April 6, 2022

The first thing I was aware of on waking was the steady beeping of an EKG. The room was dark, the only light coming from the machines by the bed. I looked at the screen. A green line peeked in time with my heart rate. Numbers displayed my blood pressure and pulse. They all looked perfectly normal...for a dead person.

I glanced at my forearms. I expected to see bandages, but all I saw were faint scars running from my wrist to my inner elbow. They were jagged and thick, but completely healed. I struggled to remember what had happened to me. I recalled going to where Davenport home used to be, digging up my own grave, finding my wedding ring and an eagle feather. I also remembered cutting my flesh with a dull knife, and bleeding. I remembered closing my eyes. But that was all. After that, nothing.

I started to sit up.

"I wouldn't do that."

The voice startled me. I had thought myself alone. I looked around, saw nothing but shadows. As I stared into the darkness, a shape took form. It was the shape of a man. I could make out no defining features in the low light, just that he was standing at the foot of the bed, watching me.

"Are you a doctor?" I ask. Talking hurt my throat. My voice was hoarse.

The man gave a short laugh. "I am definitely not a doctor. I'm sure my mom wishes I was, but…"

Confused, I looked around again. There was an IV in my left hand. I followed the line to a bag hanging on a pole. I squinted, trying to read the label. It was too dark, and the writing was too small.

The man must have noticed me looking. "It's just saline," he told me. "We took you off the sedatives a few hours ago."

"Why -" I paused to clear my throat, trying to make my voice sound stronger than it was. "Why was I sedated?"

The man didn't answer that. Instead, he moved to the side of the bed, taking slow steps as if he was afraid I would become spooked by sudden movement. I watched him. A sliver of light fell on his face. I could see he was young and fair-skinned. His hair was somewhere between dark blond and light brown. I couldn't tell exactly which side of the spectrum it was on.

Definitely not a doctor.

"You remember your name?"

I nodded. He waited. I took a moment to answer. "Faith."

"Your full name," he coaxed.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Faith Josephine Evans."

The man made a noise as if that answer satisfied him. He stepped closer, allowing me to see more of his face. The features were still not defined, but I saw enough to know he was smiling at me.

"It's nice to meet you, Faith. My name is Peter. I really wish I could tell you my last name is Parker, but it's not. It's actually Mason."

I stared up at him. I had no idea who he was or why he was in my hospital room. But if he could answer any of my million questions, I would be thankful. "Where am I?"

Peter sighed deeply. "I thought the Spider-man reference would get a better reception. Guess you're not a Marvel fan." I ignored the humor and waited for an answer. "You're somewhere safe."

A safe hospital where the first person to greet me wasn't a doctor. I murmured a soft curse realizing there was only one place I could possibly be. New Haven Psychiatric Hospital. Unfortunately, this wasn't my first stay. I had spent five months here last year. After I was released from the regular hospital where I had been in a coma for a week. Traumatic stress with vivid hallucinations. That was what I was diagnosed with. No one believed that I had fallen off a cliff and traveled back in time. Back to 1772. Everyone thought I was making it up. I had eventually agreed just so I could be discharged.

"It's not an institution," Peter told me. I wasn't sure how he knew what I was thinking. Unless he was aware of my past and what I had been through. That conclusion was very possible if this was some kind of medical facility.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's a complex," he answered vaguely. "For special people."

I couldn't keep from laughing at that. "You mean crazy people."

Peter shook his head. "Not if by crazy you mean clinically insane. I mean, we're all a little crazy, but none of us here are psychotic or psychopathic or any or the other psycos. I think my dad might be a little off his rocker, but don't tell him I said that."

Irritated from the lack of direct answers, I pushed myself into a sitting position, ignoring the pounding in my head from doing so. My vision blurred. I struggled to focus. I thought I was going to pass out or throw up. Instead, I steadied myself and stared at the man.

"Easy!" Pete spoke as I tried to maintain control. "Didn't you hear me say we just took you off sedatives?"

I reached out, gripped his shirt with a tight fist. The strength I managed surprised me. "If you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I will kill you."

Peter laughed at the threat. He gently, but firmly made me release my grasp. "Maybe you really do belong here," he mused.

"Belong where?" I demanded.

Peter stepped closer. "This complex. I said it was for special people. What I meant was people with special abilities."

"What-"

Peter shushed me. "You know what an Assassin is, right Faith?"

I had not heard the wordAssassin meant in that way for a long time. I tried not to let my interest show as I shook my head dumbly. The Brotherhood was not meant to be spoken of. Except by its members. The only members I knew and trusted had died many years ago.

"You can be honest with me," Peter said. "I know about the mark on the back of your neck. I know others with the same tattoo."

Again, I tried to contain my shock. I know I failed. The statement threw me off guard. I had never met anyone with a mark like mine before.

Peter continued, either ignoring or not noticing the expression on my face. "I also know about your visit to the eighteenth century. As well as your marriage to Connor Kenway."

That I couldn't keep from reacting to. No one had ever believed me about Connor. If this man knew about him, he had access to my medical records or he actually thought I had been telling the truth. I couldn't get a good enough read on him to know which.

"Are you sure you're not crazy?" I ask, trying to maintain indifference.

Peter laughed again. He had a nice laugh. "I already told you I think everyone is crazy. But what can I do to prove to you that you can trust me?"

"Nothing," I said.

"Really? You wouldn't even trust me if I told you I could let you see Connor?"

I shook my head, but stopped when the impact of what he said hit me. I gazed up at him. "That's impossible."

"Improvement. You went from thinking I'm crazy for knowing about Connor to thinking it's impossible for me to let you see him."

I was so confused I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I tried to get up. I had it in my mind to leave. I just couldn't stay in a place like this. I needed to get away – far away. From the place and from Peter. Before I could do anything, Peter put his hands on my shoulders and held me still, not allowing me to get up.

"Just calm down, Faith. You don't need to be up moving yet. You're too weak. Just rest for a minute. I'll get you some food. You can eat, and we can talk. Okay?"

"Talk about what?"

Peter smiled at me. "About how you can trust me. If you'll just be patient, I promise I will explain everything."

I sat back, not having the will or desire to move anymore. This entire situation was so incredibly bizarre that I couldn't form a decent coherent thought.

"What do you have to eat?" I ask.

My stomach rumbled at the thought of food.