Ann Curtis was conscious again, and was terrified. Her captor had returned, and she was strangely grateful to see him. She hated it when he left her alone in this awful, dark, frightening place.
Stringer stood behind her; very close behind her. Suddenly, he grabbed her roughly by the hair, and pulled her head back hard against his chest. Ann felt his warm, sour breath on her neck and face. Under her chin, resting against her exposed neck, she felt the blade of the long knife she had earlier watched him sharpening. She was afraid to move or struggle against his hold on her. If she did, she knew the knife would bite deep into her throat. She could only moan softly in stark terror as she anticipated a horrible, impending death.
“Shut up!” Stringer whispered into her ear. “Shut the f**k up,
