Jammes struggled against the invisible bonds pinning her sore limbs to the basin. Her chest rose and fell haltingly, fighting against the drug's unrelenting chains. Where am I? Every effort to move was useless. It was as if she was in a coffin. She mentally shuddered, closing her eyes slowly. Am I dead? Was she not dead? Had she, not a moment ago, just laid her eyes upon the Grim Reaper himself? A light flowery smell entered her nose. Death certainly did not smell so sweet. If she was not dead, then where was she? Her range of sight was limited by her paralysis. All she could see was a beige wall and her prostrate body submerged in a grey liquid. No, this couldn't be real. She had no sensation. It was as if her head had become separated from her body. This was a dream. There could be no other plausible explanation. Perhaps she had eaten something spoiled at dinner and now was experiencing the delirious after effects. It is my imagination again. It simply wasn't possible, was it? It is only my imagination, my imagination. As Lucienne had warned me…

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Lucienne…

An image flashed through her memory. She was walking along a dark tunnel. Lucienne was close behind, her footfall slow and apprehensive. Yes, she was going to show Lucienne – show Lucienne what? Her memory faltered. What were they doing down there? It was dangerous and defied logic. Her head throbbed, casting a pulsing red veil over her eyes. She slowly let her eyelids fall to control the throbbing. As the pressure faded, the dam broke and the memories began flooding in: the tunnel, a small room, a searing fire in her lungs, and the pressure like that of a thousand knives tearing at her flesh – sudden darkness. Her heart stayed miraculously steady. Any quieter, she would have believed herself to be dead. Slowly, another piece of her memory returned. It was a noise. It was speaking to her. What was it saying? The sound was a dull buzz in the back of her mind, as if muffled under a pillow. It gradually intensified, the syllables breaking from the unintelligible buzz.

"Your muscles are under the influence of a drug… Jammes…"

A drug? Her mind throbbed in the agony of processing this small piece of information. A drug… a drug… Could that be why she couldn't move? Her heart took an extra beat before resuming its previous languid rhythm. "Do not be alarmed." That voice… She clung to the fluid intonations of the sounds still in her memory. Already it was fading. "Do not be alarmed." It wasn't human, was it? It couldn't possibly have been human. It was too perfect to belong to any mortal. Every inflection was caressed with maternal care by that melodic instrument, gently cradled in a harmonious silk. Her ears must have been false. It had not been a human voice she had been listening to. It was unlike anything her ears had ever experienced.

With great effort, she opened her eyes again, still clinging to the memory of the angelic voice. The scenery had not changed. Had she expected it to change? She was hoping it would, hoping that she would open her eyes to the familiar plain walls of her dormitory, her sheets sticky with sweat from her night tremors. But it was not so. Her exhausted eyes faded in and out of focus, her mind beginning to catch up to her situation. It had been human; it had been a man that had spoken to her. Most likely, it was he who put her here, naked in this tub. Jammes wanted to scream. Her uncovered body had been vulnerable to wandering eyes and fingers for God knew how long. How long had she been unconscious? The drug prevented her from clenching her teeth. She had not been a virgin for quite some time, but her little carnal adventures were never against her will. She was one of the more fortunate ones, never having experienced rape like a few of the other girls. But that did not mean the men did not want her. The stagehands and other unkindly figures would eye her hungrily, violating her with their lusty ideas. Had she been able to, her body would have released a cold shudder.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at her bare abdomen and legs. She saw no bruises on the outside. At least the man had been gentle. She felt no foreign sensations, none that would indicate any recent violation of her body, but she would have to wait for her body to regain control of itself to be completely certain. She let out a sigh. Her throat could not even produce a moan. It felt so powerless. Wait a moment… She let out another sigh, larger than the first. The air escaped her lungs with liberating ease. The drugs were beginning to wear off. Relief as well as dread washed over her body. Once the drugs wore off, she would be able to get out of this place, but there was one large, unavoidable problem: where was this place? She had a vague recollection of being transported from the small, treacherous chamber through a short, dark tunnel. Her memory faltered in trying to remember who or what had gotten her out of the hell.

