The handcuffs were cold and painful from where they pressed into my wrist.

I tried to ease the pressure and shift away from the hard edge, but I was trapped. Each hand was cuffed to the bedrails of the hospital bed locking me in place. Keeping me pressed into the uncomfortably hard mattress as I sat, propped on pillows with that same infernal beeping buzzing in my ears.

Except it was no longer a lifeline, it was just a noise that was drowned out by so many others.

Voices whispering in the corner, shouts from the hall, the scratch of the detective’s pen, the low buzz of the television.

The room was a prison of sound, and as much as I as tried to restrain it, it only inflicted me more.

Refusing to look at the handcuffs and the people that sat far too close to me, I instead focused on the ceiling, then the chair, and then the window. The low voices of the two detectives kept buzzing like bees and finally I looked to a television that was tuned to the news, the same scene of some city being bombed playing on repeat.

Detective Bondar, the man who sat closest to me had turned it on moments after he had arrived, stating quite simply that he was hoping that it would trigger some memory, some feeling, something that would lead him to the truth. Truth of a murder, of some nefarious plot.

What was playing was not a truth that I wanted however. And it did not make the cuffs come off any faster.

“It has been days since this terror has begun and destructive creatures have invaded our cities and we are still no closer to discovering anything about them…”

The voiceover on the screen was low, but I still heard it, the report all the more terrifying alongside the blood strewn street they were displaying, people running and screaming away from what looked like a flock of bats.

This idea that this was part of my life was horrifying, but from what I was hearing there was no way around it. This was the world. This place full of little winged monsters that ripped men apart and bombs and massacres...

The images twisted in my stomach as I once again looked away, only to be met by the narrowed eye of the detective. The look was so expectant it only twisted my nerves further.

I swallowed, forcing my eyes away from the detective as the scratches of his note taking turned into an irritating tap-tap of his pen against the metal railing I was cuffed to.

"Anything coming back?" He asked with an evil glint in his grey eyes.

The neatly trimmed mustache on his face waggled awkwardly with each syllable. I stared at it as it moved, barely hearing his thickly accented voice as he spoke in yet another language I mysteriously understood. I think this was the third one he had tried.

"Do you remember this? This attack on a city in our region began only a few days ago. It has since spread across the globe. Were you there? Were you there where it began?"

"No," I growled, the feelings of anger and resentment rippling up my spine and pulsing through my shoulders.

I couldn't stop the shake from rumbling over me, any hope of the detective not noticing vanished as he smiled at me knowingly, glancing once at his silent partner behind him before turning toward Dr. Sirko.

The older doctor was perched at the large computer bay nestled into the corner of the room, his aged shoulders sagging as he too watched the replay on the television.

"Are you sure he wasn't bit?" The detective asked, his mustache waggling in irritation as the doctor shook his head dismissively.

"We checked him thoroughly," the doctor growled, not looking at either of us. "We know the rules. We kill them all before they turn. Restrained otherwise. We cuffed him, didn’t we? Guilty or not we have done as we have been ordered."

Detective Bondar nodded at him approvingly, but I sat, locked in place, staring between them in confusion.

"I'm sorry," I said politely, trying to keep my voice level, "but what do you mean by 'turn'?"

Dr. Sirko's focus snapped right to me, his dark eyes wide as the wrinkles on his forehead pinched together. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he sat still, hiding behind the large monitor of his computer as if he was using it as a shield.

"Why don't you tell us."

My muscles tensed, reacting to the rancid tone of the detectives retort as my mind screamed of the same danger I didn't understand. Even though my heart raced, I kept my breathing under control, kept the anger out of my eyes. It was then I realized what this emotion, this odd internal pull was.

I wanted to fight him.

I wanted to protect the others in the room from him.

The feelings were both familiar and foreign. They sparked the same hope for a return of my memory, the hope almost immediately followed by confusion.

This need to attack him scared me. Especially with the replay of the massacre in Prague on the television. Steadying my wild emotions with a shove, I turned to face detective Bondar, shaking my head, "I don't know. That would be why I asked."

