My entire body throbs.

Every muscle is painfully tight and my face aches like I went a few rounds in the ring with a professional boxer. My head is so tender, it pounds as though my brain has swollen twice the normal size and presses to break free of my skull. What the hell? What did I do last night?

Metal rattles as I reach up to wipe the sleep from my eyes and my arm stops midair.

Panic hits me like a freight train as flashes from last night assail me.

A man is in the blood freezer at the lab on campus. There is something weird about him, and I can’t get away.

I keep my breathing slow and relaxed. If he’s got me chained in some basement, maybe he hasn’t seen me wake up. Maybe I can pretend like I’m still asleep. I listen hard for a few minutes. It’s quiet. Deadly silent. Only the soft whoosh of what I’m guessing is a central air unit greets my ears. I think I’m alone. Jesus, I fucking hope I’m alone.

I crack one eye as little as I can, assessing my surroundings.

Stark white walls. A chair in the corner, and a whiteboard on the wall with “Hello, I’m Gretchen and I’ll be your nurse tonight,” written on it. I’ve got an IV in my arm and bandages on my wrist. Hopefully the rest of me doesn’t look like this, or they’ll be calling me the mummy.

I open both of my eyes to a full view of a sterile hospital room, complete with bedpan on the bedside table, thin white blankets cocooning me, and a view of the ventilation on the roof of another wing. I look down at my hand, and I’m handcuffed to the bed.

“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath.

“It’s just a precaution,” a familiar voice replies, and I shrink back into the mattress in surprise.

“Jackson?” My childhood friend, fellow genetics major, and cop for Portland PD, leaned against the door leading into my room. “What’s going on?” His eyes are a golden brown, warm and calm, as he meets my gaze. Too bad his uniform erases any warm and fuzzies his calm demeanor brings.

“I was one of the first on the scene.” He pushes off from the doorframe and moves closer to the bed, his broad shoulders filling my vision. He reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “Do you remember what happened to you last night?”

I squeeze his rough fingers with mine and rest my forehead on my free hand, hoping to rub the cobwebs in my mind away. “Someone attacked the lab on campus.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Remember anything else?” He looks at the monitors beeping around me and shakes his head.

“I tried running away from him but he caught me.” I glance at the silver shackle surrounding my wrist. “Jackson, why am I in handcuffs? I was the one attacked.”

“You were unconscious when I got there. No one else survived the attack, and we couldn’t find an intruder.” His tone is ominous.

My mouth forms a perfect O in surprise. “You think I was the attacker? That I attacked everyone and then myself?” I blow out a breath. “Jackson, how long have you known me? I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

“I know you but everyone else doesn’t. Not like I do. Like I said, the cuffs are just standard procedure. Until I have a statement from you, I just need to keep them on, okay?” He pulls the chair from the corner over to the side of the bed and sits down, opening a small black notebook. “I’m here to take your official statement. I thought it would be easier to talk about it with a familiar face.” He gives me his most charming grin and I smile back at him softly.

“You mean your ugly mug is supposed to cheer me up?” He rolls his eyes at me, waving for me to get to talking. “I don’t know where to begin. All my memories are choppy. Like a puzzle I’m supposed to put together but all the pieces are blank or missing pictures.” I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back tears of frustration or fear, or maybe a little bit of both.

“How about you tell me what time it was when you were at the lab?” He reaches over and pats my hand encouragingly before leaning back, his pen poised over the notepad.

I look down at my hand in my lap. “Um . . . I think it was past midnight? It was late, I know that. I was doing extra credit, we all were. I was almost done. Only a few of us were left in the lab.”

“And then?”

“I—” I shake my head again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Jackson adjusts his posture, softening his official look. “Just breathe for a minute and we can take things slow.” He grabs the small cup of water resting on the bedside tray and hands it to me. I take a sip and return it to the tray.

“I went to go get a drink and then when I came back, the lab techs and assistants were lying on the floor.” The words choke in my throat as the memory assaults me. “They were dead and then the next thing I knew, someone was in blood storage.”

