Her head was pounding.

Reine squeezed her eyes closed, trying to block out the light of the outside world, but it was no use. Sunlight washed over her face through the undrawn curtains.

Giving up, she lifted her lids, but it took her a few seconds to orient herself to her surroundings. Rubbing her eyes, she bolted upright.

She didn't know where she was or how she got there.

Goosebumps formed on her bare arms, and she shivered from the cold. The air inside the unfamiliar room smelled crisp and clean, but the window was not open. She ran her hand over the fine embroidery on her elaborate ball gown.

Maybe she was still dreaming.

No. Her throbbing head and the modern television in the corner clearly indicated she was both awake and in the modern era.

Steadying herself on the nearby furniture, she walked to the window. She had to blink repeatedly and strain her blurry eyes to look at the scene below.

Her room faced a misty canal, and the calm, brown water and ancient, colorful buildings stirred in her an inexplicable realization. She was in Venice, but had no idea how she got there.

In fact, Reine had difficulty even remembering her identity.

Vague snippets of information bounced around her mind. She instinctively knew her name, occupation, and marital status, but it wasn't like recalling memories. The facts didn't come with embellishments or emotions.

It was as if she was reading her personal history off a questionnaire.

She had to get answers, but without knowing what day it was, Reine wasn't even sure how much time she'd lost. Apart from the dress she woke up in and an empty mini-bar sized gin bottle in the trash, there weren't many other clues in her room to enlighten her.

After changing her clothes, she approached the concierge at the front desk. Although he probably found her query curious, he politely told her it was Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday, in fact.

She quizzed the man on the previous night's events. Although she was elated to learn he had worked the night shift, her hopes were dashed when he told her that although he had seen her return, she was alone. However, he did give her a hand-written note, which offered her a little more information.

"Miss Baldwin! You were correct, therefore I've arranged for the auction to be cancelled. Will meet you at the airport. Professor Iverson."

She sighed with relief, glad to now know she wasn't alone. Perhaps this professor could clue her in to what had happened in the last two days to bring them – according to her plane ticket – on this whirlwind trip. Thankfully, the document also confirmed she hadn't yet missed her homeward flight, which was leaving that day at noon.

It was still barely eight in the morning, and she had no appetite for breakfast. Perhaps a walk would jog her memory. While it was a long shot, she prayed her amnesia was short-term and somehow related to a night of too much partying, instead of something perhaps much worse.

Stepping out of the hotel's front entrance, the fog rolling off the nearby water enveloped her. The sunlight made a valiant effort to break through the haze, but it mostly just reflected off the water droplets that hung in the air.

Very few people were on the canals, and even less had ventured out on the narrow footpaths running alongside. Most were probably still asleep after a full night of merriment. Judging by the costume in which she awoke, she should have been doing the same.

Perhaps she had told the costumer whose label was sewn into the dress about her plans for the evening. Unfortunately, those shops wouldn't be opening until after she had to leave for the airport, so she wouldn't get to find out. Instead, she begrudgingly had asked the concierge to return the rental.

Because Venice was a maze of water and cobblestones, no two avenues ran exactly parallel to each other. With numerous dead-ends, it made navigation for non-locals difficult even on a clear day. Luckily, Reine had no real purpose about her destination, and her aimless wandering matched her confused state of mind.

Once, she thought she'd lost track of her exact whereabouts. Exiting between two buildings from an alley no more than four feet wide, she found herself on the northern edge of the island. Across the white haze covering the lagoon was the unmistakable island of San Michele. Not even the fog could mask the red brick wall surrounding the perimeter, or the tops of ancient spruces peeking through.

Getting another dizzy spell, Reine sat on a bench overlooking the lagoon. A sudden chill ran through her, but it wasn't from the slight breeze coming from over the calm waters. Her unease was somehow related to the island where Venetians had been burying their dead since Napoleonic times. Letting her thoughts wander, Reine's imagination filled the gaps her memories had left behind.

In her mind, it was nearing nightfall, and the weather conditions were quickly deteriorating. She was sitting in a boat with two men. By the time the oarsman began rowing, the formerly sunny day had lent itself to a dreary drizzle. The wind had also picked up speed, bringing more ominous gray clouds that covered the skies above. Worried they may not make it back to land before the real downpour began, the other man in the boat grabbed the extra paddles from the bottom of the craft and dropped their tips into the black waves.

As they passed San Michele, Reine pulled the hood of her heavy, black cloak over her head. She also held the plank of the seat with the strongest grip she could muster. The top of the bell tower at St. Mark's appeared in the distance; its presence gave her a slight assurance of safety, even as the fragile boat rocked uneasily.

"I think we just might beat the rain to shore, amore mio," the man with the long, brown hair yelled to her between strokes. However, he underestimated the forces of nature bearing upon them. Within seconds, a massive gust of air blew up a rogue wave.

Their fragile vessel didn't stand a chance.

Before they realized what was happening, the boat capsized, and they all fell overboard into the freezing and turbulent water.

Gasping for air, Reine got a mouthful of seawater, instead. Panic overtook her as she struggled in vain to keep her head above the surface. Her thrashing had somehow freed her of the heavy cloak, but the weight of her waterlogged dress and its many underskirts was still pulling her below. The rain also began, making visibility nearly impossible.

In the distance, someone was shouting her name. She tried to respond above the deafening taps of the raindrops hitting the waves, but she just swallowed more water in return. Her hopes of survival in the icy darkness faded until the sound of the man's voice became louder.

Reine's heart raced at the thought of being saved, and she strained her neck to see his faint silhouette against the pouring rain.

"Grab my hand!" He had managed to hold onto the side of the overturned boat with one arm. With his other outstretched, he was now struggling to get to her before it was too late.

Reine was tired and wished he would just let go and swim to her. Left with no alternative, she lifted one arm over the waves in an attempt to reach him.

She was still too far away, and they both knew it.

His screams became more frantic as he used his free hand to paddle the water to narrow the gap between them, dragging the heavy boat along. "I'm coming for you, amore mio! Hang on."

These were the last words she heard before the lagoon swallowed her. She sank into the cold depths without a struggle, as hypothermia set in and numbed both her body and senses.

She was at peace as she took her last breath of the salty liquid.

A cold droplet of rain fell on her forehead and interrupted Reine's musings. She sat motionless for a few more minutes and stared at the increasing patter of the falling water on the surface of the lagoon.

What triggered such thoughts and what did it all mean? She was left with more questions than answers. Anxious to meet up with the professor, she returned to the hotel for her bag before boarding a water taxi to the airport.