Someone is coming.

I can hear movement outside the door, hands pressing against the metal

Is it? Could it be?

Frank? "Frank"

Nothing, no noise. If it was the police they would shout my name, announce themselves first then kick the door in.

If it was Frank he would call my name, I would hear the worry in his voice and know that he is close-by; that everything is going to be ok.

No-one has spoken though… nothing. It’s not Frank

But maybe, just maybe it its Dad, alone… here to rescue me?

"Dad, DAD!" "Is that you?"

"Dad?"

I can hear the person on the other side of the door, they are scraping the lock, sliding back one bolt, another bolt.

It’s not Dad, it’s not anyone who wants to rescue me.

I know that now. I recognize that eerie silence, and now I can hear their shallow breathing.

It’s him.

Why has he come back?

The door’s opening; I can feel the cool draught against my face, air is circulating all around me, blowing away the musty smell of the room and the horrid acrid smell from the concrete.

I wish that wind would blow away my fear too, would stop me from shaking all over because he is in the room.

What is it about this person that makes me so afraid of them? Frank and I have encountered probably some of the most despicable and sadistic people around. We have come in contact with kidnappers, murderers, even rapists. And we have always tackled them head on, no matter how dangerous they are.

I guess that’s the reason there. Before, I’ve always been able to look these people in the eye, to show them that I’m not going to go down without a fight. But I can’t do that now. All I can do is sit and wonder what he is doing.

If I could at least get him to talk to me, maybe then I could find out who he is?

"Who are you?"

Nothing

"Do you want to kill me?"

"Why won’t you talk to me? Huh? Do you think I’m afraid of you, of your silence? Is this all a stupid game to you? Tie up the Hardy, leave him to die, it that it?"

"There are people looking for me you know. My father, my brother, the police, they are all looking for me."

"I take it your not the talking kind then, are you? I guess you get a kick out of the whole silence bit? Very cute, what movie did you get that idea from? Well, that’s ok; I’m getting fond of the sound of my own voice"

What is he doing? Is he just sitting there…? I can hear his breathing, he’s moving closer to me, and I bet if my hands were free that I could touch him.

What is he going to do, hit me? Kill me?

He’s untying my blindfold

And now he’s leaving… everything’s blurry but I can hear his footsteps going out the door. If I could just look at him, see his face.

He can’t leave; I don’t want to stay here alone anymore…

"Hey, what are you doing, you can’t just leave me, why take off this blindfold and then leave, huh? Aw don’t go, please, at least give me a drink of water, who are you why are you doing this? Wha…"

Dammit, he’s gone.

Well if his aim was to freak me out then I guess it worked. This guy is creepy; in fact he would win creepy awards if they existed.

At least I can look around me, not that my surroundings fill me with joy and rapture. The décor could definitely be described as simple. I guess some people would call it modern. Concrete walls in varying shades of grey, the obligatory damp patches.

I think I spot some mould growing artistically out of the corner nearest to me. No windows, but then I’d guessed that. All in all I’d say that the overall style is Prisoner of War Chic, but I can’t see it catching on.

I kind of wish he’d left the blindfold on now. I don’t really want to watch myself dying, to look at these ropes digging into my arms and legs. Somehow when I couldn’t see this whole thing seemed unreal somehow, like a bad dream that I was going to wake up from any minute.

But now, now it’s certainly not a dream; it’s not even a nightmare.

I can’t let him win. I know what he wants to do now, he wants me to die. He put me here so that I could die, alone and scared. But I won’t give him that satisfaction.

I refuse to be scared anymore.