He opened the back door and wheeled out the containment box. Its outside was of leather, looking something like a box for musical instruments or drums. Inside, it was cork lined, had various straps and hooks and was softly cushioned. The box’s construction made it heavier than it looked, but the Turk was strong and he lifted it effortlessly from the back of the van. He wheeled it back to the apartment building.
So far, eight minutes had elapsed. Cheryl couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed like more than five minutes. Maybe he wasn’t coming back after all. Hope, slight as it was, rose in her chest. Not since she first thought he was going to dress her and take her out of the apartment did she have such hope. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
But something happened to shake her relative composure. She
