My eyes drift slowly open, a steady heartbeat filling my ears. The pain of a needle fills my inner elbow and a thin white hospital gown covers my body. Confusion fills me as a blonde woman slouches in a chair beside the bed I lie in. Why am I in a hospital?
"Hola. Mi nombre es Sarita Abalos. Estoy con la policía. Cuál es tu nombre?" she says, sitting up straight. I recognize a couple words as Spanish. Her green eyes watch me closely.
I croak, my throat sore, "Hola...uh Español?" ("Hello...uh Spanish?")
"Sí, lo soy. ¿Es usted?" she replies, pulling a notepad and pen from her jacket. I see she has already written some notes, though I can't understand them.
"Uh..." chewing my lip, I search my mind for the few Spanish phrases I know. "Me...Inglés." ("Me...English.")
She asks, pointing to me, "Nombre?
I remember learning that nombre means "name" in the few Spanish classes I had a in fifth grade. Digging through my brain, I say whatever I can remember, hoping it'll help the woman - who, judging by the golden badge on her belt, is a cop - help me find out why the heck I'm in Spain.
"Me llamo Georgina Hudson. Doce años. Americana. Um...porque...uh...en España?" I sigh, leaning back in the bed, exhausting my Spanish vocabulary. ("My name is Georgina Hudson. Twelve years. American. Um...why...uh...in Spain?")
"Gracias, Georgina." she smiles sympathetically. "Vamos a llevarle de vuelta a sus padres en los Estados Unidos pronto."
Though confused by most of her sentence, I return the smile. She leaves quietly through a door in the far corner of the small hospital room. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to relax. My memory is heavily clouded and the last thing I can remember is walking home from school. My head aches, as does my entire body. Cuts, bruises and burns cover my arms and hands. God knows what the rest of my body looks like.
What the hell happened to me?