My tone was so formal, so.... Regal.... Commanding. Another clue to who I was, to what I was.

Regal. Commanding. Protective. Perhaps angry as well? I would hope that knowing that would help me to piece together something, but my discomfort was only making me more agitated.

The corner of the detective's mouth pulled up in the same knowing grin, the gleam in his eyes telling me that he thought his trap was working.

I wish I could tell him he was setting a trap for ghosts, because there was nothing there.

Nothing but scraps of paper that a child had scribbled on instead of memories. Nothing but blood against stone and the faint outline of a woman that my soul was screaming for.

"You know of the attack in Prague, yes?” Dr. Sirko began from where he sat perched at the computer. “The reports on the television have told you enough about that..."

“He knows more,” The detective spat, his voice grinding between his teeth. “He will not leave here until he has given his information to the state. To me.”

“A single blurred image means nothing,” Dr. Sirko spat, turning from me as he spoke to the detective directly. “No matter what murders you try to frame him for…”

“Enough,” the detective growled, voice low as Dr. Sirko turned back to me with a shake of his head.

“You have seen the aftermath of what happened in Prague, yes?” He was defiant.

“I know something happened, but they haven’t said what,” I shifted my weight a bit, trying to appear less like an invalid. “They keep speaking of a war. Was it an attack or a war?”

“Both,” Dr. Sirko pinched his brow between his fingers as if it was a pressure relieving valve. “The city was attacked, and when we finally released the city from the prison the things kept it under…”

“It was a war,” The detectives companion provided, his comment pulling the focus of both the doctor and the detective.

The detective looked between the two of them, his mustache bristling in anger as he threatened them in silence.

“When Prague was attacked it was encapsulated,” Dr. Sirko sighed, tapping his pen against the computer monitor he had turned toward me, the screen no longer filled with patient records but instead with a freeze-frame image of what looked like a bomb exploding.

I leaned forward as much as I could, the handcuffs clanging loudly as I pushed against them in an attempt to see.

A smooth red dome rose above farmland and trees, cutting through ancient buildings and who knows what else. The image made it hard to tell what I was looking at, or even how big it was, until I saw the outline of someone standing right before it, the tiny speck almost lost among the trees and farmland.

It was massive.

“The entire city was covered in what we began to call the Czech Sun. It was there for months. All the governments worked to remove it, to save the city. If we knew what was inside…” The doctor trailed off, pinching his forehead together again.

“We would have done it again,” the detective said confidently from beside me, the look in his eyes making it clear he was giving more of a warning than a statement.

“You may say that,” Dr. Sirko said with a snap, “You work for the state. You have not watched people die. You have not fought those things. You have not been imprisoned by your country…” The doctor’s angry rant faded to nothing at the sound of pounding feet that had suddenly filled the hall outside my room, raised shouts of panic following right behind.

The detectives fury dissipated, the sound in the hall had completely pulled his focus.

Everyone in the room stood, turning toward the door, as the voices rose, a few of the others rushing out without a word.

"He's got a mark!"

Screams followed the proclamation, the heavy fear drenching everything as the last few officers and orderlies who were in my room rushed out, slamming the door behind them, leaving me alone.

Screams and yells filtered through cracks in the door. They buzzed through the walls and pressed against my chest in a million thunderous pulses.

Hot. It fluttered.

Angry. It pulsed.

I clung to the rails of the hospital bed I was cuffed to, unable to grip anything else, unable to get away. Everything heated as the screams increased in volume, the sound of retreating feet making it clear that something more than “just a mark” was happening. Hands slipping with sweat and heat, I gripped the bars at my sides, vaguely wondering if I could escape my restraints. The metal underneath my palms grew warm, burning my skin, and I jerked, wrists pulling against cuffs as I tried to escape the pain.

"Hovno!" I exclaimed alongside the screams from the hall. The word was yet another language, although this one felt familiar.

I wondered vaguely if that language was mine before the question faded, my eyes widening at the sight of my hand.

