My eyes accustomed to the light, and I took in my surroundings. I was in a tastefully furnished guest room, on the lower level of the house. How had I gotten there? Had I been able to stumble down the stairs of my own volition? Or had Max carried me down there? Had he held me in his strong arms like a long, limp spaghetti noodle? At that moment I realized that my jeans and flannel had been removed. I wore only a yellowing bra and a matronly pair of cotton underpants. Who had undressed me? Shame burned my cheeks and throat. I wanted to get up and leave, but I couldn’t drive in my condition. Rolling over, I decided to sleep for another hour or two, then make my escape.

As my eyes closed, I heard a bang. And then another. It didn’t alarm me. It could have been the wind or a wild animal knocking about outside. Living in the woods came with a nighttime soundtrack. It was the noise that followed that made me sit bolt upright in bed. A scream, almost a roar—agonized, enraged, in pain. It was a woman. It was Freya.

I had to go to her, had to do what I could to help her, protect her, save her. I clambered out of bed, but the room tilted, and my stomach flipped. Oh God. I was going to be sick. I couldn’t puke in this pristine guest room with its seagrass rug, its snow-white duvet, its Wedgwood-blue accent pillows. But if Freya was in physical or emotional pain, she needed me. I didn’t know if Max was there, if he was hurting her or helping her. I sat back down and dropped my head between my knees, just for a moment, until I regained my equilibrium.

But when I raised my head, a few second later, the noise had stopped. No more banging or wailing . . . just silence. Had I dreamed it all? Were auditory hallucinations a side effect of the red wine–pot combo? I didn’t usually drink, and I rarely smoked the stimulating sativa strain at night. Perhaps it had all been a vivid, disturbing dream? I didn’t want to go prowling through the dark and silent house, searching for a scream that may not have happened. I lay down again, and soon, I was asleep.

• • •

When I awoke, the sun was high in the sky. I had overslept big-time. There would be no clean getaway; I would have to face Freya and Max. Finding my pants and shirt folded neatly on a wooden chair, I dressed and slipped into a nearby bathroom. I peed, splashed water on my face, and patted at my unruly hair. There was a green tinge to my complexion, but I knew it would soon be obliterated by the pink of embarrassment. Freya had offered me a glass of wine, and somehow, I’d ended up in a coma. It was humiliating. And would highlight the fact that I was too young, too childish, too inexperienced to be Freya’s friend.