Peter woke to a pounding in his head that just would not quit. He screwed his eyes shut tight and opened them again, trying to remember what had happened last night. He lifted his hand towards his head in an attempt to massage some semblance of life back into his befuddled brain, only to have it jerk to a stop about six inches above the mattress. Ignoring the lancing pain, he turned his head and saw that his wrist had a loop of towelling, like the belt of a bathrobe fastened securely around it. He jerked his arm against the restraint but only managed to tighten it further. Turning his head to the other side, Peter could see that his other wrist was fastened in a similar way, He levered himself up as far as he could and looked down at his naked body. His ankles and knees were securely bound together with strips of towelling and he could not loosen them.
Relaxing his neck muscles, Peter let his head fall back onto the bed. Desperately he cast his mind back to last night. He remembered the guys from the office insisting on taking him out to celebrate his promotion. They had seemed pleased that, at 22, he had made the leap to team leader. Peter remembered the bar and drinking too much beer. Not being a great drinker, it had gone to his head and stomach, making him really nauseous. He had staggered to the bathroom and heaved the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. Thankful that it was Friday night and he would be able to recover over the weekend, Peter had gone back into the bar, to find that his friends had left. He left his last beer on the bar and staggered out into the street. Across the road he thought he saw one of the guys entering a club doorway. He dashed over, to tell them he would be calling it a night.
The club was down a steep flight of stairs and very dimly lit. He could barely think, the music pounded so loudly. He leaned against the bar for a moment, and a waiter approached him. Peter suddenly realised that his mouth was as dry as dust and he had a sour taste from the beer he had thrown up. He bellowed an order for a coke into the waiter’s ear and looked around. He still could not see the guys from the office, but the club was dark and there were a number of alcoves. One group seemed to be watching him from their booth but he paid no attention to them. The waiter reappeared with his drink, took his money and weaved between the tables in search of other orders.
Pete remembered drinking the coke, and thought he remembered that the drink was a little flat, as though it had been opened for a while. After that, nothing.
“Guys!” Peter shouted, “this isn’t funny, let me up I need the bathroom.”
The door opened and a broad shouldered man stepped into the room. From his movements, Peter guessed that he was in his early forties. He was tall and well toned, the black t-shirt and denims encasing a muscular physique. Peter had no way of telling what the guy looked like, because he was wearing a black hood with slits for the eyes.