“You didn’t see them walk into the lab?” Jackson gives me an odd look. “Sasha, we’ve talked about this. You have to be more aware of your surroundings. You’re a pretty girl—”

I grumble at his words. “I know, I know. It was late and I knew everyone in there so I wasn’t paying attention. That’s why I was so surprised. One minute I was getting a soda, and the next someone was banging around in the walk-in freezer, grabbing at the blood bags.” I take a deep breath. “You know you can’t get in there without your access card for the lab. And he didn’t break the glass. I would have noticed broken glass when I came back in. He was just suddenly in there.”

“You were covered in blood when we found you. You didn’t do anything crazy and try to take the blood bags from him, did you?” Jackson scribbles a note in his notebook and I’m tempted to peer over and see what he’s writing. Probably something along the lines like, Sounds crazy. Should institutionalize. Remember to bring her good reading material when I visit.

“No, when I saw him—saw what he had done, I ran, I tried to get away, but he followed me.” I rub at my head as the details blur together. “He looked crazy so I grabbed a scalpel and tried to move toward the exit to get some help from security.” I gesture to myself. “Look at me. Do I look like I can take on a linebacker-sized thief?”

Jackson chuckles. “No, you’re petite. However, adrenaline does funny things to people. So, he was tall?”

“Yes, tall, light hair I think. You know how the lights in the lab have a bluish-tint to them so it could have been darker. I’m just not sure.”

“What else?”

I twist the hospital bracelet on my wrist, struggling to remember any of the finer details. “What else do you need to know?”

“What happened next?”

“I remember running from him and yelling for security and then I think he grabbed me.” I touch my shoulder, wincing when I encounter a tender spot. “After that I don’t remember anything. I woke up here.” I shrug, pretending I’m not overly concerned at my memory loss. It’s an icky feeling, like I’m covered in oil and can’t get clean.

“Can you describe the attacker more?”

“Don’t you have facial recognition for this kinda stuff?” I eye him closely as he frowns at me. “Jackson. Don’t bullshit me. Do you think I did this?” I ask again. If the cops think I’m guilty, I’ll probably need a lawyer or something. Or will that make me look guilty? I need to stop watching crime shows.

“I’m just trying to understand what happened, so I can get this bastard who did this to you,” Jackson answers, his tone harsh.

He didn’t confirm or deny my question. What the fuck. “How about you get the security footage from the security desk and watch for yourself? It’s got to be more accurate than my memory at the moment.” Dick. I don’t say the last part aloud but I’m sure my tone said it for me. Jackson is usually so even keeled. It’s not like him to snap at me. I’ve only seen him angry a handful of times in the years we’ve known each other, each time in defense of someone else.

Jackson taps his pen against his notebook and smiles tightly at me. Alrighty then. Be stubborn. Answer the official cop questions and don’t ask questions of my own. Easier said than done.

I repeat what I said earlier. “He was tall, had blond hair . . .” I rack my brain for any other small details I can give him. “Oh! He had silver-looking eyes.”

Jackson leans forward. “Anything else?”

“Sorry, I was a little busy running for my life,” I say in frustration.

Jackson raises a brow but stays calm and I run a hand over my face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know. I get that it’s hard, and everyone reacts to stress differently.” He scratches at his stubbled chin. “I’m stressed out, too. I’m mad that I couldn’t meet with you last night to study and had to be on duty.”

Stress. Yeah, that’s it. I’m stressed out. More like I’m freaked-the-fuck out. I can’t tell him the last part. He’d never let me go anywhere else by myself again. He’s like an overprotective big brother. With a badge. “It’s not your fault, Jackson. You know that. You have to work to pay bills.”

The last part that’s poking at my memory with a sharp stick. His teeth, Sasha. His freaking teeth.

I shove the memory back. It has to be something I was hallucinating. “He must have knocked me out before leaving. I really can’t remember anything else.”

“You’re lucky to be alive. His other victims will have to be identified by dental records.” Jackson’s mouth forms a grim line and I grip fistfuls of the sheets in my hands. If he is trying to frighten me further, he’s succeeding.

“I get it. Be careful. Carry my mace.”

