Hospitals have a very unique smell. I bet you are imagining it right now. The mix of metal, chemicals, mediocre food and depression. Yeah, that itself pretty much sums up my stay. Well, that and the fact that I’m here all because I was hit by a freight train. Yup. Last year, I was recovering from a bullet to the thigh, and before that, a near-death sting from a jellyfish. What can I say? I get around.

I woke to flashes of cords and the sight of a blue hospital gown. Adjusting to the light, I could see two faces overhead, pounding me with questions like “What can you remember?”, “How’s your arm feeling?” and “Goodness me, Sara Teresa Jenkins, what on earth were you doing standing in front of a train?!”

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the tug of the IV stuck in my hand, and tried to make up the faces in the room. There was a curly-haired woman in scrubs, reading my vitals. My mother, of course, was on my other side, looking as if I’d lost my mind, which maybe I had. Last, and most concerning, was a man on a laptop, sitting on a bench five feet away. I racked my brain for a name or face that matched his, but I came up empty. I looked at him awhile longer, which seemed to pull him away from the screen.

“How are you feeling?” He asked rather impassively. I hesitated, wondering if I was suffering from some kind of amnesia.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.” I deadpanned. My mom’s face was in utter horror. “What?” I mused. “Too soon?” The nurse stifled a giggle and a gasp. At least someone appreciated my sense of humor.

The man, who appeared rather unimpressed, rose from his seat and focused his attention on my mom.

“May I have a word with your daughter in private? We have some important business matters to discuss.” To that, the nurse sped out, a little skittish. My mom, slower to respond, turned to me, unsure, but nodded nonetheless. Though if my mom’s expression told me anything, it was that we’d be having a long conversation about this later. Eh, I couldn’t blame her. What kind of stable person willingly stands in front of a moving train? I had a good reason, mind you, but we’ll get to that later.

Once my mom left, the stranger in front of me took her seat and for the first time, I noticed his bright red briefcase. The only color to him. How hadn’t I seen that?

Feeling out of place in my hospital gown and messy braid, I asked, “Um, sir? I apologize, my brain is rather foggy, but have we met?”

He looked as if he’d expected this. “Indirectly,” was all he said.

“Might I ask when?”

“Miss Jenkins, we have been watching you a long while. We think you’d make a great asset to our team.” He unlatched his briefcase. “Your talents and expertise are exactly what we’ve been looking for.” Now, I was even more confused.

“I’m a teacher. Not even a good one.” I spoke each word with emphasis. “I’m an under-qualified substitute teacher.” That got him to crack a smile.

“Miss Jenkins—.”

“Sara,” I interrupted. “Call me Sara.”

“Sara,” he amended. “This may be difficult to understand.” He glanced back at the door, almost as if to check that the area was secure. Strange. “You are one of six people we have knowledge of, to withstand fatal circumstances. We believe you are special.” I snorted.

“What?” I giggled. “I know I got lucky surviving that blow, but don’t medical miracles happen quite a bit? At least more than six times.” My eyes rolled.

“Miss J— Sara,” he’d been serious throughout the entire exchange, but he grew even more so. “You didn’t just ‘get lucky’, your heart actually stopped beating. For hours.” His voice quieted. “You died, then came back hours later.” I was stunned into silence. This guy couldn’t be serious… right?

“Sir,” I spoke somewhat mockingly now. “I don’t know where you got that information, but I have no idea who you are or why you’re here. I think it would be best if I talked to my mom—.”

“No!” He cut me off; calm, yet sharp. “You cannot reiterate any of this to anyone. My people have gone to extreme lengths to hide this information from the doctors and nurses. Your ability is a strength, but if found, it can also be a great weakness. A reason for people to exploit or attack. You’re a weapon. The only way you’ll find safety is if you come with and my associates and I will show you to our safe house until news dies down. We have a doctor on hand who may tend to your injuries.”

I outright laughed. “This is crazy. What the heck are you talking about?” Out of my control now, anger rose in my voice. “I don’t know where this ridiculous idea came from, but let’s get one thing straight. I will not be going anywhere with you nor will I listen to your babbling anymore!” Just as I was about to call for the nurse, the man pulled a gun out from his scarlet briefcase. Ugh, I’d forgotten about the flashy thing. He leveled the gun barrel at my chest.

“I’m sorry to do this, Sara. You seem like a reasonable woman, but you leave me no choice.” With that, he pulled the trigger. I waited for the explosion and the shot of pain, but all that had projected from the weapon was a short, thin dart, sticking from above my clavicle. Huh, it looked straight out of some action movie or cartoon. A tranquilizer dart, ‘cause why not? At least I now could say I’d been shot twice. And with that realization, my world faded to black.