He breathes out, softly. Sucks in a bitter lungful of dust. Stifles his cough and the action causes him to gag. He tucks in his elbows, trying to stop himself coming apart as he wretches, bucking and twisting like a rabbit in a snare. He can’t seem to make his hands work. They hang from his torso like rubber prosthetics.

Memories drift in. He’d been with Lilah. There had been a pile of leaves. He’d gone looking for her pocket calculator. And then the earth was alive and cold, leathery hands were grabbing for him, and there had been a stink of wet fur and fresh graves and the sudden burning static of metal upon his flesh. Then a nothingness – an oblivion that stunk of unwashed flesh; of petrol and dirt and sea salt.

He tries to move. Coughs again. Squints into the dark. He feels like he is inside a broken radio. The air is a smashed mirror in an unlit room; black and white and black and white.

It’s snowing, he tells himself, and the thought arrives in his own voice. Snowing.

Fear comes, rising up from his gut in great acid waves. Lilah. Had something happened to Lilah? He was supposed to be looking after her. She was his responsibility.

He twists, becoming aware of fresh points of pain. He’s on a cold, damp floor. His bones feel as though they have been pulled out of their rightful places and rearranged. One side of his face is tingly, the way his gums feel after an injection from the dentist. He can taste blood. The snowflakes, crusting his lips, are chemical, like washing powder.

He wriggles, trying to work out how to move his feet. Glances ahead and behind, the darkness so thick he could take fistfuls of it and squeeze out handfuls of black paint.

He tries to speak. Feels ridiculous, childish, as the first words croak out of his throat.

‘Mammy? Dad? Hello …’

The sound comes echoing back, a little-boy voice, helpless, shrill.

‘Please …’ he says, and he doesn’t know who he’s saying it to. ‘Please … Lilah. Lilah, are you there? It’s me. It’s your brother …’

Thinking upon his sister stills the terror that grips him. Forces himself to take control of himself. His sister may be here. She may be in worse trouble than him. She needs reassurance – needs to know that he will get her out of here, take care of this, as surely as if Mammy or his father were here.

‘Lilah, if you’re there I need you to say something, OK? Are you hurt? Do you know where we are? I don’t think I can move very well – I think I’m tied up, it’s all sort of … cloudy … I think I can see a bedframe, an old-fashioned one, metal – and there’s ropes here. The floor’s all wet. I can taste something … talk to me, Lilah … don’t worry, we’ll be OK, it’s all a mistake …’