Terror spins through every cell of me.
Tied to a chair in the center of my own living room with the air con blasting an icy wind on my naked body, and the snuff footage on replay, I hear the key in my front door – it can mean only one thing. This whole situation is moving beyond the bizarre and into a real-life horror movie. My heart booms so hard that I’m positive it’s about to explode in my chest. I can scarcely breathe, the twine is digging into my flesh and my jaw aches badly around the gag, but I no longer care about bruises and blemishes. I’m in fear for my life.
I half expect Dwight to enter the room regaled in a gimp suit, but he has on his paramedic uniform. So much for a vacation.
Vacation? What vacation? Even that is all part of his act. At least he isn’t wheeling in a steel
