Chapter 8

—Ellie—

When I crack open my eyelids, I blink a few times to make sure I’m not dreaming. My thoughts are muddy, my tongue is dry, and my wrists really hurt. There’s a weird medicinal taste in my mouth that I want to spit out, but I’m seriously low on saliva. I shake my head to try to get rid of the brain fog and get rewarded with a sharp pain in my shoulder.

Oh, that might be due to the fact that someone tied my wrists together with a rough rope and left me hanging by my arms.

I’m in a square room, about the size of a bedroom. Tiled floor, unfinished walls, and a narrow window near the ceiling that’s mostly covered with newspaper, but there’s bright light coming through the gaps. It faces somewhere outside. A soft trickle of a bossa nova song makes it past the glass.

Dread swoops in faster than my memory. Where the hell am I, and how did I get here? My toes bump against the ground. I quickly realize if I stand up straight, I can