18It felt like a come down. Like he was waking up on some bench in the middle of a frozen city, his body recovering from whatever he had taken the night before. But he hadn't taken anything. He was sober. The ache in his back was from his hands tied behind him, contorting his body. When he focused he realised he was still in Harvey O'Connor's spare room. And he wasn't alone.
“Who the hell are you?” It was a woman standing over him. He glanced up at her, taking in her bare legs, the oversized man's shirt covering her thighs, the baseball bat in her hand and her terrified, exhausted expression.
He frowned, pulling himself slowly into a sitting position. His crutch was behind her and well out of his reach if he wanted to get it and still maintain his dignity.
“You hit me across the back of
