She’d left the light on. Since that was all she had as far as creature comforts, besides the bed and blanket, she wasn’t willing to turn it off. She didn’t like the idea of being alone in the dark. She’d never experienced such total blackness. It felt like a tomb, and she was afraid that’s what it would become.

Once on her feet, she steadied herself by putting a hand to the wall. She’d gotten up too fast, hadn’t given her heart a chance to pump enough blood to her brain.

Bending over, she took a moment to ward off the dizziness but straightened as soon as she could, her eyes riveting on the small slot she’d noticed before.

Someone was out there.

“Hello?” she called.

No answer.

She crossed the small space to bang on the door. “Hello? Who’s there? Let me out, please!”

Again, she got no response, but as the slot came open she realized that it was the slide of the bolt that had awakened her.

She crouched down, trying to peer out, but the door was so thick it was like looking through a pipe. She couldn’t see anything except the midsection of a man. He seemed fit, was most likely in his twenties or thirties and wore camouflage pants with a black T-shirt. She didn’t know if that meant he was in the armed forces, had once been in the armed forces or merely liked the military. She couldn’t see his face—not that his face would necessarily answer that question.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Have we ever met?”

He stepped out of sight before reappearing with a metal tray of food, which he slid through the opening.

She didn’t want to take it. She wanted some type of explanation or understanding of her situation. But she wasn’t sure when she’d have the opportunity to eat again and didn’t dare let the food fall to the floor, for fear that would be all she got. Even if she was too upset to eat right now, she had her baby to think of, couldn’t go too long. For all she knew, she could be locked up here, subsisting on very little, indefinitely.

She grabbed the tray before he let go, and was glad she did. She got the impression he didn’t care whether she accepted it or not, that he would’ve let it clatter to the floor if she hadn’t caught it. That would teach her to be quicker the next time.

The slot closed and the bolt that held it shut slid home. As far as she could tell, that was the end of the encounter.

“Wait!” She pounded some more. “Don’t leave! Just … tell me who you are. Why I’m here. What do you want from me?”

She put her ear to the door and thought she heard movement, but the walls of her prison were so thick she could’ve been imagining it. “Hello?” she yelled, pounding some more.

Nothing.

Her knuckles were sore, her voice hoarse, by the time she gave up and slid down to the cement, still holding her food tray with her free hand. What was going on? Was this about revenge? Rape? Torture?