There were no lumps or bumps. No wet sticky spots.
Where the hell was she?
She looked around again. Then she saw the door directly across from where her gurney stood.
A plaque on the door marked it as… She squinted. It was…the morgue.
Her heart missed a beat.
The morgue?
She stared down at herself once more. No blood. No bruises.
She jerked free of the sheet, stumbled off the gurney and staggered as if she hadn’t stood in a long time. Her legs felt weak and rubbery.
What was wrong with her?
Voices. Someone was coming.
She snatched the sheet from the gurney and wrapped it around her naked body. She had to hide.
If they found her… Her mind couldn’t grasp the concept of why the unfamiliar voices terrified her, but instinct warned that she should be afraid.
She had to run!
She half stumbled, half fell down the corridor, grabbed the knob of the first door she encountered and yanked it open.
Janitor’s closet.
She threw herself inside, closed the door soundlessly and struggled to catch her breath.
Just breathe. Deep breaths. Slow…steady.
You’re okay. You’re okay.
The stench of cleansers and damp mops assaulted her nostrils. She ignored it. She had to think!
What had happened to her?
Why would she be on a gurney in front of a door marked Morgue?
She wasn’t dead.
Was she?
She took a step back from the door and stared down at her foot. A white tag was attached to her big toe.
Panic closed her throat.
Don’t panic.
She crouched down and reached with trembling hands to remove the tag. Slowly straightening once more, she read the information written there. Sande Williams. Female. Twenty-eight years old. Sixty-four inches tall. One hundred ten pounds.
Why didn’t the name ring a bell?
There was no address or telephone number.
What did this mean?
She started to shake, and found she had to brace herself against the closed door in order to remain vertical.
What was wrong with her?
Could she be dead and not know it?
No, that wasn’t possible.
As if to deny her assertion, she touched her wrist and counted the beats.
She had a pulse.
She pressed her palm against the center of her chest to feel the frantic pounding there.
She had a heartbeat.
She was alive.
But why didn’t she remember how she got here? Was she sick? What had happened to cause her to be in this place? There had to be something wrong with her.
Why didn’t the name on the tag feel like her name?
Sande Williams.
Fear snaked around her chest and squeezed, sending panic searing through her veins.
She couldn’t find any answers in this janitor’s closet.
She had to get out of here.
Had to find help.
But what if they wouldn’t let her go?
Didn’t they institutionalize people who couldn’t remember their names? Who woke up wearing toe tags for no apparent reason?
Breathe again. Deep. Hold it. Release.
Calm down. Just calm down.
She needed help.
She had to move.
Slowly, her palms sweating with the fear mounting inside her, she opened the door a crack. She peeked into the corridor. Still deserted. Still quiet.
Someone had taken off her clothes and placed her on that gurney, had put a toe tag on her. Someone thought she was dead.
How was that possible?
Hadn’t she seen a movie like that once?
Think!
She had to get out of here.
There was something wrong with this place. People who had heartbeats weren’t sent to the morgue. There had to be a mistake.
She couldn’t stay here.
She ran. Holding the sheet tightly around her, the toe tag clutched in one hand, she ran as fast as she could to escape.
Don’t take the elevator.
She would be trapped there.
Take the stairs.
Up was the only option. She rushed up the steps two at a time. Reached the first floor and burst out of the stairwell.
The lobby.
A massive lobby with a bubbling fountain and towering green plants. People…lots of people.
They stopped and stared at her.
The sheet.
She was naked save for the sheet. Naked and barefoot. What must they think?
A woman wearing a white uniform approached her.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
The cap, the badge…a nurse.
Nurses helped people…but this one worked here.
“I…I’m fine,” she insisted. She had to get out of here. The way the nurse looked at her…she was concerned and suspicious.
She would call those people who had done this to her.
Still clutching the toe tag, she