Another thought: would the man return before the drugs wore off? It was useless trying to avoid thinking about what his intentions were. He is healing her, so he said, with this grey water, but he had drugged her and rendered her unable to move. The only reason a man would do that would be to prevent her from escaping. Jammes' heart maintained its steady rhythm, despite the terrifying thoughts running through her head. It puzzled her. Her heart should be racing, threatening to rip free of the confines of her chest. It should be thrusting blood through her veins, creating a fire in its wake. She should be gasping for breath by now, screaming for help. Jammes closed her eyes. It was useless thinking about "should be's." They would not free her from this situation, whatever this situation was. Her muscles suddenly felt restless, building up in the energy she could not use at the moment. However hard she tried, she could not remove the irritating itch of her restive limbs. It was frustrating, to say the least. The twinge wound around her arms and legs, wrapping her limbs in a thick, tormenting shroud. She wanted to cry, to break out into body-rattling sobs that would exhaust her eyes and her throat. It was an odd sensation. Her body stayed limp and unresponsive. She prepared herself for the stinging in the corners of her eyes, the congestion in her nose, and the involuntary spasms of her chest. Nothing happened. Not a single tear formed in her eyes. Cry. Cry! Mon dieu! Cry! What had she ever done to deserve this? It was terrible not being able to move, but it was agonizing not being able to cry. A single tear, God, is all I ask - a solitary drop. Is that too much? Her sanity quivered with anguish and hopelessness. A wave of lightheadedness swept over her for a moment, leaving her to handle her consciousness with slippery fingers.

Her vision blurred with exhaustion. Someone called to her.

"Jammes?"

She gazed blankly at the empty bathroom wall. "Yes?"

"Jammes, I had dreamt the worst for your fate. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm simply tired. I had trouble sleeping last night." Her voice sounded raspy and unfamiliar, as if she had not used it in years. She stared at the bathroom wall in front of her. What was once empty space was now occupied by a tall, slender silhouette. It was like a shadow against the wall, but looked somehow tangible. It looked familiar.

"Come now, Jammes, you must tell me: are you all right, truly?" The voice was unmistakably female. It sounded old, but soft and innocent at the same time.

"There is this pain – on my shoulder." The female figure walked over – or did she glide? She leaned over Jammes, revealing all her features. Jammes gasped and covered her mouth. Blood ran in a thin, steady stream down the side of her head, flowing like a plagued river in Egypt, cursed by God. The woman's brown hair was dull and matted with spots of dark red. A crimson drop fell into the tub, dispersing itself immediately through the grey water. Another drop followed. Soon, a steady stream of red emptied into the tub, dyeing the water bright red. Jammes screamed at the stained water and tried to climb out of the tub. The woman moved quickly. Her hard, wrinkled hands were on Jammes' shoulders, pressing her back gently, but firmly. Jammes looked up at the woman's old, steely face. It was expressionless.

"Jammes, you are hurt. Do not move." Her lips moved unnaturally, as if they were separate from her body. They were stiff and looked flushed of any color. "You know you shouldn't have come down here."

"What? Down here? What are you talking about?" Jammes spoke to the strange woman as if she had known her for years, yet she had never seen this woman before. "Where am I?"

The woman's eyes slanted downwards, a look of concern forming upon the ashen grey face. "I told you it was not a good idea and you knew it as well, Jammes. You knew this would be dangerous and yet you still brought me down here. You put both our lives in danger. Why, Jammes, why? Was it truly worth it?"

Tears streamed freely down Jammes' face. Crying was not as relieving as she had thought it would be. If anything, it felt more burdensome, as if every tear shed was a shred of guilt gained.

"I'm sorry, so, so sorry. I – I –" She could say no more. Her sobs muffled her voice. The woman's face was present even when she closed her eyes. The thin, sharp contours of her face burned in her mind. Jammes looked into the grey, lifeless eyes and let out a loud, knowing sob. It was painful. The sudden recognition of the woman suffocated her. She wanted to reach out and hold the face in her hands and cradle it against her chest, but her body remained still and unresponsive. "I – I am so sorry. Please forgive me, forgive me. You were right. Oh, you were always right. Lucienne! Oh, poor, poor Lucienne!"

The slender figure shook its head and bit its lower lip. Each motion seemed mechanical. However foreign this woman seemed, it was undeniably Lucienne. Beneath the solemnity and death was her friend, her most treasured of all friends. Jammes trembled with emotion. The old adage was correct: you never realize the value of something until it is lost.

"Lucienne," Jammes whispered through her tears.

Lucienne stood up and shook her head. "Nothing can be done now, Jammes." She placed a cold, dusty hand upon Jammes' forehead. "Goodbye."

"No," Her voice broke as she closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, don't go. Don't leave me. I am sorry, Lucienne, I'm sorry!" She wrapped her arms around her head, spilling water onto the floor. "Lord, oh, Lord, please forgive me!"

A pained sigh escaped her throat, sending a gentle ripple through the water. The candle flickered lazily as Jammes faded between consciousness and nothingness. Her eyelids fluttered momentarily and her chest heaved, then all was quiet. Nothing stirred in the bathroom, nothing save the dance of shadows and the nightmares of a young, restless mind.