That Thing Where She's Gone
an excerpt

When I came to, it took me a minute to open my eyes. I was spread out on my stomach, my cheek flat against—something. A rough, scratchy surface. Gravel, maybe. I was definitely outside. Cool air wafted across my face and I realized the breeze was probably responsible for reviving me. My eyelids felt stuck together, and there was a faint buzzing in my ears, making it difficult for me to concentrate on my surroundings. I did realize, however, that I could just make out the murky, darkish orange-red of the insides of my eyelids, so there was light—somewhere.

Good lord. My head ached as if it had been split open like a piñata at a child’s birthday party. But, you know, without the joy of candy. Or the sugar rush. Just one big swing of a stick—TWHACK!—lights out. Night-night, mister paper mache' donkey. It's been fun.

I rolled slowly onto my side, but stilled immediately when the movement caused shooting pains of white-hot heat to explode in my head, illuminating the insides of my eyeballs to a blinding pinkish-white. I gasped, waited for the rolls of nausea to pass, then slowly, ever-so-slowly, picked my head up off of the ground as much as I could manage without causing any more near-debilitating explosions of pain. I didn’t know where I was, but I was sure as hell going to figure it out, and passing out wouldn’t help anybody, least of all me. And honestly, I was really the only person I was interested in helping at the moment.

I blinked groggily up at the charcoal night sky, a streak of sky directly above me dulled to near-grey by a shaft of bright, fluorescent light shooting over my head from the headlights of a car parked several feet away.

I braced both hands against the dirt and pushed myself up slightly, welcoming the quick, stabbing pain of the gravel underneath me scratching and biting into my skin because it somehow distracted me from the whole My Cracked Skull Hurts Like Hell thing. Holding myself up with one hand, I touched the other to the bump on the back of my head, which, oh happy day, was the size of a goose-egg already. That’s going to leave a mark, I thought stupidly, as my hand came away from my head with a smear of warm blood across my palm.

Wincing, I tried to shift into a sitting position, on my knees with my legs tucked under to help me balance. I had to close my eyes for a second so I could concentrate on quelling the nausea that kept threatening to do something drastic if I did not remain still. The last thing I needed was to lose my lunch. I already smelled bad enough without adding vomit to the overwhelming stench of fear that seemed to be radiating off me as if I’d bathed in Eau de Freaked the Hell Out.

I finally opened my eyes again, and blinking against the glare of the headlights, looked around, trying to figure out exactly where I was.