Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.
She became conscious slowly, her senses only beginning to send information to her brain little by little. Everything around her was fuzzy; indistinct and confused, much like her thoughts. What was going on? Her eyes blinked open, but to no avail. There was only blackness around her, and she felt herself begin to panic. Why couldn't she see anything? Was there something wrong with her eyes? No, she didn't think so. Instead, she could feel that she was confined inside something, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly how, and she definitely didn't know why.
Her hands reached out unsteadily into the blackness around her, and she could feel some sort of material, some kind of fabric, only a few inches from her face. She tried to stretch out her legs, but her feet and knees had barely moved an inch when they brushed against the same kind of fabric that her hands had found. Her arms and legs weren't bound, but she was definitely trapped inside something. Her brain still couldn't process exactly what was happening. It was still waking up only slowly from wherever she had been, and she felt sluggish as she tried to think clearly. She felt herself begin to panic, and she took a deep breath.
Get a hold of yourself. There has to be an explanation, and you won't find it if you're freaking out.
She began to take an inventory of her senses, as if contacting the various parts of her body individually for a status report of sorts. Nothing was hurting, exactly, though she ached all over. Her skin was crawling, almost burning, but she didn't feel anything on her… it was a sensation like no other she'd ever experienced. Her hands, feet, arms and legs had all registered the same coarse material, so clearly something was all around her somehow.
As far as sounds went, everything seemed eerily quiet. She couldn't see anything, and the smell in the air around her was familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. The scent was strong enough that she felt as though she should be able to identify it, and yet… she had no idea what it was. Her mouth and throat felt so parched that she wondered if she would be able to speak – if she were given the chance. All she wanted right now was to ask questions, to find out what in the world was going on, and what had happened to her. Clearly, something had happened to her.
Her hands continued to explore the fabric around her, trying to find a break, a hole, anything that would give her more information. Suddenly her fingers found the familiar cold metal teeth that gave her the clue that she needed. It was a zipper.
What the hell? I'm inside a… a bag? Her mind was racing as fast as it could in her sluggish condition, trying to decode the few clues that she'd been given so far. It just didn't make sense. Why would she be inside a bag? And how had she gotten there? And who the hell would've put her there?
She felt herself begin to shake. Something was very, very wrong, and the longer she was conscious, the more aware of this she became. She was tuning in more and more to the messages her senses were sending her with each passing moment.
The next thing she realized was that she was naked.
So I'm in a bag, and I'm naked. Wait, what? Why? How? Who could possibly be responsible for this?
Staying calm wasn't really an option, but she did her best, and forced herself to think of something – anything – she could do to try to get herself out of the situation.
OK, she told herself groggily, so you're in a bag. The first thing you need to do is get out of the bag. It seemed like as good a place to start as any. She only hoped that it was that simple.
Taking a deep breath, she worked her fingers along the cold metal line of the zipper until she found one end. She inhaled sharply in frustration as she found the end of the zipper but no opening, and ran her fingers back along the metal to find the opposite end, the one that she hoped she'd be able to pry open.
It was slow work, especially because her fingers and her brain weren't quite working together as a team, but once she found the place where the two halves of the zipper met, which happened to be at the middle of the bag, she was able to work one side of the zipper slowly backwards along the metal teeth.
As the two sides of the bag slowly gaped open, she found herself blinded, more so with every inch she moved the zipper. She had the feeling that the sun itself was actually just outside the bag – that was how bright the light felt as it assaulted her eyes. She blinked and turned her head at the intensity, not having had a chance to adjust to the light gradually after being in total darkness for who knew how long.
Once the now open zipper reached one end of the bag, she pulled an arm out and, even without being able to see it, located and tugged the second zipper to the opposite end, allowing the bag to fall open. One limb at a time, she stepped out into the cold night air. She still couldn't make out more than fuzzy shapes in the distance, her eyes were so sensitive and the lights were so bright. Her bare feet came in contact with concrete as she slowly emerged from the bag, but that was the only clue she had as to her whereabouts.
Why were there so many lights? Where was she? She could remember literally nothing that gave her any context or reassurance about what might be happening to her. Panic seized her as she realized that not knowing where she was was the least of her problems. No, she realized in terror, she had no memory of who she was. But how could that be?
What's wrong with me? her mind screamed silently.
She saw a dark shadow in front of her, in stark contrast to the bright light, and heard a voice screaming at her, telling her to turn around and get down on her knees. What was happening? She shook violently as she tried to follow the directions that were being hurled at her. Struggling to keep from falling to the ground completely, she lowered herself slowly to her knees, attempting to keep her hands on the sides of her head. Considering how hard she was shaking, it wasn't easy. A cold breeze blew against her bare skin, which only made her shaking worse.
Her head was now pounding from pure sensory overload. The lights, the sounds, the fact that she could not make herself remember anything – not a single thing – about herself, her life, where she was or how she'd gotten there. And then hands were grabbing at her roughly, pulling her up and then dragging her along with them, taking her who knew where. Some sort of blanket was wrapped around her, for which she was grateful, and she remembered once again that she had been naked when she had emerged from the bag.