The nurse bustles in and I’m grateful for the intrusion. She introduces herself as she checks all the monitors I’m hooked up into. She clucks and takes notes, preventing me from responding to Jackson’s statement about the others. “How do you feel, doll?” She runs her palm over my forehead and her soft hands bring me a moment of comfort I didn’t know I needed.

“Like I got hit by a Mack truck.” And then that truck reversed over me and hit me again.

“You’re pretty banged up. You’ve got some pretty colored bruises on your abdomen and the doc was worried about a concussion. Any blurry vision or trouble remembering things?” She holds my hand in hers and squeezes my fingers gently.

“Yeah, I can’t remember a lot from last night.” I huff and gesture to Jackson. “I gave him all the details I could remember before it’s all blank.”

“That’s okay. It might come back, it might not. The brain deals with trauma the best way it knows how. Sometimes that’s by hiding it.” She smiles softly at me and gently squeezes my shoulder. “Do you need to use the restroom? Need any help?”

“I think I’ve got it. Do I have to keep this thing in me?” I point at the IV in my hand.

“For now, keep it in. I know it doesn’t make moving easy, but it will help you. I’ll go get you some sweatpants and a T-shirt so you can change into something other than this gown. Be right back.” She leaves the room and I watch her go, wishing she’d come back and tell me everything is going to be okay. I’d never had a mother figure, and foster parents were either in it to collect a check or focused on the younger kids.

“Can you uncuff me so I can use the restroom?” I jostle the handcuff, making the metal clang.

“Yeah, here.” Jackson pulls a key out of one of the pouches on his belt and with two clicks, the cuff falls off.

“Thanks,” I say as I flip the covers off and rub at my wrist.

“Whatever happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?” I ask swinging my legs over the side of the bed, letting out a hiss of pain at the movement.

“Wait, let me help.” Jackson walks forward, but I hold up a hand.

“I’ve got it.” I use the small stand next to the bed as leverage to pull myself into a standing position. I hunch over when I stretch my torso too far and wince. My ribs burn like they’re on fire. I pull back the gown and eye the bruising at my hip. Jesus Christ. This guy really got me.

You’re lucky to be alive. Jackson’s words replay in my mind and I shudder.

“You aren’t considered guilty, Sasha. But the circumstances leave a lot to the unknown.” He closes his notebook, then adds, “And there are families who need answers.”

As if I didn’t feel shitty enough, now the guilt of surviving needles at my stomach, making me nauseous.

I head to the bathroom door, walking slowly, an arm around my ribs so I can breathe without passing out, dragging the stupid IV stand with me. “I’m going to shut the door behind me for some privacy. Is that allowed?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jackson asks.

“I don’t know, I’m just being a smart-ass. I gave you my statement, and I’m not sure why you’re still here.” Oh, and you think I killed all those people with my bare hands.

“I’m here to keep you safe. I requested this detail. We don’t know who did this yet, so we’re being cautious.”

Yes, all for caution. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Overbearing, big-brother type is more like it. I shut the door behind me and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

My face is puffy and swollen, and my eye is a lovely shade of purple. I’ve got a bandage on one side of my neck, angry red handprints on the other. Fucking A. How the hell am I not dead right now? I shiver, fear chilling my body rather than the air blasting from the vents.

The nurse knocks on the door and I open it for her, thanking her for the change of clothes. I flip the lock behind her and quickly strip, doing my best to ignore the battered girl in the mirror. The pants are baggy, and the shirt almost reaches my knees, but it’s warm and not a flimsy hospital gown. I can’t complain.

The lights go out, and shouts of shock and confusion reach my ears through the thick door.

“Sasha, are you okay in there?” Jackson yells.

“I’m okay. I just can’t see anything.”

“Someone must have hit a telephone pole or something. Emergency lights should click on in a second. Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, dim lights click on and I see far enough in front of me to unlock the door and open it. The hallway is lit up red from the exit signs. The color paints a grim haze over the room, and I clench my fists to stay calm. The power will be back on soon. Nothing to worry about.

I look out through the glass walls of my room and watch as a large figure approaches. I heave a sigh of relief. It’s just Jackson.

“Hey, did they say how long it will be until the pow—”

My hand flies to my throat in shock as the words die on my tongue.

The man in front of me isn’t Jackson.