I WAS BLIND. I STARED AT BLACKNESS, TRYING TO FIND A CONtrast, a shape, an outline of anything. Nothing. Not a shadow, not a shade. My head throbbed, pulsing white pain. I tried to call out, but something—a rag?—was stuffed into my mouth, gagging me. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, turned my head slightly, felt a cloth draping my face—a blindfold? Maybe I wasn’t blind. I turned my head again and the cloth slipped slightly, just enough to let in a sliver of yellow light—yes, thank God—I wasn’t blind. But why couldn’t I move? What had happened?
I tried again but couldn’t lift my arms. My elbows were caught—tied to my body. In fact, all of me was tied. I couldn’t lift my legs, couldn’t sit up. Oh my God, I remembered. Jake. The basement room. He must have found me.
Pain raged in my head. I turned it too quickly; waves of nausea rocked me. Don’t throw up, I thought. You’ll choke on the gag.
I lay still, waiting for the nausea to pass. I nodded my head carefully, working the blindfold up little by little, rubbing it against the mattress. I slid the blindfold higher and higher until, if I raised my chin, I could see a slice of the wall. I recognized the paneling. I was in the basement of the empty house, in the hidden room.
I turned my head slightly to the left, nausea again. Smelled something rotten. Slowly, I craned my neck all the way to the right. Angela was there, lying limply on the mattress. But where was Victor? I strained to lift my head and look around, but I didn’t see him. It took a moment to realize why my mattress was so lumpy and narrow and why, at my waist, it divided in two.