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I gave birth to two children, she told herself. I did it without an epidural, without gas and air. If I can take that I can take anything.

She tried to ignore the thought that came after.

Yes, but that was worth it, because of what you got at the end. At the end of this is only more suffering.

She tapped out a message.

HOW ARE U

IN PAIN WORRIED

WORRIED ABOUT THE PAIN

NO ABOUT WHATS GOING TO HAPPEN

CAN YOU GET FREE AT ALL, she tapped, knowing the answer already, but wanting to keep the conversation – the only distraction she had – going, as it took her mind off the pain.

NO TOTALLY TRAPPED U

SAME A CHAIN TO A FLOOR JOIST

SAME

There was a long pause, then he tapped out a new message.

WHY DO U THINK WE R HERE

NO IDEA

She almost giggled. Her last reply reminded her of a joke her dad used to tell her.

What do you call a deer with no eyes? No idea.

He would follow it up with another joke.

What do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs? Still no idea.

She had heard those jokes maybe fifty times, and she had laughed at each telling. Right now she would have given anything to be able to hear her father tell her that joke again.

For a moment she considered tapping out the joke. She might as well; there was nothing else to do, but then the memories were interrupted by the sound of an engine.

The man was back.

I’m Not Here to Help You

The sequence repeated itself. Car door closing, footsteps, front door opening. Footsteps in the corridor.

The other bedroom door opening, closing. Her door opening.

The man’s face appearing.

This time he didn’t leave after a cursory glance at her. This time, the man stepped into the room, his face still obscured. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking downwards. Then he turned to Mary and lifted his hood.

The man sitting on the bed was Ryan.

For a moment she was in shock, then a blissful, overwhelming wave of joy and relief swept over her. Finally, this was over.

He reached out and removed the gag from her mouth.