Sometimes, she can almost see it. The gas leaking in through the vents.
And then time passes – an unknown measure – and when she opens her eyes once more, her eyelids are made of lead.
Her head is a dull and drugged ache.
When she wakes, she knows that they’ve done something to her, taken something from her and, in place of whatever it is they’ve stolen, they’ve left another little gap – not just a few cc’s of blood – but time. They have put a needle in her vein and drawn out a little more of her time.
Gone, vanished, never to be seen again.
