Chapter 1
Steel table cold against my back. Gray walls closed in. Cool overhead light buzzed. Desaturated white washed everything. Red indicator light glowed in background.
Attendant leaned over me. White lab coat, clear goggles, latex gloves. Hair pulled back in tight bun. Her gloved fingers pressed side of my neck. Small red puncture mark burned near ear. Small stud earring caught light. Lace sleeves of wedding dress spread across steel. Floral applique scratched wrists. Veil tangled under shoulders. I couldn't move. Breath shallow. Chest barely rose. Eyes stayed closed. Reason: body still locked. Next step: listen.
My name is Anna. I was supposed to be at altar that morning.
Attendant's fingers stayed on my neck. Paused. Pressed again. Her breath caught. She went still. Quiet stretched. Then she spoke, voice low, sharp.
"Wait. They still have a pulse."
Words didn't sound like mine. Sounded like problem. Protocol breaking. I tried to open eyes. Lids heavy. Light hurt even through closed lids. Cool air hit puncture mark. Throat dry. Gloved hand shifted from neck to chest. Light pressure. Checking.
I forced air in. Forced sound out. Lips cracked. Parted. Whisper scraped.
"Don't call my husband."
My voice surprised her. Gloved hand flinched. Goggles reflected overhead light. Her head tilted. She stared. Eyes wide behind clear plastic. She didn't answer right away. Silence carried weight. She glanced toward gray wall. Toward door.
Attendant leaned closer. Voice dropped. Careful. No panic, but tension in jaw.
"What did he do?"
I swallowed. Neck stung. Metal smell sharp. My mouth worked. One breath, then another. Words came thin but clear.
"He injected me before the altar."
Her gloved fingers tightened slight on dress fabric. Not hurting, holding. She believed me. I saw shift in micro-expression. Lips pressed. Brow furrowed behind goggles. She looked at puncture mark again. Red dot against pale skin. Then at my face. Eyes still closed but now moving slow under lids. Breathing faster now. Shallow but faster.
She glanced toward stainless steel tray. Dark-screen smartphone with dark blue case rested on brushed metal beside tweezers. Screen stayed black. No ring. No light. Withheld. Reason: evidence, not lifeline. Next step: keep it untouched.
Door handle moved.
Sound small, metallic click from far wall. Attendant's head snapped toward sound. Her gloved hand stayed on my chest. Protective. My eyes finally opened. Gray ceiling swam. Overhead light too bright. I looked up at her. Mouth open. Panic rose. She leaned over me, blocking view of door. Whisper from hallway slipped through crack. Voice unclear, but words carried.
May you like
"Doctor, did you open your eyes?"
Handle jiggled again. Red indicator light flickered. Attendant didn't answer hallway. Didn't call for husband. She held position over steel table. My veil rustled. Dress lace bunched under my back. Pulse thudded loud in ears. Reason: alive, but immobile. Next step: stay quiet, let her shield.