Someone told her to sit down, and she obeyed gladly, unsure that she could hold herself upright much longer. This was a nightmare. It had to be, and she would be waking up any second. There were simply too many things wrong with this situation for it to be real.
At least she prayed, sitting on the hard bench, still barely able to focus her eyes on anything around her, that she would wake up any second. This couldn't be real.
Please, don't let this be real.
It was the ticking sound that she first became aware of, even before she opened her eyes. She had no idea how much time had passed since the last thing she remembered, which was the nightmare of climbing out of the bag into the cold night air. This time, she noticed, she wore some sort of thin hospital gown and was lying in a bed, covered by a white sheet and a thin white blanket in a room with stark white walls. It was as though all color had been removed from the world, and the effect was almost as frightening as the scene had been outside. She felt her pulse quicken, and tried to steady herself with a deep breath.
Sitting up in bed and looking around the room, she noted with relief that she felt less groggy, and that her senses seemed to be reacting more normally than they had been the last time she had been awake. Still, she had no idea where she was, how she had gotten there, or once again, even who she was. She looked across the large, mostly empty room to see what appeared to be a large, tinted window. Her eyes darted around the room nervously and within seconds her heart was beating so fast she wasn't convinced that it wouldn't pound right through her chest. Who was on the other side of that window? Was someone watching her? Who? And why?
A short, dark haired woman in a white lab coat suddenly opened the door, startling her from her thoughts. She looked up at the woman with fear in her eyes, pulling the sheet up around her tightly. The other woman smiled sympathetically at her as she walked slowly towards her.
"Hi, my name is Sarah," she told her, keeping steady eye contact. Sarah smiled at her, so she tried to smile back, but succeeded only weakly. She hoped that this woman named Sarah wouldn't come any closer. It wasn't anything against her, she seemed nice enough, but she really just wanted someone to tell her what the hell was going on before anyone got any closer to her.
Sarah stopped a few feet from her, and hesitated before coming any closer, which made her wonder fleetingly if she could read her thoughts. "You're safe here. We're at the FBI building in New York City," Sarah told her soothingly. After smiling warmly at her for a moment, Sarah's face suddenly changed, and she looked nervous instead. She could tell that Sarah didn't want to say whatever it was that she needed to say.
"What am I doing here?" she asked quickly, before Sarah could spit out whatever it was.
Sarah hesitated, but then asked, "Do you know a Kurt Weller?"
She looked away from Sarah's piercing gaze and shook her head quickly, not ready to admit that she didn't even know who she was.
"Well… you're here because we – the FBI – that is… well, the bag that they found you in, there was a tag on the bag that said 'call the FBI,' and…" Sarah clearly didn't want to say whatever else it was she needed to say.
"Just tell me," she told Sarah in a voice that was far more self-assured than she actually felt.
"Kurt Weller is one of our agents here, and… well… his name is tattooed on your back," Sarah told her finally, looking as though she wasn't sure whether to come closer or leave the room as quickly as she could. "Did you know that?"
"His name is… what?" she replied to Sarah, completely taken aback. Her total shock was evident from the fact that she couldn't even repeat the words. Sarah took a step forward, causing the woman's face to become even more terrified, and once again, Sarah stopped where she was.
As Sarah looked on from a few feet away, the woman in the bed with no memory looked down at herself for the first time since she had awoken, and her mouth fell open in horror. Almost every inch of skin that she could see was covered in dark, mostly black, tattoos. There were pictures, numbers, letters, and what looked like abstract art. It was… everywhere. Watching her, Sarah expected her to scream, but she simply sat on the bed with a horrified look on her face and her mouth hanging open, examining all of the marks that covered her.
Her breathing became more and more rapid, and for a moment she felt light-headed.
But how could…
Oh my God…
She was working hard enough to keep breathing, much less form sentences. Throwing the blankets off of her legs, she found still more tattoos, again covering nearly every inch of her skin. It seemed quite possible to her that she was going to be sick. She turned sideways and lowered her feet to the floor, stood up and turned to try to see the backs of her legs and parts of her shoulders and neck that she hadn't yet seen. Again, she thought that this must be a nightmare.
Sarah noticed that the woman suddenly appeared to be hyperventilating as she stood examining the tattoos that covered her, so for her own good, the woman in the lab coat stepped forward to intervene and get her back into bed.
Suddenly, she was gasping for breath. It was all too much. There are tattoos covering my entire body, and I can't even remember who I am or how I ended up naked, in a duffle bag, in the middle of – where am I again? – New York City… the last thing she remembered before she fainted was seeing the look of concern on Sarah's face, and thinking that there wasn't going to be anything that this woman, or anyone else for that matter, was going to be able to do to help her. It was her last coherent thought, because after that her mind seemed to go into overload and simply shut down, and it was only seconds after that that everything went dark.
Before Sarah could make it to her side, the other woman collapsed. Sarah knelt beside her, checking her vitals. It had obviously been a shock to her to find the tattoos, which her medical team had noticed immediately when they'd brought her in the night before. After all, they were impossible to miss. Her pulse was steady, if still a little elevated, but she was breathing and not in immediate distress. Sarah needed to call for some help, so she stood up and quickly walked back to the door that she had entered through only a few minutes before. She had a feeling that this was only the beginning.