Remember Me #1 by Ian C. P. Irvine

Author:Ian C. P. Irvine [Irvine, Ian C. P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural, Suspense
ISBN: 9798642901533
Google: q1-7zQEACAAJ
Amazon: B08DC2P9J7
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services LLC - KDP Print US
Published: 2020-07-17T23:00:00+00:00

A mile out to sea, Stuart Nisbet closed his eyes, twisted the accelerator handle as far as it would go, and shot forward faster, faster, ever faster.

Then he lifted both hands off the steering controls, stood up, closed his eyes, and fell backwards off the jet-ski into the sea.

-----------------------------

16.58

Mark McRae shivered, closing his eyes and riding out the muscular spasm that swept up and down his body.

The water dripping from the roof of his prison cell was cold, despite the temperature outside which had to be at least twenty degrees warmer. It was the summer after all. Earlier that week it had been over twenty degrees… but here, inside this damp, dark room, he was almost hypothermic.

The incessant drip, drip, drip of the water drops echoing around the room was driving him mad.

He’d long ago given up trying to scream, and he was even beginning to manage the constant urge to vomit as the gag bit into the back of his mouth.

The others were gone now – where he did not know – but he missed their company – whoever they had been. They too had been gagged, and alone in the dark they had tried for a while to communicate through their grunting, but had quickly realised that their unintelligible sounds were exactly that: unintelligible.

How long they had been gone for Mark didn’t know. In almost complete darkness, the hours and days blended into one. The passage of time was imperceptible.

If he’d wanted to, perhaps he could have counted the drops of water as they fell from the ceiling, but something as clever as that was now well beyond his capability.

Mark was starving. He hadn’t eaten since he had first woken up in the room and found himself with the others.

Thirst was the other problem.

His mouth was as dry as a bone.

His captor was making no effort to look after him. No water. No food.

Mark was scared. Petrified.

He had defecated and urinated in his trousers several times, both from fear and necessity. At first the smell had been overwhelming, but now he couldn’t smell it, his brain compensating for the stench and filtering it out.

His chains were cutting into his wrists and he thought they had been bleeding.

But you can’t see red blood in the dark, so he wasn’t sure either way.

It had been hours since his captor had last come into the cell.

Each time, he’d heard the trapdoor open and then been blinded as the light bulb hanging from the ceiling had burst into life like an exploding sun.

Before he’d had time to adjust, he’d felt the cattle prod in his side again, and he’d fallen back down onto his knees in compliance, at the mercy of whoever his captor was, and awaiting whatever his fate would be.

His captor never stayed long. He just came in, checked the chains, and left.

When the others had been in the room with him, Mark had been blindfolded, but after the second person had been taken out of the prison cell, his captor had come back in and swept the blindfold off his head.

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