The first thing Emily sensed when she opened her eyes was the disgusting smell. Not even fully awake, she immediately knew something was wrong. This was not her bed, not her apartment, not where she was supposed to wake up on a Sunday morning. Taking a brave look to the other side of the bed, she realized she was alone. Was that good or bad?

Still in disgust, she kicked away the filthy sheets only to find herself lying on a bare, stained mattress.

Naked.

"Oh my god!" Emily jumped up. What - except for the obvious - had to go wrong to end up naked in a dirty motel room? She froze when a second possibility popped up in her mind.

She had already had a few one-night-stands before, but none of them had felt like this. The worst thing that had happened up to now was being woken by the hysterical sobs of the very pregnant wife of the man Emily had ended up in bed with. Of course she hadn't had any idea that the man she had left the bar with the night before (what was his name? Jake? Josh? John?) was married or soon to be a father! She had wordlessly escaped the situation by simply fleeing from the guy's apartment, knowing that there would not have been any point of assuring the crying girl she had had no idea that he was married. The only thing that had mattered to her was that Jake/Josh/John had known and ignored that.

But this situation was completely different. This motel was the kind of place where worse things happened. The kind of place where you could check in as "Hannibal Lecter" without anyone wanting to see an ID or asking about unconscious girl you were dragging along behind yourself.

Had she been this woman the night before?

What had happened? Why didn't she have any memory of the last night?

And where did the pain between her legs come from?

Emily didn't have to see the spots of blood to know that whatever had happened had probably crossed the line between consensual and non-consensual sex by far...

She reached the toilet bowl just in time before the urge to empty her stomach had become too big to retain.

What the hell was wrong with her?


Staring into the scrawled mirror above the sink, she couldn't help but start crying.

Where did the bite mark on her neck come from?

Why was she here?

Where the hell was "here", anyway?

Only half-aware of what she was doing, Emily entered the shower cabin, which definitely had not been cleaned for at least weeks. She was not really surprised to find it was not working. Trying to find at least something like a wash-cloth, she opened the small cupboard underneath the sink, but the only thing she found was a cockroach panicky fleeing from the light. Grossed out, Emily fled from the bathroom herself.

The only thing she could think of right now - if her semi-terrified, semi-autopilot state of mind could even be considered thinking, was getting out of here as soon as possible.

Trying to get herself together, Emily grabbed her clothes which were lying widely scattered on the dirty carpeted floor. It took her a few moments to accept she was not going to find her slip which she had been looking for quite some time now. It was gone, probably ended up as a trophy in a cardboard box under someone's bed. She shivered in disgust ... and shame...

Scouring the pockets of her jacket for her valuables, she panicked again. Her purse was gone. She checked everything over and over again. Nothing.

At least the keys of her car and her cell phone were still there. Not wanting to accept she had not only been - whatever had happened - but also been stolen from, she tried to remember where else her purse could be.

She felt something like relief when it finally hit her: She had left her purse in her car to prevent it from being stolen inside the bar. Only taking a few bank notes inside should have also made sure she didn't drink too much - no money, no alcohol - but obviously this part of her plan had been defeated...


Now she was standing in a filthy motel room, without money and underwear, her car probably miles away - this area didn't look like it was anywhere near the bar she had been the night before...

Emily forced herself not to think about it - not to think about anything except for a way how to get home again. Her only option was to call someone and ask him to pick her up - any other way would require money she didn't have.

At least she finally knew where she was - she had found a dirty glass bowl with matchboxes and condoms in it, both wrappings imprinted with logo and address of the motel whose name "daydream motel" seemed more than inappropriate...

Blinking back the tears, Emily dialed JJ's number, but nobody answered the phone. She tried again and again, but to no effect.

After having left several messages on JJ's home phone answering machine and the mailboxes of her FBI- and her private cell phone, Emily sank down on the dirty floor, pulled her legs to her body and waited for JJ to come and pick up the pieces she had been left in.