Tears of pain stinging his eyes, he took another very deep breath and launched himself backwards once more. Suddenly, catching him out, there was no longer any resistance. His bound wrists pulled whatever they were shackled to out of the wall. It came away with a loud crack, as he fell backwards, painfully, onto the hard floor.

He lay for some moments in the darkness, winded, collecting his thoughts, his hands still tightly bound and attached to something heavy. He brought it to his face. It felt like a metal hoop.

Sneezing from the dust, he knelt and brought his wrists to his face, rubbing them against his cheek to try to figure out what the bindings were. They felt like cable ties, made from plastic as hard as steel. Giving up, he stumbled to his feet and stood, confused, in the pitch darkness, swaying unsteadily. His watch was meant to be luminous, but he couldn’t see the hands. Maybe he’d been in the dark too long.

Then he used his fingers to work away at the tape over his lips and chin. It took him several anxious minutes before, finally and gratefully, he was able to uncover his mouth.

‘Hello?’ he said to the man and woman he had seen in here. ‘Hello? Bonjour?’

Nothing.

He stumbled around in the darkness, thinking this was what it must be like to be blind. Where was the door? Was there some sharp edge down here he could rub the cable tie against? Then he banged into something hard, flat, cold and damp. A wall.

Just keep moving in one direction and I’ll come to a door, he thought.

Keeping his right elbow against the wall, he began inching along. Suddenly, after only a few paces, he felt a cold draught. Then wood on his hand.

A door!

Open, please God.

Using both hands now, he felt the coarse surface, wincing as a painful splinter dug into his skin. Then a square, metal lock. And the handle.

His heart pounding, he turned the handle. Pulled. Pushed. Pulled again as hard as he could, then pushed once more. But the door did not move. It was locked.

Shit, shit, shit.

Tempted to start pounding with his fists, he thought better of it. Stealth. Keep quiet and his captors would not know he was free. That gave him one small edge over them, even though his wrists were still bound together. He tried to cut through the tie using the edge of the lock, but it wasn’t sharp enough.

What else was here? Another door? Window? Air vent?

He smelled piss, and realized it was his own, from some time ago – he had no idea how long – when he’d finally relieved himself.