untied, I sit up. He’s nearby in a wooden
chair, sitting sideways with his elbow propped on the chair’s back. I have no
idea what he’s thinking, but he’s studying me as if I’m some cryptic riddle.
“Thank you for untying me,” I mutter, rubbing my wrists.
Actually, I am truly grateful to be unrestrained…of course he’s the one who
tied me down in the first place. “May I go to the bathroom?” I ask
respectfully.
“Yes, of course.” He gestures toward another room, which I
can tell is a bathroom. “If you want, you may take a shower. I will prepare
breakfast.” He stands and then walks briskly to the nightstand, addressing me
as he moves. “If you try to escape, I can guarantee you will regret it. The
chain around your ankle is a locator.”
“I understand,” I whisper, watching him slip the empty
syringe back in the case.
He quickly zips up the black case before tucking it and his
notebook under his arm. With a subtle nod, he leaves the room.
A bit dizzy and lightheaded, I manage to stand and then
stagger drunkenly to the bathroom. After hurriedly relieving my bladder, I take
a moment to study my weary-looking reflection. Although I have very fair skin,
I look even paler than usual, which I’m guessing might be a side effect from
either the truth serum or the sedative he administered last night or possibly
the combination of both drugs. But all in all, I’m not in bad shape, especially
for a prisoner.
After studying my reflection, I cross the small bathroom.
With a tired sigh, I sit on the tub’s edge. I hike my foot up, wanting to study
the silver chain around my ankle. The small links of gleaming silver look
delicate and fragile. I hook my finger around it and pull, trying to break it
off, but I quickly discover its appearance is deceiving. I tug until I leave a
deep, purple indent in my flesh, but the chain won’t give.
Sighing, I focus on the anklet’s sensor instead, which is
sealed in a small, rectangular-shaped capsule. Flat and smooth on both sides,
the capsule has no obvious seams or breaks. Running it between my fingers, I
can’t find any way to open the sealed case. Approximately the size of a pill, the
encased sensor looks like one solid piece of shiny metal.
I reluctantly abandon the anklet, not seeing any way to
remove or deactivate it.
Not wanting to dawdle, I turn on the faucet. I quickly peel
off my damp satin dress and underwear. I’ve sweated through every inch of both
garments. With an appreciative sigh, I step into the shower.
The warm water pours over me like rain from heaven. I can
still feel the potent drug in my system, and the water helps clear my head. I
find some soap and shampoo in the shower. I make use of both products and
quickly lather my hair and body before rinsing off. I turn off the shower,
feeling renewed.
Wanting to dry off quickly, I wring out my shoulder-length
chestnut hair before blotting my tresses with the towel. I reluctantly look at
the blue satin dress, which I tossed on the floor. I don’t really want to put
the sweaty garment back on, but I guess I have little choice. With a sigh, I
sit on the tub’s edge and blot my dripping hair, frowning at the discarded
dress.
The door suddenly opens. Startled, I cover myself with the
towel.
“Good, you’re finished. Breakfast is ready. Here, put this
on.”
He tosses a bundle of white fabric to me, and I catch it
while clutching the towel. Without another word, he turns and leaves.
The smell of bacon suddenly wafts across my nostrils. Oh
food.
After quickly pulling on the garment, which is a man’s dress
shirt, I fiddle with the buttons and then roll up the sleeves. It’s long enough
to cover me up. I’m actually grateful for the shirt. It’s clean, dry and soft.
Realistically speaking, I probably only have a few hours of life left. And
being comfortable is truly one of life’s simple joys, especially after a hot
shower. Hell, there might even be a last meal in my immediate
chair, sitting sideways with his elbow propped on the chair’s back. I have no
idea what he’s thinking, but he’s studying me as if I’m some cryptic riddle.
“Thank you for untying me,” I mutter, rubbing my wrists.
Actually, I am truly grateful to be unrestrained…of course he’s the one who
tied me down in the first place. “May I go to the bathroom?” I ask
respectfully.
“Yes, of course.” He gestures toward another room, which I
can tell is a bathroom. “If you want, you may take a shower. I will prepare
breakfast.” He stands and then walks briskly to the nightstand, addressing me
as he moves. “If you try to escape, I can guarantee you will regret it. The
chain around your ankle is a locator.”
“I understand,” I whisper, watching him slip the empty
syringe back in the case.
He quickly zips up the black case before tucking it and his
notebook under his arm. With a subtle nod, he leaves the room.
A bit dizzy and lightheaded, I manage to stand and then
stagger drunkenly to the bathroom. After hurriedly relieving my bladder, I take
a moment to study my weary-looking reflection. Although I have very fair skin,
I look even paler than usual, which I’m guessing might be a side effect from
either the truth serum or the sedative he administered last night or possibly
the combination of both drugs. But all in all, I’m not in bad shape, especially
for a prisoner.
After studying my reflection, I cross the small bathroom.
With a tired sigh, I sit on the tub’s edge. I hike my foot up, wanting to study
the silver chain around my ankle. The small links of gleaming silver look
delicate and fragile. I hook my finger around it and pull, trying to break it
off, but I quickly discover its appearance is deceiving. I tug until I leave a
deep, purple indent in my flesh, but the chain won’t give.
Sighing, I focus on the anklet’s sensor instead, which is
sealed in a small, rectangular-shaped capsule. Flat and smooth on both sides,
the capsule has no obvious seams or breaks. Running it between my fingers, I
can’t find any way to open the sealed case. Approximately the size of a pill, the
encased sensor looks like one solid piece of shiny metal.
I reluctantly abandon the anklet, not seeing any way to
remove or deactivate it.
Not wanting to dawdle, I turn on the faucet. I quickly peel
off my damp satin dress and underwear. I’ve sweated through every inch of both
garments. With an appreciative sigh, I step into the shower.
The warm water pours over me like rain from heaven. I can
still feel the potent drug in my system, and the water helps clear my head. I
find some soap and shampoo in the shower. I make use of both products and
quickly lather my hair and body before rinsing off. I turn off the shower,
feeling renewed.
Wanting to dry off quickly, I wring out my shoulder-length
chestnut hair before blotting my tresses with the towel. I reluctantly look at
the blue satin dress, which I tossed on the floor. I don’t really want to put
the sweaty garment back on, but I guess I have little choice. With a sigh, I
sit on the tub’s edge and blot my dripping hair, frowning at the discarded
dress.
The door suddenly opens. Startled, I cover myself with the
towel.
“Good, you’re finished. Breakfast is ready. Here, put this
on.”
He tosses a bundle of white fabric to me, and I catch it
while clutching the towel. Without another word, he turns and leaves.
The smell of bacon suddenly wafts across my nostrils. Oh
food.
After quickly pulling on the garment, which is a man’s dress
shirt, I fiddle with the buttons and then roll up the sleeves. It’s long enough
to cover me up. I’m actually grateful for the shirt. It’s clean, dry and soft.
Realistically speaking, I probably only have a few hours of life left. And
being comfortable is truly one of life’s simple joys, especially after a hot
shower. Hell, there might even be a last meal in my immediate
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