Bartholomew squinted in the darkness. It made his head throb and he started to raise a hand to rub it. Couldn’t.
What? The boy jerked fully awake.
What?Bartholomew balled his fists, struggling to move. A gag was in his mouth, and someone had bound him with rope, his arms tied behind the back of a wooden chair. A small table with a messy bunch of cups and plates was in front of him.
Where am I?
Where am I?He remembered following Frida up the stairs in Park Güell. Then everything got fuzzy.
Am I infected? Amnesia?
Am I infected? Amnesia?But that wouldn’t explain the bump on his head. Or the restraints. He blinked three times. Now that his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Bartholomew could better make out his surroundings.
He was in a little room with water-stained walls and a single doo
