Revived (Revived, #1)

REVIVED

  by Jodie Kobe

  (c) 2014 by Jodie Kobe

  All Rights Reserved.

  Chapter one

  V I V I A N

  “Wake from the dead, Vivian.”

  The first words I hear. They enter through my ears and settle in my brain, dwelling there for a few moments before I can understand what they mean. My surroundings are one large blob, but as I blink continuously, they spread into distinguishable pieces.

  A white ceiling stares at me.

  The lights attached to it make my eyes water, but I can't move my hands to wipe the tears.

  My body is strangely numb, and I try to move but can't. The only thing I can feel is a hard surface under my head.

  A man's round head comes into view. Both his eyes and shiny forehead stare down at me.

  I blink.

  “And the magic words bring her back to life,” he says. But his voice is flat.

  “So she's alive?” This voice is muffled and sounds like it's coming from somewhere in the room. I can’t move my head to see where it came from, but I know that's not important. What's important is knowing where I am right now.

  But I don't know the answer to that.

  The shiny-headed man turns his head away from me to look at other man in the room with him.

  “Yeah, she's alive. Didn't you hear me the first time?” His eyes move back to me. “We can let her adapt to her surroundings. Let her move around for a couple of minutes.”

  Two beeps.

  Then the feeling of a cold presence spreads into both my arms.

  “Everything is operating properly,” the bald-headed man continues. “So far, at least.”

  He disappears from my line of sight and I am left staring up at the white ceiling, bright lights shining in my face.

  This isn't right. I'm not in my regular bed. I don't know what room this is.

  My arms twitch, and I realize I can move them now. Anticipating metal and wires, I am relieved to find pale skin as I lift my hand. My skin.

  My eyes land on something black weaving through my fingers. Some kind of graffiti I am not able to interpret. A tattoo? I don't remember getting any tattoo. In fact, now that I think about it, there are no past memories left in my mind. I'm searching for something, but my brain is blank. There is only knowledge. Who am I? Am I human?

  I reach for my leg. My fingers strike some sort of material—pants?—wrapped around my legs. At least I think those are my legs.

  I reach for my face, squeeze my nose, and grab my chin.

  Everything's normal. I feel human.

  Taking a deep breath of air, I press my palm to my chest, seeking a heartbeat. It faintly drums against my fingers, but at least it's there.

  “I need a sample of her blood again.” It's the same bald-headed man's voice. Promptly, he appears by my side. In his hand, he clutches a syringe.

  I curl my fingers into fists and look away as the man lowers the needle down. His face is expressionless as he stabs it into my arm. A slight pinch; then it's out. The man disappears with it.

  Apparently I have blood. Still human.

  “The patient’s blood looks fine.”

  Patient? This must be a hospital.

  “Okay,” another voice says. “That means she'll live, right?”

  What?

  “For the last time, yes.”

  Shoes clatter on what sounds like tile. They fade after a few seconds and I am left in silence.

  What is this place? I slide both of my hands under my neck and push my head up, trying to get a good look around me. I didn't lift my head much, but it's enough for me to catch a glimpse of white walls, white cabinets, and the white bed I'm laying on.

  White seems to be the dominate color in this room.

  I skim my body, letting out a breath when I see I have a torso and legs. They feel dead, but knowing I am human lifts a weight off me.

  I've been dressed in jeans and a tank top. All white. There are no shoes over my feet, so when I see my bare toes, I try to make them move. But just like the rest of my body down my waist, they're dead.

  Am I paralyzed?

  Panic isn't taking over my body like it normally would. My heart's not beating fast. It's like I'm on a drug. What have these people done to me? And where am I?

  There are no windows here.

  I can’t turn my head far enough to see what’s behind me, so I drop my head back down on the surface I’m laying on, grimacing as the back of my head collides with the solid object for a bed.

  I shut my eyes and try to think.

  But no matter how hard I try, no memories come to mind. I am not sure what I did yesterday or the day before. What if I never lived at all?