THERE ARE NO WINDOWS TO count when the sun rises or sets, only a long tube of bright white light on the ceiling or total darkness. Jordan has had two long, difficult sleeps filled with nightmares and the bucket he found to use as a toilet is almost half full. He estimates he’s been here two days.

He sits in the corner staring wide-eyed at the tank. He doesn’t want to look at it but can’t seem to help himself. Inside, a man hangs upside down by one foot tied to a metal hook. His other leg is bent at the knee and his arms are fixed behind his back. He is wearing jeans torn at the knees. His chest is pale and bare and he has a bird tattoo on the top of his right arm. There is a fist-sized hole over the top left side of the mask and peering out from it is a pale glassy eye surrounded by scarred red flesh. The eye on the other side of the mask has an upside-down letter ‘a’ with a circle around it painted red. It is like something from a horror movie. He trembles, turns away, leans his cheek against the rough concrete wall and thinks about his mum.

How can he not? She must have been taken by Ben Peters, her old schoolfriend from Facebook who she didn’t remember. The same man who was supposed to take them both to dinner. The same man who . . . he cannot bring himself to say it. His heart is shattered, he has never felt so alone, so terrified. He pulls his arms to his knees, hugs them to his chest and shudders at the chain as it slithers on the hard floor like an iron snake.

An ache in his bladder pulls him from his thoughts. He desperately needs to pee. With his free hand he stretches across and grabs the red plastic bucket with the tips of his fingers. Unzipping his jeans he feels an enormous relief as his pee storms into the bucket. He looks across at the thing in the tank. There is something familiar about the figure that he cannot place. Its pale glassy eye stares back at him from underneath the torn mask. Jordan shivers and looks away.

He sits back down on the cold floor. His head swirls and he rubs his eyes as he recalls the last time he spoke with his mum. He asked her not to go out that night. He had an odd feeling in his tummy about it and more than anything wanted her to stay at home with him. But she wouldn’t listen and he lost his temper and shouted at her just like his dad always does. Guilt surges through him and he wants to cry again but for some reason the tears won’t come. Perhaps he has cried himself dry.