Her knees folded beneath her again as she tried a second attempt to right herself. Groaning, Celine reached out and grasped the end of the camp bed, leaning on it as a geriatric would a walking frame. The curved metal was cool beneath her fingers. A small squeak, like that of a trapped mouse, caused her to start. It was just the bedframe. She stood up. This time her legs held true. The room tilted like a carnival ride as she took several deep breaths, pursing her lips as she exhaled.

How long had she been in the room? Her wristwatch was gone. A quick pat-down of her pockets showed that her cell phone was missing as well. There was no clock visible in the dormitory-style room. The plain white walls were unadorned: no clock, no posters, nothing to suggest her current location.

Five bunk beds lined the room. Ten beds, four more of which were occupied. Celine moved to the closest of the beds and stared down at the young woman lying there on top of the plain sheets, her legs straight with her knees together. Her arms were pressed to her sides as if a stage hypnotist had just mesmerised her and laid her down. Her face was relaxed and her mouth hung open a fraction of an inch. A soft whistle issued forth each time she took a breath. Her honey-blond hair was loose, and several darkened strands clung to the beads of perspiration on her face.

Celine took a step closer. Her face seemed familiar.

“Where the hell am I?” A sense of unease began to worm its way down Celine’s spine. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

The girl in the bed continued to snore softly.

She knew this girl. Her face, her hair. What the hell was her name? Celine shook her head to clear what felt like heavy spiderwebs that muffled her capacity to think clearly. She had suffered her first real hangover on the second morning of the vacation. The various cocktails that she had tried for the first time had been wild, but had left her throwing up most of the night. The next morning had been even worse, her head throbbing with an intensity she had never imagined. She had learned her lesson and eased back on the margaritas and mojitos. But this fog that filled her head was different. It felt like she was deep underwater, the pressure pushing at the back of her eyeballs. It hurt to blink.

Like a page being turned rapidly, a scene flashed into her memory. Four friends at a roughly-hewn wooden table. The music thumping. Drinks with umbrellas and straws that curled into odd shapes.