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miracle.”
    I snorted. “Stop calling me a miracle. I’m not.”
    “You’re alive,” the doc said. “That’s miracle enough for me.”
    “I’m just me,” I said.
    “Whatever,” Michael Daniels said, a word I’d never heard come out of his mouth.
    I looked over at him. “Believe what you want on that matter,” I said.
    “How’s your head?”
    Ever since awakening, I’d been plagued by headaches. Pain of any kind was something I was quite unused to, being who I am. It was more of an annoyance than anything, but some of them were pretty bad. Any attempt at medication resulted in my feeling gross and oftentimes dizzy. I decided to shrug off drugs and dealt with the pain.
    “It’s okay right now,” I told him in honesty. “They come and go as they please.”
    “I still stand by my diagnosis—” he began, but I cut him off.
    “I know, I know. There is nothing wrong with me. I know.” I heard a car approach and looked up to see Philip Morris in an old, beat up Honda whose color might have been red under a thick layer of dirt. I turned up my nose at the sight of the car.
    “Okay,” Doc Daniels said. He got to his feet and offered me a hand. “You ready?”
    I took his hand and rose. “Guess so,” I said. “Do I really have a choice?”
    “You could stay here and be my guinea pig,” he offered, only half-serious.
    “Um, no,” I said. I turned to the good doctor, who I came to respect during my stay in the hospital. I held out my hand to him and he shook it firmly. “Look, I’ve really come to like you.” I made sure my eyes locked with his so he would understand I was telling the truth. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And I wish you the best of luck.”
    Michael Daniels, all of twenty five years old and a brilliant physician with expertise in many fields, gave me his most brilliant smile. “The same goes for you, Christiana. I hope everything goes well for you in California. I know Philip will take good care of you.”
    I smiled. “Thanks for everything. I mean it.”
    The red, dirt encrusted Honda stopped before the two of us, and I bent to pick up my bag. Daniels and I said nothing else to one another, just exchanged knowing looks before I opened the door and hopped into the car. Philip Morris gave me a nice smile, brightening up his already handsome and ageless face.
    “Ready?” he asked.
    I took one last look back at the doc, knowing I’d probably never see him again then turned my attention to the road ahead. “Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.” For what, I had no real idea. I’d stopped reading Philip Morris’s mind when I got tired of breaking down his barriers. I knew he was pretty much harmless, yet I didn’t really know much else about the man. I can protect myself. I am not only an experiment, I am also highly trained in many aspects of self-defense and martial arts. I don’t employ these often, but they do come in handy. I can thank Arturo Holt and his soldiers for said training. I do remember that. I assume what I do remember is only because Holt allowed me to remember it. Combat training wasn’t too much of a threat, I guess. I’d need to remember it to actually use it.
    Anyway, we drove to the airport in silence. I waited patiently while Philip returned the dirty rental car, apologizing for the filthy condition in which it was being returned. I followed obediently behind him to the airport terminal, only about a block and a half from the rental car station. I went with Philip onto the plane for my first flight ever. Philip, ever resourceful, as I would discover, obtained a fake ID for me with the name Carlie Simon, to which I had a really good laugh, on it.
    On the plane, I began to develop one of what would become “my signature headaches.” I sat by the window, looking out at the half of America that would pass below me on the way to California, and I had to close the window covering as the light began to hurt my eyes. As the pressure built at my