How long had she slept? The same blackness that had enveloped Melissa the prior night still surrounded her. It could have been four or ten or twelve hours later. Without light, there was no time.

But there was sun beyond these walls, she thought. There was Ava.

Her daughter was out there worrying about her, wondering why her mom had vanished after her dad had been shot in the face—maybe even debating whether Melissa had done it. Most people would be questioning her innocence at this point, Melissa figured. Here she was, nowhere to be found, a woman whose last major role had been a femme fatale obsessed with another woman’s husband. There would be articles about whether life had imitated art, whether Melissa had captured crazy so well because she, herself, was mentally unwell. If the media found the messages, they would crucify her.

She had to get out of here. Melissa pressed her hand to the velvety surface that she had stumbled upon after wandering, blind, for what had felt like hours, patting the walls, the floor, the spaces in front of her, struggling to discern differences in texture. The fabric belonged to a couch cushion, she assumed. She’d been able to lie on the elevated cloth in fetal position, placing her head on what felt like a roll pillow.

The cushion was damp, probably from her tears. She needed to stop crying. Conserve water. Dehydration messed with the mind. She would never escape if she got confused.

Melissa placed her feet on the floor. Hardwood, if she had to guess. She rose, feeling the material beneath her butt give way, and slowly advanced, holding her hands in front of her face. Other than the couch, there didn’t appear to be any furniture. At least, she hadn’t run into anything else.

As she walked, Melissa detected a faint smell. Meaty. Oily. Not rancid, though. Not unpleasant. Her stomach whined, a dog begging for food. She followed the scent like a bloodhound, sniffing the air every few seconds, retracing her steps when it became fainter.

Hunger pushed her to abandon her deliberate pace. After a few seconds, something hard slammed into her rib cage. She jumped back, unsure whether she’d been struck.

“Hello?” she yelled. “Anyone here?”

Nothing answered save the faint hum of something electrical and her own panicked breaths. She didn’t sense any change in temperature, no heat emanating from some invisible corner. Watching her was pointless, she supposed. There was nothing to see in the dark.

Melissa returned to what had hit her, patting the air until her hand grazed a slick surface. She ran her fingers over it, searching for bumps or divots in the plane, something to indicate what she was touching. She felt nothing other than smoothness and cold.

The smell from before wafted toward her. She slid her hand toward the scent until it happened upon a round edge.