Justine has one hand chained to the fence, with the key to her handcuffs just out of reach. She's cold, shivering in a wet diving suit, damp hair clinging to her cheeks. She can still see his car driving away in the distance, carrying away his prize.

The key is too far to reach comfortably, and even though she's strained at the handcuffs and tried to bring it closer by using her feet, it's still unreachable.

This is so typical of him, dangling something just out of her reach. He had dangled many things in front of her to torture her. He would dangle decent food millimeters before her lips, or the possibility of stretching out her legs and letting her out of the closet for an hour. He might offer her clean, pure water, then laugh and spill it all over the floor. He would promise to empty out her bucket, but deliberately wait several days before removing the putrid, stinking waste from her small enclosure. He would promise freedom if she told him things, and when the interrogation was done, or at least finished for the moment, he would drag her back to the closet and lock away her hopes.

Justine, he would say, reaching to caress her jaw. It's just out of reach, just Justine, forgive the pun, and then he'd start to laugh that mad hysterical laugh that scared the hell out of her and haunted her dreams.

She is going to make him pay- as soon as she reaches that key.

Her shoulder aches. But she can almost reach the key and she lunges again. She feels her shoulder pop out of the socket and the excruciating pain that accompanies it-and she grabs the key with clumsy fingers. Her shoulder is dislocated and her wrist is numb, but she has the key. She has won.

Victoriously, she slips the key into the handcuffs and twists.

It doesn't open.

She bites down so hard that she draws blood from her freezing lip. No, she whispers, frantically turning the key.

Just out of reach, Justine? He's chuckling in his car, miles away by now, still laughing at her, she can hear it from here; you were always a slave, Justine, you just didn't see the bonds.

Justine stares at the handcuffs, feels the hard metal biting into her wrist.

And for the first time, she sees the bonds.