It was night, stars dotting the sky. Nia Mitchell, high heels in hand, stumbled drunkenly down the road.
Watching the taxi carrying Fiona Sutton drive away, she leaned against a lamppost and began to throw up uncontrollably.
Familiar music buzzed in her ear. Telephone? Nia slumped to the ground, fumbled in her bag, and started emptying its contents.
She found her incessantly flashing phone and hit the answer button.
"Hello?"
"You've been drinking!" Maxwell Peary's voice cut through her haze. He had been in the middle of dispatching everyone to find Nia. After countless calls, he'd finally gotten through, only to hear her slurred voice.
"Drinking? Oh yeah, I think so. I'm drunk. No more drinking for me."
Nia sat docilely beneath the streetlight, her face flushed, still as a chastened child.
"Where are you?"
Nia looked around. Where was she?
"I'm under a streetlight."
"Which streetlight!"
