He was so cold. They'd taken his jacket, his shoes and socks, though where they thought he was going, he couldn't have said. He tried to work out where he was, how he had got there. But he couldn't remember, nothing substantial before this tiny little space that was his whole world. They had taped his eyes shut, and a heavy chain bound his wrists together, wrapped around his arms pinning them to his sides, the chain wrapped round his legs, binding his ankles together. The weight of the chain hurt, his wrists and ankles were hurting, the weight of the chain dragging heavily, the weight of his body pressing the wrapped chain into his arm. Weight dragging him down. It was as though it was some how attached to his brain... the weight... Images whirled around in his mind, locked inside his blind world, he tried to get a handle on it. He lay still. If he really concentrated, he could hear a voice. A woman's voice. Warm, caring. Somehow this woman meant a lot to him. He knew it, but he couldn't remember why.
Hands hauled him into a sitting position, a bottle was held to his lips, and he drank. His head was pounding, deep inside his subconscious there was something telling him to resist, to turn away, not to drink. The pain in his head got worse every time they made him drink.
Clouds in his mind, he tried to push back but resistance was futile...
He was moving. He could feel movement, he could hear the sound of a car's engine, something heavy was covering him. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Something told him that he had to get out of there. If he didn't he was dead. He moved a little. His ankles were free, the heavy chain that had bound them was now wrapped more securely round his body, pinning his arms to his sides, his wrists were still bound together. He was hurting, but he forced himself to concentrate, he had to get the blindfold off.
Struggling against the chains, he managed to get his thumb under the edge of the tape. He eased it up, wincing as the sticky pulled at his hair, his head ached fiercely as he finally managed to drag the tape off. His eyes ached too, and he blinked trying to clear his blurred vision without success. He was weak and dizzy, but he had one thought in his head, to get away. Carefully he pushed the heavy rug to one side. Fear made him slow and careful, a nameless dread in his mind that this was his last chance. If he didn't get away now, he would die.
Save me... a name popped into his mind... he tried to voice that name in his head... but it was gone again, buried in the clouds that were rolling in. The van had stopped. He heard voices. But they were moving away, and he couldn't be sure they weren't in his head. He had to do it. He leaned against the door, his bound hands scrabbling for the plastic handle. It was old and broken and it took several tries for it to work. Mechanically he kept at it, the half remembered call of a woman's voice in his head, urging him on. The door opened.
It was pitch dark, and the rain was coming down hard. The ground was cold and wet and stoney beneath his bare feet. Instinct carried him forward. A survival imperative that he wasn't entirely sure of, but obeyed anyway. He stumbled forward, the icy unforgiving stones cutting his bare feet, until he reached a smooth surface. A road. He crossed it. The rain was soaking his body and he could barely see a thing in the darkness but he kept going. The voice was calling him back. He had to get to her. He didn't know her name. But he knew he had to get to her. With her he would be safe.