Chapter 17Martin Thomas hated the dark. He had no idea what time it was. It could be the middle of the night, or the afternoon. The blindfold made it difficult to tell. Time was all out of whack. He knew there were things he should remember. His mind was cloudy. When he'd last been outside might it have been daytime? Nighttime? He didn't know.
He knew he was n***d and that he was taped to a chair. Electrical tape. His wrists and ankles felt sore. The circulation was slow, maybe not cut off entirely. He wiggled fingers, and toes. The numbness prickled like needles poking out from inside his skin. As soon as he stopped moving them the numbness returned.
He didn't know how long he'd been taped to a chair, or where he was, for that matter. It felt as if a week wasn't unrealistic, improbable.
