Page 135 of Until Joy

Glenda's voice came from somewhere behind me. I turned my head, fighting another wave of dizziness, and found her sitting in a wooden chair about ten feet away. She was still in that silly, ruffly, flowery apron, but her hair was mussed and her eyes were rimmed with red.

“I was getting so worried.” She stood up, wringing her hands. “You've been out for hours. Much longer than the first time.”

The first time. Right. She'd drugged me twice now. No wonder I felt like death warmed over.

“My head,” I managed to croak. My voice sounded like I'd been gargling with gravel.

“I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I think I gave you too much this time.” Glenda moved closer, her face creased with genuine concern. But that didn’t matter. She still had me trussed up like a chicken and would probably want to wear me like a skin-suit before it was all over.

I shuddered. I was really scared. More scared than I had been in London.

I looked at her apron again. It was falling off her shoulder.

I thought about that poor woman in Dublin and what she must have gone through. Certainly not being forced to bake pineapple upside down cake with a demented Betty Crocker, so I needed to quit my whining.

A low moan escaped my throat as another wave of pain crashed through my skull. This wasn't acting. Whatever she'd given me had hit me hard this time. But maybe I could use that to my advantage.

I remembered what Graham had told me about staying strong. About how I was tougher than I thought I was. About how I'd survived London and I could survive anything. I thought about Little Grandma's fierce love, the way she'd believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself. The warmth of their faith in me settled me.

I could do this. I had to do this.

“Glenda,” I whispered, letting my voice shake. “I feel really sick.”

“Oh no.” She rushed over to me, her hands fluttering around my face. “What kind of sick? Nauseous? Dizzy?”

Before I could answer, my stomach betrayed me for real. The bile rose in my throat with no warning, and I turned my head just in time to avoid puking all over myself. The vomit hit the hardwood floor with a wet splat, and the gross smell made my stomach heave again.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Glenda's voice went high and panicked. “This is bad. This is really bad. I'm so sorry, Joy. I'm so, so sorry.”

Tears streamed down her face as she ran to what looked like a kitchen and came back with a handful of paper towels. She knelt beside the couch and started cleaning up the mess, her hands shaking.

“I should have been more careful with the dosage.” She was talking more to herself than to me now. “I looked it up online, but I must have read it wrong. Oh God, what if I gave you too much? What if I permanently hurt you?”

I let my head fall back against the pillow, playing up my weakness. But inside, a small spark of hope flared to life. She was scared. Scared that she'd hurt me, scared that she'd done permanent damage. I could work with this.

I knew scared. I could work with scared.

“Water,” I croaked. “Please.”

“Yes, of course. Anything you need.” Glenda dropped the soiled towels and hurried back to the kitchen.

I used the few seconds she was gone to take stock of my situation again. I remembered now. We were in a lake house. I’d been able to see the lake from the kitchen table. Now all I could see through the windows were trees. We were isolated, which was bad for me but probably exactly what Glenda had planned.

I needed something to cut through my bindings. But first I had to get Glenda to leave me alone long enough to find a knife.

She came back with a glass of water and a worried expression.

“Here, let me help you sit up a little.” She slipped her arm behind my shoulders and lifted me gently. The movement sent fresh waves of nausea through me, and I didn't have to fake the groan that escaped my lips.

“I don't think I can keep anything down.” I let the weakness in my voice sound real. “My stomach feels like it's trying to turn inside out.”

“Maybe if you just take tiny sips?” Glenda held the glass to my lips.

I took a small mouthful and immediately forced myself to retch it back up. The water splashed onto my shirt and the couch, and Glenda jumped back with a cry of alarm.

“It's not working.” I closed my eyes and let my head loll to the side. “Everything just comes right back up.”

“This is all my fault.” Glenda was pacing now, her voice getting higher and more frantic with each word. “I should have stuck with the original dose. I should have been more careful. What if you're having an allergic reaction? What if your brain swells? What if⁠—”