Page 191 of The Dark Stranger

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I force my eyes open anyway, blinking against dim light filtering through the room. It's not darkness exactly. There's a single bulb somewhere above me. Flickering. Weak. Casting shadows that dance across stained concrete walls.

The ceiling is cracked. Water-damaged. Streaked with mold that spreads like black veins.

Where am I?

I try to remember, but my thoughts are sluggish. Moving through thick fog.

I was...

I was with Becca.

We were in the warehouse.

There was gunfire. Explosions. Chaos.

And then...

Nothing.

Just blackness.

How long have I been out? Hours? Days? I don't know. I can't know.

The drugs are still in my system. I can feel them pulling at me. Dragging me back under even as I fight to stay conscious.

I try to move. That's when I realize I'm lying on something damp. Cold. A mattress, I think. Though it's barely that. Just a thin, stained thing on bare concrete. Reeking of mildew.Piss. Something worse. Something rotten that makes my stomach turn.

I'm naked.

The realization comes slow. Like my brain is moving through syrup.

Naked and cold and wet.

Why am I wet?

I try to lift my arms, but they're so heavy. Like they're not mine anymore. Like they belong to someone else. My legs won't respond either. I'm trapped in my own body. A prisoner behind my own eyes.

Panic starts to build in my chest. A tight knot that makes it hard to breathe.

I need to move. I need to get up. I need to—

There's weight on me. Pressure. On my chest. On my hips.

I blink again, trying to focus. Trying to understand.

There's someone—

A man—

On top of me.

His breathing is heavy. Ragged. Punctuated by low moans that make my skin crawl. I can feel his weight crushing down on me, pinning me to the filthy mattress. His hands are on my chest. Groping. Squeezing.

And I can feel him moving. Thrusting. Between my legs. Inside me.

The realization crashes through the fog like ice water.

Oh God.

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