Page 6 of The Alien's Private Redemption

A familiar floating sensation hit as she was moved to the first machine and she had time to think while the doctors took pictures of her insides and argued in low voices about removing her restraints. They wanted to get more imaging but the handcuffs were dangerous around the other machines.

She could have told them she wasn't going anywhere but she lost the will and the ability to talk. The voice in the back of her head had been drugged into silence and Angela decided to enjoy it.

Her conscious mind was not required for the tests the doctors wanted to run for the next few hours and she hoped she'd be allowed to take a nap.

You will not be allowed to sleep, a new voice said. It was clearer, more masculine, than the one in the back of her head.

Angela sighed. She'd sworn she wasn't having a psychotic break but maybe the most recent episode had triggered one. If it had, she hoped she'd be a pleasant crazy person.

I do not think you are crazy, the new voice said.And I am not a product of your imagination.

Isn't that was a figment of her imagination would say? The mind was very good at protecting itself from unpleasantness.

We were not properly introduced but I assure you I'm real,the voice said.I helped stop you from self-destructing. I'm here to observe and consult on your case.

Angela forced herself to focus on the memory. She hadn't noticed much while she was suffocating. A voice had called to her, brought her out and made her breathe. The only things she remembered were strong hands and green scales before she was handed over to the nurses.

Yes, I could feel you struggling,he said.I had to touch your skin to convince your body to breathe. I'm afraid I may have created a bond you do not want.

Words were hard but she thought he was apologizing for saving her.

Not for saving your but for the bond I had to forge to do so,he explained.

Did you force it?she organized her thoughts enough to ask.

No,he acknowledged.It felt entirely natural.

Are you going to use it to hurt me?

She felt his reaction to her question; a flinch of revulsion so profound, she wanted to apologize for asking.

They're taking you to another machine.

Her bed moved and the handcuffs came off while someone added something to her IV. Probably a contrast, if she remembered the way it burned correctly. Or another sedative. Or both.

There was still a fog over her brain but her thoughts were becoming more defined. The voice in the back of her head urged her to test her extremities so she would know when she was recovered enough to run. But it was muffled in a way she'd never experienced before.

She experienced the panic as a physical reaction first before the taste of bile flooded her mouth. Vaguely aware of the commotion around her, Angela turned on her side and groped for the railing to pull herself to the side. A bowl appeared in front of her and she emptied what was left of the contents of her stomach into it.

There wasn't much, but that didn't stop her body from heaving.

Strong hands held her on her side until the spasms stopped, and she fell back. Every muscle in her body ached and she felt like she'd pulled a muscle in her core with the last set of dry heaves.

"We'll add something for the nausea," one of the nurses said.

At least, she thought it was one of the nurses. Her vision swam as she tried to focus on the people around her bed.

"Get her into the MRI as soon as possible," another voice demanded. "We wasted enough time doing the CT scan first."

More hospital corridors lead to more doors, and lights that flashed by as though she was running. What detention center has this size of a hospital wing, she wondered, and then the thought floated off into the depths of her mind.

People wearing surgical masks put earplugs in her ears and slid heavy headphones over them. She was lifted on her sheet to another table and wedges placed around her body to hold her in place.

"Are you claustrophobic, Private McBride?" a voice asked through the headphones.

Would it matter if she was? Angela wondered. She shook her head and a muffled voice answered for her.

The MRI machine loomed ahead, its massive white bulk humming with barely contained energy. The earplugs dulled the world to cotton, but couldn't quite muffle the machine's rhythmic grinding or the tinny classical music trying to soothe her through the headphones.

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