The entire palm was covered with what appeared to be a raw red burn. It could have been from whatever happened with the rail. However, this didn't look fresh; It looked old. Just staring at it pulled an emotion from that same painful pit in my heart, a desperation, a determination.

A love.

Her.

I knew it was. But there was nothing else. Nothing there but confusion. It was just another injury, like the scars on my chest, that hurt but didn't belong.

That I couldn't remember.

The screams in the hall erupted once more, pulling my focus before they began to fade, leaving the muffled sound of the television to take its place.

"The creatures have reached through much of Russia and Africa now, with sighting reports coming in from many Middle Eastern nations. Many countries have also adopted the instant kill policy that much of Europe has taken after multiple reports of victims having exploded."

“Exploded?” I asked to myself, just as a loud bang echoed from the hall, the sound causing me to jump.

Heart thundering I stared at the door, suddenly afraid of what was going on. Of what this world was full of.

“If your loved ones are bitten by the creatures we urge you to get them help at your nearest facility.” The sound from the TV continued behind me as I stared at the door, the reporter's voice deepening into a tone that only heightened the danger in the suddenly quiet hospital. “It may be tempting to hide them, but the Ukrainian government has urged against this due to the extreme risk of death to those around you. We can help. Take them to a hospital or treatment center the moment a bite is found.”

The silence in the hall was deafening now, the doctor's words a frightening echo as the image on the screen shifted to a man sitting in a room much like mine, smiling as a pretty nurse looked over his chart.

The lie was a cruel mockery.

“Those who have been bitten will display extreme pain followed by a short restless period. If anyone around is displaying these…”

Another loud bang shot from the hall, this one accompanied by a scream and a flash of light. I didn’t jump this time, I sat still, listening to the deep Slavic voice of the reporter rumbling through the room as the television flickered and buzzed.

“The Chrlič, as they are being called,” she continued, the familiarity in the phrase pulling my attention right back to the screen, “travel in packs and seem to be more dangerous during hours of dim to no sunlight.”

The broadcast shifted to a diagram of the creatures, an image of a dirt brown bat-like thing taking up half the screen, bullet points filling the other as they went through a list of what I could only assume were traits.

Venomous

Venom passed through bite

Bite appears as a raised brand on skin

A Raised Brand...

The words burned into my skull, they buzzed in my ears, pulling through me as a single image flashed in my memory.

The woman. The same one I had seen in shadow before, but this time she was in brilliant color, the moment so clear I was sure I was there.

Her long dark hair was soft against my fingers as I swept it away from her face, her silver eyes shy as she looked up to me. It was a beautiful color, like the silver light before dawn, the color of water underneath stars. The sweet smile covered the smooth lines of her face, but there was something behind them that made my heart beat faster, made my heart ache with longing.

I didn’t want to lose that image, but the memory shifted without my permission. Instead, the moment moved to her neck, to my hand as I moved those long dark strands of hair out of the way, revealing a large raised mark on her neck. A raised brand hidden behind her ear, similar to the ones that were now being displayed on the flat screen.

Circular shaped, raised from the skin, dark and red as though it had been burned there. The woman spoke about them like they were dangerous, but that didn’t seem right. She didn’t seem dangerous.

As haunting as the mark on this woman was - it was not what buzzed in my head with equal parts of hope and pain.

The girl.

I saw her.

She existed.

But more than that, she was one of them.

One of these people that they are killing. One of these girls that was exploding.

The report shifted again, this time to a bearded man who stood before a table filled with the bodies of the things, “of the few that have been able to be captured and killed we have noticed an overwhelming similarity in that their skin, while it appears to be muddy and brown, is actually more like a fungus. That is why the “run regimen” has been brought down as it is concerning that their physical touch could also cause infection…”

His words buzzed over me as he pointed out different parts of the little creatures, showcasing their wingspan, displaying their fangs.

I saw him move, I was sure I heard the words.

But nothing stuck.

Nothing seeped in.

I just stared, cringing in pain as my heart seized, that same electric jolt moving over my chest as I put it together.

As I realized what had happened.

This dark haired beauty that I longed for, this woman I loved, she had a mark.

And I had killed her because of it.