Far away, she heard the din of voices and the rhythmic swell of techno music. Closer, there was quiet, save for an intermittent drip drop, drip drop, like a faucet with a slow leak when water has pooled in the sink basin. Where was she? Why was she so wet and cold? Her heart beat sluggishly, and she strained for consciousness. Behind her eyelids, she sensed light. She shivered with cold, felt a strange wetness under her shoulder. She struggled to open her eyes, but the effort seemed so great. Lethargy sucked at her, and she sank down into a quiet haze before again trying to fight her way to the surface. Drip. Drop. Drip… drop. Familiar scents teased her nose. She tried to inhale, but something large and heavy crushed her ribcage. What was it? She smelled laundry detergent and men’s cologne. These scents mingled with others, familiar, but not pleasant—the stench of sweat and fear and something else, something distinct and metallic. Her limbs seemed far away, her head fuzzy. She tried to move her legs, her hands, but, like her eyelids, they didn’t quite obey.
