17
Jack lay on the bed, whistling. It was sharp and out of tune. Blood dribbled down the walls of my cell. It ran crimson and thick. The acrid smell woke me up. Jack’s whistling gave me a headache.
“Are you finally awake?” he asked and jumped off the bed. “The bastard is dead, and it’s time we had some fun.”
Fun? What the hell was fun? I was in agony, and he wanted to enjoy himself at my expense. I didn’t think I could handle much more of his idea of fun. But Jack would carry on, and all I could do was hang on. I had to survive, no matter what he threw at me.
My world constricted around me. The floor turned to liquid, and I was drowning. The wheelchair weighed me down, and I hit rock bottom. I let the fear go and just surrendered to what Jack and my mind conjured up. Darkness surrounde
