As the drug gradually started to wear off, the pain in Pia’s jaw intensified. She stood up. She was dizzy. She managed to get herself into the bathroom. She looked at her face in the mirror, and it was a mess. A livid red welt with a small laceration covered much of the left-hand side along the jawline. Pia’s lip was swollen and bloody, and there were red marks where the duct tape used to gag her had ripped at her skin. She remembered the fight, how she’d kicked one of the men in the groin and been smashed in the face in return. Pia leaned in and looked at her eyes. She saw that they were puffy and ringed with dark circles. She hadn’t had a normal good night’s sleep in an age. Being unconscious for hours didn’t count. Pia looked at herself again and hoped to get an answer to the question: What was she going to do now?

She washed her face with cold water and took a long, hot shower. She put on her most comfortable sweatshirt and pajama pants. She located a bottle of Advil in her travel bag and took four tablets, washing them down with two glasses of water. Then she called George on his cell phone. When he didn’t answer, she didn’t leave a message, fearing she wouldn’t be able to say anything coherent. She sent a text message instead: “Something’s happened. Please come over. Urgent. P.”

Pia lay down on the bed and waited.

George’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He hung back a little from the group doing radiology rounds and read the message. He had a coffee break coming up, and he figured he could wait until then to reply. Pia had probably found a way of indicting someone else in her conspiracy theory, and he had been enjoying being a regular medical student for the last couple of hours. George put the phone back in his pocket and caught up with his group.

George called Pia after finishing a cup of coffee in the X-ray technician lounge. It was 9:45. At first, George thought he had a bad connection because he couldn’t understand what Pia was saying. He moved out of the room with its background chatter, into a corridor, and stood by a window.

“Pia, can you hear me? You’re very faint. What is it?”

What Pia was trying to say was “Please can you come to my room?” But it didn’t sound like that at first.

“Say that again, Pia, I can’t understand you.”

Pia repeated herself.

“You want me to come?”

“Yes.”