Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Except, I’m not sleeping on the top of my desk, I’m standing. Standing? That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever.
There it is again. The repetitive sensation of a hiccup…except it feels…odd. As though it’s not my own, but somehow inside me at the same time. Which doesn’t make any rational sense, either. How could I feel a hiccup if it wasn’t mine?
I want to open my eyes, but it feels like they weigh a ton. Even when I manage to lift them a crack, my vision is so blurry, I can’t make out anything but shadows. If my eyelids weigh a ton, then my arms weigh two. I can barely move my fingers. My pinky finger trembles a little, but the others are still, as though they belong to someone else entirely.
Something alerts me to the presence of someone else in the room. A rustling of fabric, the rise and fall of breathing or the ghost of a movement. I still, though the hiccups inside me do not. For all my extensive education, I can’t make sense of what’s happening.
Which frustrates the hell out of me.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s not having the answers.
“Don’t worry, you’re completely safe,” comes a voice from immediately in front of me. A woman’s voice. My heart quickens. No one should be in my office. It’s a secure location.
I can’t move, but if I could, I would have jolted backward. If there’s a second thing I hate, it’s people being all up in my personal space and that voice sounded too close for comfort. I try to speak, to tell them to get away from me, but all that comes out is, “Unnnnnghh.”
“It’s all right.” This voice is a man’s and accented, which sends my heart rate through the roof. “She’s in shock. Her pulse is spiking. Maybe we should give her a sedative?”
My eyes flutter open, from panic or sheer will, I’m not sure, and I’m greeted by a woman and two hulking monstrosities behind her. Giant, pale white skin, black hair. Creepy as hell. Certain my vision is playing tricks on me, I squeeze my eyes shut. Could this be a caffeine-induced hallucination? I’m not sure.
They don’t go away when I open my eyes again.
The hiccupping sensation flutters again in my stomach.
My stomach?
I glance down and find not only am I nearly naked as the thin gown I’m wearing has fallen off some, but my stomach is bloated and grotesquely round. My first response is fear. Am I sick? Some diseases cause distention in the abdomen, parasites, even, if the case is severe enough. God only knows what I can catch from the studies I’ve been conducting recently.
Then I see my stomach move, feel the hiccup again, and realization dawns.
But I don’t believe it at first, because there’s simply no way. No medical, scientific way.
I can’t be pregnant.
I’m a virgin.
* * *
Despite my screaming, my threats, and my vicious insults, it doesn’t stop the seven-foot-tall albino with obsidian hair from removing me from the cryotube, and transporting me to another location inside the prison where they’re keeping me.
“Let me go!” I shout at them, angrily yanking on my gown to protect my nakedness from them.
But they don’t seem to hear me. It occurs to me that maybe they’re deaf. I’ve never seen creatures like them before, but as a scientist, I’ve seen too many awe-inspiring things to discount them as figments of my imagination.
“Hey!” I shout to the woman with blond hair, who seems to be human. “I want answers. Why won’t you let me go? You can’t keep me here.”
The woman comes to my bedside. She has a kind, gentle face, but I don’t trust it. She’s trying too hard to placate me. I don’t want to be calmed into a false sense of security. I want honesty. “Hello. I’m Emery. My mate, Calix”—she gestures to a male who’s wearing glasses—“is the contagious disease specialist here. We mean you no harm.”
Contagious disease?
I’m putting a pin in that one to come back to later.
“That’s nice and all,” I retort bitingly, “but you haven’t answered my question. Why won’t you let me go? What am I doing here? Answer me.”
“We can’t let you go until Avrell runs tests to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been in cryosleep for some time now and we want to ensure there haven’t been any”—she pauses and frowns, then continues—“complications.”
My limbs are still heavy, but sensation is beginning to return. “So as soon as this Avrell runs his tests, you’ll let me go?”
She nods. “We don’t want to hurt you. And I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve been there. You don’t have anything to be afraid of.”
There’s a great shifting sensation inside and then something jabs my stomach. I have visions of giant tapeworms. Their eyes are drawn to the movement.