I come to. I have no idea how much time has passed since I lost consciousness. One minute, ten minutes, one hour. I have no way of knowing.
The d**g is wearing off.
I know it’s wearing off because I feel a tingling sensation in my fingertips and toes. It’s also possible for me to make a fist. Not a tight fist but a fist, nonetheless. If I try very hard, I can twist my neck just enough to get a look over my left shoulder.
I’m able to make out two sets of feet and legs that belong to two little bodies sitting on the concrete floor, their backs pressed up against the wall, their skin and bones shaking. I see their faces, their mouths now covered with strips of duct tape telling me The Skinner gagged them after Mike said Mama. Their wide, glassy eyes say it all. They are scared. More sca
