Stolen Read Free Page B

myself up and looked properly around the room. You weren’t in it. It was only me. Me, plus the double bed I was lying in, a small bedside table, a chest of drawers, and the chair where the jeans were. Everything was made from wood, everything basic. There were no pictures on the wall. To my left was a window with a thin curtain covering it. It was bright outside. Daytime. Hot. There was a shut door in front of me.
    I waited for a few more moments, straining to hear you. Then I struggled to the edge of the bed. My head was spinning enough to tip me, but I got there. I gripped the mattress and made myself breathe. Cautiously, I put one foot on the floor. Then the other. I made them take my weight, steadying myself by holding the bedside table. My vision blacked a little, but I stood, eyes closed, listening. There was still nothing to hear.
    I reached for the jeans, sitting back down on the bed to put them on. They felt tight and heavy, and clung to my legs. The button dug into my bladder, making me need to pee even more. I didn’t bother with the boots; it would be quieter with bare feet. I took a step toward the door. The floor was wooden, like everything else, and cool against my feet, with gaps between the planks leading to darkness below. My legs were as stiff as the wood. But I got to the door. I pressed down the handle.
    It was darker on the other side. When my eyes adjusted, I saw there was a long corridor—wooden again—with five doors, two to my left, two to my right, and one at the end. All of them were shut. The floor creaked a little as I took my first step. I froze at the sound. But there were no noises from behind the doors, nothing to suggest that anyone had heard, so I took another step. Which door was my escape?
    I stopped at the one to my right and grabbed the cold metal handle. I pushed down, holding my breath for a second before I pulled it toward me. Paused. You weren’t in there. It was a dusky gray room with a sink and a shower. A bathroom. At the back was another door. Perhaps leading to a toilet. I was tempted for a moment, wondering if I could risk a quick pee. God, I needed to. But how many chances would I get to escape? Perhaps only one. I backed up into the corridor again. I could pee down my leg. Or outside. I just had to get out. If I could do that, then everything else would be OK. I’d find someone to help me. I’d find somewhere to go.
    I still couldn’t hear you anywhere. I pressed my hands against the walls to steady myself and aimed for the door at the end. One step, two. Tiny creaks each time. My hands ran over the wood, catching splinters in my fingers. I was breathing fast and loud, like a panting dog, my eyes scanning everything, trying to figure out where I was. Sweat was running from my scalp and down my neck, down my back and into the jeans. The last thing I could remember clearly was Bangkok airport. But I’d been in a plane, hadn’t I? And a car? Or perhaps that was only part of a dream. And where were my parents?
    I focused on taking small, quiet steps. I wanted to panic and scream. But I had to keep control, I knew that much. If I started imagining what had happened, I’d be too scared to move.
    The last door opened easily. There was a big, dimly lit room on the other side. I cringed back into the corridor, ready to run. My stomach turned over, the pressure in my bladder unbearable. But there was no movement in the room. No sound. You weren’t in there. I could make out a couch and three wooden chairs, cut rough and basic like the one in the bedroom, and there was a space in the wall that looked like a fireplace. Curtains had been pulled over the windows there, too, giving everything a dark, brownish light. There were no ornaments. No pictures. That room was as stark as the rest of the building. And its air was as thick and heavy, stuffy as a coat.
    There was a kitchen to my left with a table in the middle and cupboards all around. Again the curtains were drawn, though