I was vaguely aware of movement, smells and sounds, but the perception of my surroundings was nowhere near as great as the familiarity of the hunger in my belly and the panic in my chest that brought with it. Yet, bizarrely, there was an indistinct taste of chicken soup in my mouth. The four days after those initial three days were a little more coherent. Even though my mind still refused to accept my imprisonment and clashed with my sanity, the sound of Anderson’s soft voice was confusing and the lightness of his touches even more so. His tender care and soothing words split my mind in two, making me think I had gone crazy. He affectionately bathed me, he attentively fed me, he lovingly whispered encouraging words yet he confined me to his basement. Although I wasn’t tied down he kept the door locked. I was free to move about the large area, yet I didn’t move from the soft bed I had woken on. My eyes memorised the room that had become my home. It wasn’t cold but there was a cool touch to the walls and floor.
