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I don't know what to do.
My eyes are closed tight with fear. I daren't open them. I can't, I won't. I'm too afraid.
I breathe out in short gasps, sobbing uncontrollably. I hardly ever cry, because I know that crying doesn't solve anything, but I can't help it. It's like I'm stuck in a real-life horror movie.
Something rough and hard rubs against my mouth, and I cough and choke, startled. It feels as though someone is shoving dust down my throat. I try to spit the dustiness out, but they put their hands over my trembling lips, making it impossible. It tastes disgusting, and I think I'm going to be sick. I struggle frantically, trying to wriggle my hands free but with no success. My arms and wrists are bound so tightly with wire; it hurts like mad if I attempt to escape. I yelp as a burning pain shoots from my arm straight to my fingertips, and my wrists ache.
Cold sweat drips down my forehead. I'm frightened. I've got to get out of here. But how?
Dark images of a few hours ago replay in my mind, as if on constant repeat. It's all I can think about... This is like a never-ending nightmare.
My Dad was in jail, spending time for defrauding businesses. It wasn't just him, he was involved with some very dodgy characters. He refused to grass them up to the police, so he was threatened with a longer prison sentence. In the end, he told on the ring leader: manipulative, serial crook, Blake Carson. Carson ended up in the cells for eight years, whereas my Dad served a much shorter sentence of just two. Now Dad's back home, Carson's friends obviously have revenge planned for the person who dared to rat on their boss.
I was on my way home from my after school guitar lessons when two men came out of nowhere and bundled me into the car boot of a rusty blue Ford Focus. I had tried to get a look at the number plate, but they started binding me with wire before I had the chance.
I've been kidnapped by unconvicted criminals.
Simple.
Facts.
How long have I been lying here now? It feels like forever. What if the men abandon the car somewhere deserted, leave me trapped inside here? My head throbs, full of disturbing scenarios.
My whole body trembles.
The car swerves sharply to the side, and my chin scrapes against the worn surface of the floor. It hurts like hell, but I'm too tired and worn out to continue crying.
Suddenly, the car stops. My pounding heart seems to freeze mid-beat. I open my eyes, but all I can see is eternal darkness. I open my mouth to scream, but the hands press down again, only much harder than before; blocking out my petrified cries, suffocating me...
"Get out," I hear a voice sputter, and I'm yanked out of the car violently.
The world seems to have been drained of its colour. In every direction I look, everything is black. Just black. I panic at the absence of my sight, shaking like a leaf. I'm too afraid to even cry out.
"Move it!" The voice snarls, and I feel someone's hand on my shoulder as they steer me towards the unknown.
"I've got the stuff, Mac," says an unfamilar voice, from somewhere to my right.
"Shuddup, you idiot! She's not supposed to know our names!"
Mac Bennington, of course. I've never seen him before, but I've heard of him, alright. He's one of Carson's closest associates, although he's never actually been caught.
My theory was right.
Someone shoves me, and I trip and fall onto a cold, hard surface.
I feel like kicking them at the injustice of it all.
Wait. I CAN kick - my legs aren't tied together, only my arms and wrists.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. What if...
"Get up, you stupid girl," Mac spits, nudging me with what presumably is his shoe.
A sudden rage comes over me, and before I know it I'm up on my feet; lashing out, kicking ferociously. Someone grunts in pain, and there is a sharp thud as they fall to the floor, cursing.
I stop, breathing heavily, overwhelmed by my sudden strength.
"That's it," Mac says icily. "We were going to send you back alive, but now..." I hear a cruel laugh, and my blood runs cold.
"No!" I shout, and this time there are no hands pressing forcefully against my mouth, drowning the words out. This time, I can speak. "NO!"
My scream goes on and on and on.
"Bloody hell, Mac!" The other man bellows, trying hard to be heard over my sharp, piercing cries. "Kill the girl now and let's get out of here! She won't keep her freaking mouth shut-"
"Nobody move!" I hear a yell and my mouth clamps itself closed.
My throat stings, and I slouch over, breathless.
"Drop the gun, NOW! I SAID, nobody move!"
"I'm putting the gun down, man! I have to move! Geez..."
"Don't speak! Now put your hands in the air, both of you!"
"Hey, Susannah, are you OK?" I hear someone whisper, their cold, minty breath tickling my neck.
They walk behind me, and must see the twisted loops of wire cutting into my arms and wrists. They swear softly under their breath and yell above the noisy kerfuffle: "Anyone got wirecutters?"
I gasp as something is ripped from across my eyes, and the room floods with colour.
I can see!
In front of me stands a young, fair haired policeman, holding a blindfold by his fingertips. He smiles slowly at me, and through his deep blue eyes I see empathy, understanding.
"I'm PC Daly," he says, and we both turn and look as my two adbuctors are hauled out of the room, handcuffed.
"Everything's going to be OK. You're safe now," PC Daly consoles me, as I cry silent tears of happiness, as I sigh shakily in relief.
It's over.