How the hell had this happened? Her mind began to clear a bit, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t open her mouth to speak. There was a red light, basking everything in an eerie, reddish glow. She searched the area she could see, but aside from the ever-growing fog, she could make out nothing above or beyond this velvet-feeling couch upon which she rested.

How had she lost her clothes?

Was this a dream?

Vaguely she remembered being in a bar, sipping blood red drinks, talking and laughing with girls from her classes…who were they? Grace, yes, Grace with the spiky hair and…and oh, right, Marnie, the blonde. She thought she’d been so clever, trying to win their confidence and now…oh, God now…how was she going to get out of this?

Think, Kristi, think! Don’t give up!

Closing her eyes, she strained, attempted to move her muscles, but nothing happened. No response. She was trapped here.

She heard the scrape of a shoe, a little sniff.

She wasn’t alone?

Where? Where were they? She tried her best to see, but beyond the veil of the fog, there was nothing…not a damned thing.

Panic shot through her. Her mind, clearing, began to think. Obviously she’d been drugged, but certainly it would wear off. This paralysis couldn’t be permanent.

Or could it?

New horror shot through her.

With supreme effort, she tried to raise her arm and though she strained, willed her heavy limb to move, it remained still and lifeless.

A tiny cough.

Reminding her that she was being viewed.

Laughed at.

Goddamn it, Kristi, move your damned arm!

Again she tried, pushing so hard inside she thought she might explode.

Nothing happened.

Oh, God, help me. Help me!

Her heart pounded erratically, spurred by adrenaline, echoing in her ears. This is what had happened to the missing girls, she was sure of it, just as she now believed for certain that they were dead.

And, she, too, would soon be.

Unless…

With all her might, she strained to move her muscles but nothing happened. The footsteps were louder now, echoing through her brain.

Slow.

Steady.

Approaching.

She tried to turn her head as the red light pulsed, a visual interpretation of her heartbeat.

What was this?

Again, she attempted to look over her shoulder, to force her immoveable head to turn. She felt the slightest response, as if her shoulders had shifted minutely. Or was it her imagination? A hair’s breadth shimmer in the cool air. Digging down, she tried again.

Nothing happened.

But she wouldn’t give up. Damn it, she would fight as long as there was a whisper of life in her.

“This is Sister Kristi,” a deep, male voice intoned.