49

I wasn’t sure what was worse. Alone with the four-legged rats I could hear scurrying in the walls, or worried about what the masked, two-legged variety might do when the door opened. I pretended to be asleep when they came in, so they didn’t bother me. Usually, unless it was to make me say something on camera or take one of their stupid photos, they left me alone. The only time I had been hurt was when I tried to get away from them and fell in the struggle, landing on my face, and again on my knees when I tripped. Bentley had lost it when he saw the marks. His tirade about a blanket was frightening, and one of the men had knocked over the camera which stopped the recording.

Still, it had worked, and shortly after, one of them had tossed an old, dirty blanket at me. I unfolded it and sat on it as protection from the cold, stone floor, and pulled it over my shoulders to try to ward off the never-ending chill. I had buried my head in my hands and tried not to cry. It was a little later w