Ben glimpsed dim rooms empty of furniture, and then Eric dropped his legs.

I'm putting you down. Stand up.

Ben stood.

Okay, I put a chair behind you. Siddown. I've got you. You won't fall.

Ben lowered himself until the chair took his weight. It was hard to sit with his arms taped to his sides; the tape pinched his skin.

Okay, we're good to go. Is Mike outside?

Mike. Mike was the man who had taken him. Eric had waited in the van. Now Ben knew two of their names.

The third man said, I want to see heez face.

Eye-wahnt-tu-see-heez-fehss.

His voice was eerie and soft.

Mike won't like it.

Stand behind him if you are afraid.

Stand-beehighnd-heem.

The voice was only inches away.

Christ. Whatever.

Ben didn't know where he was or what they were doing, but he was suddenly scared again, just like when they talked about his mother. Ben had not yet seen any of the three men, but he knew that he was about to, and the thought of seeing them scared him. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see any of this.

The hood was pulled off from behind.

An enormously tall man stood in front of him, staring down at Ben without expression. The man was so tall that his head seemed to brush the ceiling, and so black that his skin drank the room's dim light and glowed like gold. A row of round purple scars the size of pencil erasers lined the man's forehead above his eyebrows. Three more scars followed the line of his cheeks below each eye, each scar a hard knob like something had been pushed under the skin. The scars terrified Ben; they looked creepy and obscene. Ben tried to twist away, but Eric held tight.

Eric said, He's an African, kid. He won't eat ya until he cooks you.

The African carefully peeled the tape from Ben's mouth. Ben was so afraid that he trembled. It was dark outside; full-on night.

I want to go home.

Eric made a soft laugh like he thought that was funny. Eric had short red hair and milky skin. A gap showed between his front teeth like an open gate.

Ben was in an empty living room with a white stone fireplace at one end and sheets hung over the windows. A door opened behind them, and the African stepped away. Eric spoke fast as a third man came into the room.

Mazi has the African thing goin'. I told him not to.

Mike slapped his palm into Mazi's chest so fast that the African was falling back even before Ben realized that Mike had hit him. Mazi was tall and big, but Mike looked stronger, with thick wrists and gnarled fingers and a black T-shirt that was tight across his chest and biceps. He looked like G. I. Joe.

Mazi caught himself to stay on his feet, but he didn't hit back.