16The back of the van is bare, and I am freely rolling around on the metal surface. I am unable to control my movements sufficiently to avoid getting hurt. My wrists are handcuffed together, holding my hands behind my back. Two leather belts around my ankles and thighs hold my legs together. The belt around my ankles is tied with a short length of rope to the chain of the handcuffs, and pulled tight, bending my legs behind me and forcing the tight metal bands to cut into the skin of my wrists.
I have been blindfolded and gagged. I am unable to see what is happening, or discern the direction that we are travelling in. I cannot call out for help, or even request that my bonds are loosened to alleviate my suffering. My bruises continue to accrue.
Eventually the sound of the tyres on tarmac ceases, to be replaced by a less harsh sound. We are travelling much more slowly now, on what sounds to be a wet surface. I hear splashes as wheels fall down pot-holes into puddles, then I invariably crash into a wall of the van. A couple of times I hit one of the sharp struts supporting its walls and roof, cutting through my clothes to my skin.
The van stops suddenly, throwing me forwards violently for a final time. This time I bang the top of my head on the back of the seats at the front of the van. My brain sees a flash of white before acknowledging the sharp pain, followed by a dull ache. I feel a trickle of blood start to meander through my hair towards my forehead.
The rear door to the van is opened and allowed to slam against the outside causing a deep clang that reverberates around the confined space, adding to the physical discomfort that I feel. The rope between my handcuffs and the belt tied around my ankles is cut. Then the belt itself is removed. I am pulled to the rear of the van and forced to stand up outside it. My two captors guide me roughly across the uneven ground, one supporting each side. I struggle to walk on the wet, slippery mud with my thighs still bound together. I cannot see where I am going to allow me to place my feet carefully, so I slip and trip until we appear to reach a pathway. At the end of the pathway is a set of steps that I am not made to negotiate myself. I am forcibly dragged up them. My wrists are cut further as the pressure on my shoulders of the two men levering me upwards forces the handcuffs to take a large portion of the strain.
A heavy wooden door slams closed behind me. I detect an echo, making me think that the room I have entered is very large. That is confirmed to me almost immediately as my blindfold is removed. As I recover my sight, in front I see that there is a large wooden staircase, rising in ornate splendour to a religious-themed stained glass window in the wall at the top. It appears to depict scenes of hell. On the ground floor beyond the staircase I can see carpeted and highly decorated rooms. Where I stand just now there is worn don wooden flooring, eroded by the shoes of countless people traversing the threshold.
Suddenly I am jerked to the right and struggle to stay upright as I am forced to walk to a small door in the corner of the room. A sense of foreboding that has been with me ever since I was snatched begins to stir deep inside me. My insides feel heavy and start to sink. My heartbeat raises its tempo in preparation for my fight or flight responses, neither of which I am able to perform. I know that the door leads to a place that I don't wish to go.
Beyond the door is darkness, except that I can just make out the edges of stone steps leading downwards, and at the bottom of the steps a pale rectangle of an open doorway. Tied as I am, I again struggle to walk, but this time I am made to deal with the stairs alone, prompted by a push to my back. When I make it onto the second stair the door closes behind me and is locked. I stand alone, not wishing to move forwards, to approach whatever fate was ahead of me. My body is beginning to give up due to the treatment it has already received. As I begin to feel faint I resolve that I would rather walk down the stairs than fall down them.
The doorway at the bottom of the stairs is covered with a thick curtain, only allowing faint light to shine through. My host was evidently listening for me reaching the bottom, because as I step off the last stair and stand for a moment trying to regain my composure, the curtain is brushed to one side. As bright light shines in I can make out a tall dark-haired man, and although I can see that he is smiling, I cannot detect any other of his features whilst his face is in shadow. He is wearing dark jeans and a dark t-shirt with a red design on it that I am unable to make out.