MONICA
Monica winced at the ache in her temples and opened her eyes. The not-quite-white,
not-exactly-gray ceiling and recessed fluorescent lighting let her know she wasn’t
at home, and neither was she at Stratford Estates.
Stratford Estates? Oh my God. What happened? The last thing she remembered was Mr.
Forbes yelling fire.
A sharp pain pierced her skull from temple to temple and she closed her eyes again,
trying to make the throbbing lessen. No such luck. Gingerly opening her eyes again,
she brought her gaze downward from the corner of the ceiling and noticed a large
metal clock with a white face and black hands that pointed to 8:52. Morning or night?
she wondered. Where am I?
“Well, look who’s awake. Good morning, Ms. Levin. How are we feeling today?” chirped
a nurse in Min
