They didn’t even need to threaten me with the speculum or the gun. I’m not sure which is worse to be honest. I can’t countenance either.

‘I’ll just insert this gently. Let me know if it’s uncomfortable.’

It’s a mouth speculum. Some kind of spring-loaded mouth-opening device made from clear plastic.

‘Speculum,’ I say, but it’s undecipherable.

‘Just relax,’ he says.

My mouth is wide open. I push at the plastic with my tongue to check if I can push it out of my mouth without the use of my hands. I reckon I can.

‘No, no,’ he says. ‘One moment. Tiny adjustment.’

He opens it wider and locks it with a screw.

I can’t spit it out.

My jaw is locked open and I am taped horizontally, looking up at one oversize eye.

I try to shake my head.

I can’t.

I try to move my arms.

I can’t

I try to talk.

I can’t.

He disappears from view for a few seconds.

Police. A hunt team. Sheriff Hansson. Sebastian. Anyone. Come now and end this hideous farce. I beg you.

Tobias holds up a narrow syringe and pushes the plunger.

A dribble of clear liquid squirts from the needle.

‘Now, hold still,’ he says. ‘Little scratch.’

56

I brace myself. Every muscle I have turns rigid like steel. He is not doing this with my consent. I loathe every cell in his body.

I can feel the needle pierce my gum.

‘Another little scratch.’

I tense up again. How do I know it’s dental anaesthetic? What if it’s poison?

I start to pant, my breathing out of control.

‘All done,’ he says. ‘Now we must wait a few minutes to ensure the anaesthetic is effective.’

He leaves the room.

I feel it. One side of my tongue goes numb. The tooth that’s been aching these past weeks stops hurting. My mouth feels larger on that side. Distant from me.

I swallow and the plastic mouth opener creaks.

My mouth and lips are dry. I need lip balm. I see dust flakes floating around in the harsh lamplight and imagine them floating down into my gaping mouth. Like I’m a fish caught on the shore as the tide goes back out. Some idiot fish waiting for a fly.

I listen out. My hearing aids are fine. They haven’t beeped any battery warnings and they didn’t loosen or fall out of place during that horrific headlock. My blackout. How long did that last for? Minutes? Longer? I want to know. I demand to know the details. There is a black space in my memory, a void, for the first time since last Christmas. It wasn’t long after Mum died. The fish fingers for Christmas dinner. In bed. The XL bottle of vodka and the miniatures. The paralysis. The complete loss of Boxing Day. Unconsciousness and self-loathing.

Gunfire outside.

One shot.