What Happened at East Houston Street

Chapter 3

Stephanie woke in a dim room with a pounding in her head and blurred vision. She brought her hands to her eyes, rubbing her palms against her stinging lids in an attempt to restore her sight. Thirty seconds later, she was relieved to make out vague outlines of what seemed to be an armchair. In the quiet surrounding she could feel warmth from a glow, which she realized was a fire crackling in a hearth not more than five feet away from her. Stephanie lay on the floor perched against a velvet loveseat, her shoes had been removed, but set right next to her.

As each minute passed she regained more of her senses and awareness. Her mouth was dry, clothes slightly damp, and she could hear a faint patter against the windows. It must be drizzling outside. She lifted her right arm behind her to make contact with the sofa cushion to help lift herself off the ground.
As soon as she leaned into the cushion she was attacked by a sharp stinging pain in her arm. Wincing, she pulled the sleeve of her navy blue sweater up as far as she could, bunching the fabric high around her shoulder, revealing a swollen and red wound that felt like she had been branded with a hot iron. What the fuck? she questioned internally. She was shocked and confused. Using her left arm instead, she furiously pushed herself off the floor, almost knocked back down again by the more urgent pounding echoing in her head now.

What the fuck happened to me? What the fuck is going on?

She brought her right hand to her head in an attempt to steady the jackhammering in her skull, which only made the dull stinging pain in her arm feel more like a fireball piercing through her skin. Stephanie tried to remain in an upright position by keeping her feet planted on the ground, her hips over her slightly bent knees, trying to steady her swaying frame. She stayed in this position for a few minutes and soon the throbbing in her head became a manageable ache and the burning in her arm turned into a bearable tingle. If she didn't move too quickly, she could figure out how to get out of wherever she was, knowing it couldn't be a good thing that her clothes were wet and that she didn't recognize this room. 

Moving one foot in front of the other, she managed to get herself over to a large oval mirror that hung next to one of the built-in bookshelves that flanked the fireplace. With her shirt sleeve still rolled high enough to reveal the searing wound, she turned her body to press her right side as close as she could to the reflective surface. She needed to get a better look at what exactly had been marked into her skin.

Afraid to turn on the light switch, she narrowed her eyes and leaned into her reflection, her forehead almost touching the glass and her breath leaving small spots of condensation on the surface. It took her a moment to see past the raised lines covered in dried bits of blood to start to form an understanding of the pattern.

She saw two lines and, in the center, two more but they were diagonal. Some smaller curved lines appeared. The lack of light and the throbbing in her head did not make it easy for her to establish at what exactly she was looking. She squinted harder, leaning in and out, hoping her mind would eventually focus on the finer details of the shape.

It was obvious now. Stepping back one more time to take it all in, she registered a name that had already been imprinted on her heart and now it was seared onto her arm too. A cold sweat broke out over the nape of her neck, goosebumps now covering her arms and legs. I have to get out of here. I have to get home.

The dull ache in her head swelled into a more prominent pounding now, her vision blurring again, the hot mark on her arm jumping with each beat of her heart, and she struggled for full breaths. She brought her left hand to her head, rubbing at her temple to try to stem the stinging behind her eyelids. She was overtaken by the sound of all of the throbbing happening in her system. She was in a state of panic until what pulled her back to her senses was the sound of a door creaking and a deep voice in the darkness.
"Welcome back, Miss Powers."