Angie awoke to dizziness and darkness. She reached up to pull the bag from her head, but it was already gone. She was in a pitch-black someplace. There was a cold metal floor under her numb body.
Nausea hit her hard and fast. She rolled over onto her side, vomited up what felt like thin bile.
“Steve,” she croaked. Her voice echoed, hollow and weak.
“Steve,” she tried again, as loud as she could manage. Again, it sounded more like a senseless grunt that rang metallically for a moment before being swallowed by the darkness.
Angie crawled away from the vomit, groping in the blackness. She found a wall, but not the yielding touch of warm skin she was hoping for. Steve wasn’t there with her. She was alone in the dark.
She curled into a ball on the...
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