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"We need you to come with us," says Dr. Khan. "Right away."
I feel the hairs stick up underneath the ruffly white sleeves of my shirt. "Where?"
"I can explain along the way. Buy we're short on time..." she motions toward the door.
I fold my gooseflesh-covered arms and hold them against my chest. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why."
Dr. Khan glances at Dr. Sloan, giving him a look I can't see. "We are studying a sleep disorder that aligns with your symptoms," she says. "We'd like you to join our clinical trial."
Maybe I misjudged here. That does sound promising. Except one problem.
I look down at my sheets. "I don't have insurance."
"Not to worry. Your treatment, room and food would be covered for the duration of your participation."
My lips part in surprise. "Free?"
"We've received a generous grant from the pharmaceutical industry."
I feel a surging wave of hope as I realize this trial means I won't have to become a homeless teenager living without friends or family or ID. I will be safe inside another medical facility. Maybe this Dr. Sloan and Dr. Khan can even help me get better, so I'm not such a hazard to myself with these bouts of unconsciousness.
But my parents said to trust no one. I need to test her.
"I'm so glad you're here. You must be part of the team Dr..." Trying to generate a random last name, I look down at the trouser leg covering my wooden prosthesis. Perfect. "Dr. Wood said he was sending?"
Dr. Khan twitches but quickly recovers her smile. "Yes, Dr. Wood requested we help you."
My blood instantly drops to ice cold as I wonder if I'm looking in the eyes of my parents' killer.
"I'm so glad," I say. So glad I know who they really are, that is.
What I don't understand is, why not just shut the door and kill me here? If these really are my parents' murderers and they intend the same for me, why bother transporting me elsewhere?
Unless they have something in mind that's more painful than anything they could do to me inside a quiet hospital.
"Do you have any questions for us?" asks Dr. Khan.
Every self-preservation instinct inside screams, No, no, do not go with these people. They are dangerous. Without my memory, I am highly vulnerable.
I clench my jaw, then put on a cheery face. "Count me in. You want to go now?"
Dr. Khan cocks her head, her silky hair swaying. She blinks a few times. "Ordinarily, our patients need some time to consider the decision, but certainly, I suppose if you are ready to depart immediately, we can do so."
"Oi! We got room?" says Dr. Sloan from over by the door. It's the first time he's spoken. He has a burly British accent.
Dr. Khan makes a concealed motion with her hand that shuts him up.
"Oh, and I must ask." Dr. Khan points at my head. "I do like your hair. Very...fashionable. Has it always been that white color?"
I swallow, remember the warning in the letter. "I dye it."
Dr. Khan and Dr. Sloan exchange a glance but seem to accept my words.
Two minutes later, as I leave my hospital room and walk down the corridor with Dr. Khan and Dr. Sloan, I wonder if perhaps I should have shown more hesitation. Would an "ordinary adolescent" pose more questions before leaving the hospital with two complete strangers?
"Hold on, sorry." I stop in the middle of the hallway after we turn a corner. Given the early morning hour, it's quiet except for the hum of the overhead lights and the distant beeps of heart monitors. "Where did you say your treatment facility is?"
Dr. Khan and Dr. Sloan freeze.
"The precise location of our facility is confidential," says Dr. Khan, smiling apologetically.
"Confidential?" I try to add an appropriate level of concern to my voice.
"Yes, well, as I'm sure you can understand, we have several unscrupulous corporate competitors who seek to steal our proprietary research."
I pause as if weighing this new piece of information. Dr. Sloan is impatiently scanning the halls, no doubt worried someone will notice them. They have name badges on, but I suspect they wouldn't hold up to scrutiny.
"Perhaps we can continue walking to the car?" says Dr. Khan with a tight smile. "We have a busy night ahead of us."
It's 1:37 in the morning. How busy can our night be at this point?
"How long will I be gone?" I ask.
"The diagnostic phase will only last a day or so. Nikolai, I would gladly answer any additional questions you have as we drive."
"Don't I need to...check out of the hospital? Notify my doctors?" I don't care about any of these things, of course. I want to get going as much as they do.
"Nikolai, we are your doctors," she says, smiling so sweetly it's mildly unsettling.
I make a show of considering that and eventually shrug as if this all makes good sense. "OK. Let's go."
Hopefully, that was a believable amount of reluctance.
The three of us ride the elevator to the first floor in complete silence. The glass-enclosed atrium is empty. Our footsteps squeak and echo on the cold, hard tile floor. A sleepy, bearded security guard, previously slouched behind the information desk, lifts his head, sending a shot of adrenaline through my veins. I notice Dr. Sloan and Dr. Khan are walking with their faces casually angled away from him.
So I tuck my chin, too, watching curtains of ice-white hair swish to either side of my face, shielding it from both the man at the desk and the security cameras in the corners of the room—security cameras I noticed automatically, as if by habit, as soon as we got off the elevator. I guess I'm a bit of a paranoid person.
We walk out the automatic sliding doors into a pleasantly warm night.
"I'll bring the car around," says Dr. Sloan.
Dr. Khan holds up a finger and says to me, "We'll wait here."
I remind myself of three words from the letter: Remain on guard.
Though I maintain a still exterior, I feel my heart pounding as I wait alone with this strange woman in the middle of the night, perhaps standing on the very spot where I appeared as an unconscious John Doe two days ago.
"Sorry about this," she says. "But we have to keep the location of our facility a secret?"
"What are you sorry—"
But before I even complete the sentence, there's a flash of something metal in her hand and then the prick of something sharp in my neck. My eyelids drop like window shades.
