly, he began unfastening the medical restraints. Long, dexterous fingers danced over the leather cuffs, and my skin prickled at the thought of his touch.

G.I. Joe coughed, and when August glanced his way, the soldier said, “You aren’t supposed to do that sir.”

Though he still smiled, I could see the storm in August’s eyes as he stared at the soldier. G.I. Joe actually took a step back.

“I’m quite certain we have no need to be concerned. In fact, why don’t you give us a few minutes?

G.I. Joe looked uncomfortable. “I’m not supposed to do that either.”

August smiled, and now there was something predatory there, something confident and powerful. He owned the room then, somehow, and I’d have stepped away from him if I could have. Heat spread down from my stomach to my hips.

“I’m certain the general will understand if you gave us space. Or would you rather I told him you made the situation more… challenging than it had to be?”

G.I. Joe swallowed and nodded. “I’ll just be outside the door.” He turned and walked out, but I saw him move to the side. Like he was guarding my room.

What the hell was going on here?

He finished undoing the straps and let my arms free. Pushing myself up, I scooted away from him. I needed some space, needed to clear my head.

“There,” he said, “is that better?”

I nodded, rubbing my wrists. They were sore, even though the restraints hadn’t been tight.

Watching me, he said, “I’m sorry that was necessary. Even while you were out, you struggled. The doctors thought you might hurt someone.”

“Hurt myself you mean,” I corrected.

Shaking his head, he said, “No, you apparently punched one of the doctors when they were examining you. Gave him a black eye actually.” He grinned. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“Where am I?” I asked, glancing at the room. The walls, dark with age, the 50’s reject tiling, the bad lighting, it looked worse than some of the juvie houses I’d been in.

Instead of answering, he asked me, “Do you remember what happened to you? Do you know why you are here, in a hospital?”

Images, horrible images, sprung into my mind. I remembered the agonized faces of the dead. I remembered Debra’s arm buried beneath a pile of stones. Cold terror surfaced as tears burned my eyes.

"I'm sorry to ask, I just need to know if you remember," he said quietly.

I flinched, pulled back from the horror, though I could feel the scream building in my chest, threatening to tear it's way out. "Yeah. I remember. I remember the fucking angel fucking killing everyone near it. Yeah, I remember."

He nodded, slowly. "I'm very sorry," he said again. Empty words rolling across my ears. What difference did that make? What difference did any of it make?

August cleared his throat, then continued. "Well, I have good news and, well, maybe less good news, depending on how you feel about it."

"Great," I said through grinding teeth. "Go on."

"The good news is that you are safe. At least as safe as anyone can be these days."

I snorted. It seemed so ridiculous. How could anyone be safe when angels could just appear out of thin air?

"The...other news is that you are a guest of the United States military."

"What?" I spouted, my head spinning towards him.

"Let's just say they are very, very interested in you, Ms. Delaney."

That didn't sound good. That didn't sound good at all.