A/N: Sorry this chapter is kind of short... It's sort of like a preview for what most of the story is going to be like...

Voices. That was the first thing that I recognized. Two people, nearby. They were pretty garbled, so I couldn't understand what was being said, but I could hear that one was a deep voice, a man probably. The other was as slightly higher pitch, but I was pretty sure it was male. It was hard to tell because they were talking in hushed voices.

The second thing I recognized was a head-splitting headache. My brow creased in pain. A second later, I could hear the voices speed up, and I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I took this as I good sign, and sprung my eyes open. A glaring white light greeted me, feeling like needles in my eyes. Instantly, my eyes started tearing up. I stifled a moan of pain, and blinked my eyes several times until things started coming into focus.

I was in a white-plastered room with an odd antiseptic smell. There was a plain wooden door inset into the wall across from me, a little bit to the left. A small sliver of light filtered through the closed drapes, and a cozy lamp was lit on a plastic bedside table to my right.

Leaning on an uncomfortable-looking orange chair beside the bedside table was stocky, middle-aged white guy with small eyes and a no-nonsense hair cut that was receding at the hairline. His thin lips and rather large nose were spread evenly apart on his slack-skinned face. He had a stubborn chin, and a face that said he had received more than his share of worry in his life. Beside him stood a tall, attractive African-American man with unusually gorgeous green eyes and a small, well-kept afro that had a golden hue to it. They both had equally concerned looks on their faces.

The two made a comical pair, and I probably would have laughed if I hadn't been so confused.

To make this clear, I raised a quizzical eyebrow. They obviously didn't get the hint as they continued to stare at me with the same troubled looks.

I sat up on my elbows and cleared my throat.

I guess I'll have to take it slowly, I thought dryly.

"Where am I? And who are you guys?" I asked in a mildly raspy voice.

The stocky one stepped forward. "My name is Detective Jim Brass, and this is CSI Warrick Brown," he introduced, motioning to his colleague. "You are at Desert Palm Hospital."

"And why would I be here?" I asked politely, trying frantically to keep my temper in check. I often have problems keeping my anger in control when people insist on skipping around the actual point, hoping that I will figure it out so they don't actually have to explain it.

The detective raised an eyebrow. My anger vanished, and I grinned. He did it very well.

Mr. Brass ignored my smile, and continued. "Don't you remember anything that happened to you?"

My grin slowly faded, and I was suddenly annoyed again.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean "anything that happened to you"?" I could feel worry starting to cloud my brain, but I pushed it back. I had no reason to worry. Yet.

Mr. Brown spoke for the first time. He had a deep, musical voice. He must have been the one who had woken me up.

"What's the last thing you remember, Kaytlin?

"It's Kate," I responded automatically. "Sorry," I added quickly.

I thought back. I remembered walking home after school, go up to my room, and working on a paper for English clearly. After that, the pictures got a little blurry, like when you forget to use flash on your camera. I concentrated hard, trying to grasp the picture. I sighed and shook my head.

"I don't remember anything after getting home and working on English."

Now, as I regarded their faces, I saw their demeanors change: Warrick Brown looked extremely uneasy, and Jim Brass had stone-cold determination.

"Kate," Jim intoned. His voice had lost all the business-likeness it had held before, and was replaced by kind concerned, and, maybe a little bit of pity. "About two weeks ago, we got a call from one your neighbors saying that they had heard shots coming from your house. When we arrived…-"

I cut him off. "Where is my family?"

"Kate…-" Warrick started.

I cut him off, too. "Where is my family?" I repeated, panic rising in my voice.

"Kate," Brass replied with an edge to his voice, "You're family is dead."

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