Rachel lurches up from sleep, disoriented. She’s immediately assaulted by a sharp pain above her left eye. She frowns with distaste, then yawns. Her mouth is dry and funky, and her sinuses feel pummeled. Her stomach is undergoing a prolonged lurch. She can’t even remember how or when she found her way to her bed. These are all vestiges of last night, although most of it is merely a blank spot in her memory. “Dad?” she mutters, half-conscious. Did her dad call to her? She finally opens her eyes into a squint. The early morning throbs through the curtains, along with some kind of distant keening. A siren? No, that’s not it. Dust particles shift in a dim, reddish beam, caught in a hot breeze that bloats the dark curtain. There’s a deep sound like retreating thunder coming from far away, fading into the distance—or maybe it’s just the soundtrack of her headache. She knows she ought to apologize to her dad. Last night before jumping into Tony’s new Subaru, she’d said some things.
