Yell out her name

After getting a better look in for about a minute, you shout, "Jennifer! Are you Jennifer Lawrence?" Her head turns to you slowly, like a stoned-out-of-their-mind teenager. Her lazy eyes, drooping half way shut, glance at you before returning to their spaced-out appearance. Her face slowly pivots back to staring at the ground in front of her feet. Something's wrong. Was she ****? Is she having an episode of some sort? You look around for any potential culprits, or witnesses to what could have happened. No one. No witnesses to the past in sight... nor witnesses to the near future, come to think of it.

You decide to get out of your car to investigate. Shutting the door behind you, the pitch black of this dimmed out city's night makes it hard to know what's beneath you. You'd probably be tripping every step on this uneven, run down parking block if it weren't for the years-old, yellowish glow coming from the few remaining lights within the corridor. As you get closer and closer to Jennifer, you notice that not only her eyelids are lazy, her body language makes it seem as if her limbs are too heavy to lift, as if she's been sleep deprived for well over a week, **** out of her mind, or even the recent victim of a mentally damaging attack. She lazily brushes a stray hair out of her face without moving her eyes or even blinking, and the red rings around her now lit up wrists give you a hint to what could've happened.

You're now two feet apart, looking down at her as her almost soulless glare rolls up to meet your eyes. "Wh-.. who are.. you," Jennifer says in an almost drunken slur with minimal effort to enunciate.

"My name is John, are you okay? Why are you here, are you on something?"

"No, n- no, I don't.. know... where is this.. this.... where am I, where did you ta- take... me?"

She's speaking in an innocence, a kind of higher-pitched than what you know of her voice. You can see genuine distraught in her glistening eyes as they look simultaneously into and past yours.