Chapter Sixteen
The next thing I remember, I was having a coughing fit. Something burned my nose, my eyes, my throat. I spat and coughed, and as I did, a pain like dull steak-knives ran through my shoulders. I tried to bring my hands up, to cover my mouth, to wave the burning fumes away, only to discover that my hands were behind me and would not obey. My hands tingled from poor circulation. I coughed so hard I thought I was going to puke. But there was nothing in my stomach. I just gagged and coughed some more. Every convulsion in my lungs pushed up the pressure at the top of my skull, behind my eyes. I was worried my head was going to pop, like dropping a watermelon on a sidewalk. At that moment, I would have taken my worst-ever hangover, twice over, in place of how I felt.
After a few
