My eyes ached as I tried to open them, and it hurt to focus. I knew I’d just entered my worst, most frightening nightmare. But I was awake. The stench of rotting flesh, feces and trash reeked heavily in my nostrils, intensifying the nauseous feeling I was already having. My head throbbed, and everything ached and trembled from the intense cold. I felt dry blood on my face as I squinted to see my surroundings. I was lying on an old dirty cot. I couldn’t move. My hands and ankles were bound, and my mouth was taped shut. I looked up over my head. My hands were secured to an old metal-framed bedpost with duct tape… exactly as Michael had said. My eyes were swollen and still blurry. I tried hard to focus, and then I saw it… a small rusty piece of metal sticking out, in the back, right, corner of the post. It was again… just as he’d said. I felt the pounding of my heart against my chest. I quickly scanned the room, but it was empty. I seemed to be alone. The place looked like a small dilapidated shack, thrown together with scraps of plywood; a third the size of my cottage.
