Single Wired Female
She was supposed to be eliminated. Her enemies will not stop until she's gone.
Waking up in a hospital with no recollection of the events, Bonnie O’Neal sets out to discover who wants her dead–and why. As hazy memories come back, she struggles to determine what is real and what is not. Some of the memories are not her own–but who do they belong to? Fearing that her ex-husband may be involved, Bonnie doesn’t know who she can trust while images of android engineers, wires, and a tall mysterious building flood her mind.
But as reality and dreams merge, will Bonnie learn that her attempted murder might just be a small part of a greater conspiracy? It’s not only Bonnie’s life on the line, but all of mankind…
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She gave the rest of her body a similar inspection, and though she couldn’t find the places where the bullets had struck, she encountered some discomfort when she moved her shoulders. What good had it served her to buy a gun? Whomever it was that shot her up had not given her any time to reach for it to defend herself.
She didn’t know how long she had been under or which hospital this was. She hadn’t even changed the television from the original channel it was on. She simply stared up at it as if she was watching, but she was looking past it into the ether of her mind.
When she had pulled together enough scattered thoughts to admit that she couldn’t remember the attack, she gave up on the effort and took some time to look around her room. There was a large silver panel on the wall behind her and above it was a readout of words and symbols that she couldn’t understand. The panel had a number of tubes running into her arms, and the whole thing made her feel like part of the machine.
From what she could see she was in a standard hospital room set up to be both comfortable and practical. There was a cushy, brown chair and another silver panel across from her. This she knew to be a refrigerator, since Peter had taken her food from it. An old, flat-paneled television descended from the ceiling and images of protests in another part of the world were being broadcast. The walls were a faded, chalky blue and the sole window exposed a large bank building where cars zoomed by every minute or so.
On the bedside table to her right was a tiny mirror, and she reached for it to take a closer look at herself. She was a mess, her brown hair combed poorly—probably by one of the nurses that didn’t know what he was doing. There were dark patches underneath her eyes and her blue irises had the appearance of eggs on a negative piece of film. She moved the mirror around, looking for scars, but the doctors had done a good job of concealing them.
She looked through the window and there was a corner of the sun peeking from the left side of the building. Bonnie didn’t know how much time had passed as she considered her situation but when a knock at the door brought her out of her stupor, her heart began to beat rapidly.
A police officer with a badge on his belt opened the door slowly. He had dark hair, fashioned in spikes like a teenager, but his five-o-clock shadow and bloodshot eyes revealed an adult’s life of little sleep.
“Mrs. O’Neal,” he said when their eyes met.
“Miss O’Neal,” she corrected him. “How may I help you, officer?”
“I’m Sal Minstretta, lead detective on your case.