Beatrice.
I woke to my stomach trying to turn itself inside out.
The bathroom was too far. I barely made it to the wastebasket beside my bed before everything came up—bile and fear and the few crackers I'd forced down last night.
My whole body shook. Sweat pooled at the base of my spine, cold and clammy against my skin.
This wasn't normal. This was beyond stress, beyond fear, beyond anything I'd felt in Panama.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Gerald's door open. Footsteps in the hallway. A soft knock.
"Beatrice?"
I couldn't answer. Another wave hit me, violent and sudden, leaving me gasping.
The door opened—I'd forgotten to lock it. Gerald's face appeared, concern etched deep into the lines around his eyes.
"How long has this been happening?"
"I'm fine." The words came ou
