She was sitting in a chair, and when she tried to move, she realized she was tied to it, bound with rope across her chest. Her hands were tied behind her back, and they’d even cinched her ankles to the chair legs. Her blonde hair fell in her face, and she blew it to one side to get a good look at where she was. The room obviously belonged to a woman. A bed with pink satin sheets sat against the wall opposite her, red and pink pillows arranged across it. A long mirror stood against another wall, and a dresser with the remnants of makeup was across from it. She heard a noise through the wall, a man’s voice saying something, then the high trill of a woman’s laughter, obviously fake. She started to open her own mouth, only to realize for the first time that a strip of cloth had been tied over it. She screamed into it, only to hear her own muffled cry. Abigail’s. That’s where she was. The whorehouse. God, her head hurt. The last thing she remembered was lying in the tub in her house, hearing the gunshots outside, then… Winston.
What do You think about The Time-Traveling Outlaw?
