Had she been in an accident? Was she in a hospital? A burning pain between her legs caused her hand to creep there in turn. What the hell?

“Where?”

The person she was following never reacted. A diamond-shaped patch of sweat marked the back of her T-shirt. Another girl. Her shapely hips filled the shorts she wore, long tanned legs, honey-blond hair. A small tattoo was visible between her hair and the collar of her shirt. She stared at the inkwork, then reached out to touch the bold pattern. Dots and dashes. Dots in red ink, dashes in black. Dash, dash, dot. Dash, dot, dash, dot. The pattern held meaning but the significance eluded her.

Something shifted, opening behind her eyes, like curtains in her mind, the sensation alien and nauseating. Then she was aware of the cold tiles beneath her feet. Bare feet. Cold. Where were her shoes?

She turned in a half-circle, her hand reaching for the wall for support. The world skewed for a moment, the ceiling becoming the floor.

Strong hands grasped at her shoulders and she was hauled to her feet.

“Keep moving. First door on the left.”

She looked up at the owner of the hands that propelled her forward. Tall, muscular, white rock-star hair.

She heard the words again. “First door on the left. Keep moving.” The man shoved her again.

“First door on the left.” The voice was her own. Disembodied to her ear, but her own.

“Move it.”

“Celine?” Something surfaced in her mind like a pocket of air in liquid. She rolled the name around on her tongue. “Celine.”

The girl with the tattoo stopped, wobbling on unsteady legs. Her eyes were empty, dark pools of confusion. “Celine?”

The man grabbed both young women by the backs of their necks, fingers digging into flesh. “Keep moving, you two. I haven’t got all day. Back in your hole you go.”

This room smelled of sweat and perfume and confusion. She had been here before.