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“Thank God. You scared me so badly.” She slipped her arm under my shoulders again and tried to lift me into a sitting position. “I need you to drink some water. The internet says you need fluids.”

“I can't.” I let my head loll to the side. “Everything comes back up.”

“You have to try. Please, Joy. Just a few sips.”

She held the glass to my lips again, and I took a small amount of water into my mouth. Then I immediately forced myself to vomit it back up, along with more bile from my empty stomach. The force of it made my whole body convulse, and this time I didn't have to fake the tears that sprang to my eyes.

“I'm sorry,” I gasped between heaves. “I'm so sorry. I know you're trying to help.”

“No, don't apologize. This isn't your fault, either.” But I could hear the panic creeping back into her voice. “Maybe it's an allergic reaction. Let me look up the medication I gave you and see what the symptoms are.”

She went back to the laptop, and I could hear her typing even more frantically than before.

“Midazolam adverse reactions,” she muttered to herself. “Oh God, there are so many possible side effects. Respiratory depression, cardiovascular collapse, allergic reactions.” Her voice got higher with each item she read. “Joy, have you ever had a reaction to anesthesia before?”

“Yes, with the dentist,” I whispered. “Remember?”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. I heard her sharp intake of breath, and then more frantic typing.

“It says here that some people can have severe reactions after their first exposure.” She was talking faster now, her words tumbling over each other. “It says that if someone is vomiting repeatedly and losing consciousness, they need immediate medical attention.”

This was it. This was my chance.

“Maybe you should call someone,” I suggested weakly. “A doctor, or⁠—”

“I can't call a doctor. They'll ask too many questions.” Glenda's voice was tight with anxiety. “But maybe I could drive to the pharmacy. Get you something to stop the vomiting. Something to counteract the reaction.”

“I don't want you to leave me.” I made my voice small and scared, which wasn't hard since that's exactly how I felt. “What if I get worse while you're gone?”

“You're getting worse anyway.” She came back over to me, her face creased with worry. “Joy, I'm scared. I've never seen anyone this sick from medication before. I think I need to get you something to help.”

“How long would you be gone?”

“The pharmacy is less than fifteen minutes away. Maybe a half hour or a little more round trip, plus however long it takes to find the right medication.” She knelt beside the couch and brushed my hair back from my forehead. “I'll drive as fast as I can. I promise.”

A half hour. If I could get free in twenty minutes, I might have a chance to escape before she got back.

“Okay,” I whispered. “But please hurry. I feel really bad.”

“I will. I'll be back before you know it.” She kissed my forehead, and I had to fight not to recoil from her touch. “Try to rest while I'm gone.”

I nodded weakly and closed my eyes. I listened to her gathering her things, heard her footsteps moving toward what I assumed was the front door.

“I love you, Joy,” she called out. “I'm going to fix this. I promise.”

The door slammed shut, and a few seconds later I heard a car engine starting up. I waited until the sound faded completely before I opened my eyes and looked around.

I was alone.

The relief was so intense it almost made me dizzy. For the first time since she'd grabbed me in the parking garage, I was alone and unsupervised. This was my chance.

I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. The movement sent fresh waves of nausea through me, and I had to pause and breathe deeply to keep from throwing up again. Whatever drug she'd given me was still in my system, making everything harder than it should be.

But I didn't have time to wait for it to wear off. I had to move now, while I had the chance.

I swung my legs off the couch and managed to get myself into a sitting position. The room spun around me for a few seconds, but it gradually stabilized. I looked down at the ropes around my wrists and ankles. They were tight, but not impossibly so. Miss Baker of the Year had to have a knife somewhere to cut her cake.

First, though, I wanted to see if there was a way to call for help. Glenda had mentioned being fifteen minutes from the pharmacy, which meant we weren’t that remote. What’s more, she had internet connectivity. But maybe there was a landline anyway, or maybe her laptop wasn’t locked. A girl could hope.