Chapter 1
"Andrea?" I heard my name being called in the distance through a gentle voice that I hardly recognized. The tone possessed a warmth that was familiar to me, even calming.
I wondered if it was my parents speaking to me. Maybe it was some kind of out-of-body experience that people talked about after they died. The only difference was that they came back to life. I wasn't. Maybe I was a ghost, or even more unlikely, an angel.
[i]Too many paranormal shows,[/i] I thought. The voice whispered again, this time not to me. "I thinks she's coming to." It said.
I suddenly felt the remains of the pain I was experiencing. It wasn't the same as the sharp dagger I'd felt when I inhaled, but rather more like my organs were the last embers of a raging fire. I wanted to writhe, but my body would not allow me, keeping hold of me in a type of paralysis. [i]What is happening to me?[/i] I began to panic again.
It was a struggle, but I forced open my heavy eyelids. Quickly, the blur in my vision subsided and I realized that I was in an unfamiliar room. Everything seemed strangely clear, like my eyes had turned into lenses that let me see the details of everything I set them upon. I could see every brush stroke of the white paint on the ceiling.
I knew I was not in my hospital room anymore. In the small amount of time I'd been conscious, I could gather that much. I could not have been dead, as I had use of my stronger and sharper eyes. I guessed that I had been moved to a different ward; a better smelling one.
My memory was fuzzy, but I attributed it to the amount of sleep that my body sentenced to lately.
A face leaned over me. I knew who it was.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Cullen asked. I must have still been in the hospital if the doctor was here. His face sparkled at the rays of sun that poured in through the glass walls. I hadn't remembered the windows being so big in the hospital. I must have been delusional.
I opened my mouth to speak. There were so many things I wanted to ask Dr. Cullen, but he interrupted before I could say anything. I wondered if he didn't mean for me to answer his question.
"You're probably a little weak right now, and disoriented. Give it a few more hours and you'll be feeling better."
And he was right. Over the course of the next three hours, I was gaining more strength in increments. First, the tingling sensation in my fingers and toes subsided, and then I could slowly feel my arms and legs come to life. By two hours time, I was able to move my neck.
The room was decorated beautifully, and it looked nothing like a hospital room at all. Dr. Cullen provided no more information on what was happening.
There were a few people who drifted in and out of the room. At first I thought they were doctors or nurses, as they had a similar complexion to Dr. Cullen. They were not dressed in medical attire, however, so I guessed that they were interns or something. There was one that I remembered very well, the face etched into my brain. She was blonde and had a sour face, as if in disgust of me. But then again, I probably looked grotesque by now. The odd thing was, though as bitter as she looked, she was beautiful.
A little while later, the doctor stretched out my half-dead arms and legs, some sort of physical therapy. My muscles began to feel more alive along with the rest of my body. I found the courage to speak.
"Have my parents been in today?" I asked. I felt a burning in my throat. It felt hot and scratchy. My pneumonia must be getting worse.
Dr. Cullen's lips turned up into a grin. "No, I haven't seen them."
"Oh." My body felt hungry, but my stomach and my mind did not. I hadn't eaten in days, since everything I took in found its way out in one way or another. Just the thought of food made me feel sick. I looked beside me as the doctor set down my left leg. I noticed only now that I wasn't hooked up to a plethora of machines like I was yesterday. I didn't even see the intravenous bag that was keeping me sustained.
"Will they know where to find me?"
"I don't think your parents will be in today." The doctor had his back to me, looking at some paper work.
"Why not? They come every day." I was confused. If I was in such bad condition, then why did they take me off the machines that were keeping me alive? And if I was recovering, why wouldn't my parents want to see me? No one was telling me anything. The burning sensation in my throat was harsh, hardly enabling me to speak at all.
"Andrea." He said, settling himself into the swivel chair beside the hospital bed I rested on. His hands clasped together. "There's something I need to tell you." He helped me to sit up.
At some point, I had almost been ready to hear it. I was going to die. But now as I laid on my death bed, facing my fate, I wasn't sure if I could handle it. I would have preferred him not to tell me, and just let me go happily.
Then I noticed the crowd at the door. It was the group of interns. Dr. Cullen had probably asked them here to watch me die. Future doctors needed that kind of exposure.
"Please, Dr. Cullen," I winced, "don't tell me I'm going to die. It'll only make everything worse." Cringing, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift off to the end of my life.
Dr. Cullen and all of the interns began laughing. Was this some kind of morbid joke? How could my parents have left me with such a sadistic man? I looked at him with fury.
"You're not going to die, Andrea. I kept my promise."
"Yeah, not today." I muttered sceptically. "You all are so sick..." I felt rage run through me like electric shocks.
"Not ever." He cut in. And the laughing stopped. His seriousness somehow penetrated through me, and I felt the urge to believe him.
My brain came to my rescue. "What do you mean, "Not ever"? Everyone dies."
"Everyone except people like us."
