He tied a blindfold round my eyes before pushing me into the car. I lie there with my hands bound behind my back. The toes of my shoes just touch the floor of the car. As he drove over the bumpy road the blindfold slipped. Through the narrow space, I can see the back of a car seat. The drive seems endless. But then the car stops and the door is opened.

‘Come on, stand up!’

The man takes hold of my arms and legs, tries to pull me out of the car. I’m scared. What’s he going to do to me? I can’t get out of the car fast enough for him. He pulls my hair. Hands behind my back, legs gone to sleep. He couldn’t care less, the bastard. He goes on pulling me out. I stumble, can’t find my footing, try to get my hands in front of me, can’t. I scream. I fall forward, can’t support myself on anything, I land on my face. As I fall I turn over on my side. Leaves, fir needles, earth in my mouth, in my nose. I cough, spit stuff out, I stay lying there. Everything hurts. The cord round my hands is cutting into my flesh worse than ever. My head hurts so badly.

‘Stand up!’

The bastard is shouting at me. Why doesn’t he understand that I can’t, not with my hands tied? I just want to stay lying on the forest floor. The ground smells good, smells of mushrooms, earth, moss. All of a sudden I feel calm, I’m not afraid any more. Let him do whatever he likes! I’m staying here on the ground. If he wants to kill me he’ll have to do it here. I’ll just stay lying where I am, I won’t move. My life might end here and now. There’s something peaceful about the idea. I feel a strange wish for it: just to stay here for ever and ever.

His hand is tugging at my shoulder. He grabs me, hauls me up. Why can’t he just leave me alone? I get a bit of purchase on the ground once I’m kneeling. He pushes me in the ribs until I stand up, then forces me back to the car.

‘Now, sit down! Wait!’

I try to sit down, but I slowly slip to the ground, my back against the car door. I stay squatting on the ground. I hear quiet footsteps. The car doors are opened and closed. The slight sound of footsteps again, dry twigs snapping. Then silence. Nothing happens. I wait. Why should I wait here? Why isn’t anything happening? Insects humming quietly around me, that’s all, a lot of birds twittering. I sit there, breathing, calming down. Nothing happens.

Am I alone? I rub my head against the car, pushing the blindfold further up. It works loose and falls off. I open my eyes as far as I can with one of them so swollen, see the irregular outline of the treetops moving slightly back and forth, rays of light from the setting sun falling through them. I sit there leaning against the car, it’s warm, my body relaxes. No sign of that guy, I’m alone.

As if by some miracle, I’m still holding the little pocketknife. I didn’t drop it when I fell, I kept it clutched in my fist. I was trying to open it all through the drive. I didn’t succeed. Now, sitting here with my back to the car, I try again. And this time it works. I can open the knife. A little way, then a little more. The knife jumps out of my hand and falls to the ground. Bloody hell! I grope about on the ground with my fingers. I can’t find it, but I touch a squashed tin can. I rub the cords against the sharp lid of the can. I shift, it scratches my wrists, but never mind that now. Desperately I tug and pull at my bonds, until the cord comes apart and my hands are free. I shake them, rub my sore wrists. Everything is still calm around me. I cautiously look in all directions. The forest, the woodland track, the car.

Slowly, I get to my feet. I’m alone. I’m free. I can get away. I walk round the car, taking care with every step. Maybe the key’s still in the ignition. I slowly press the door handle until the driver’s door opens with a loud click. Hell! I stand there for a moment, drawing air in sharply through my teeth, and looking in all directions again. Thank God, still no one anywhere in sight. I open the driver’s door fully, lean forward and into the car. Where’s the ignition? Out of sight under the steering wheel. I put my hand through the spokes in the steering wheel and grope for the ignition, feel the longish slit.

Damn, no key.

At that moment I hear something crack behind me. Leaning half over the steering wheel, I stare straight ahead, I daren’t move. I feel sweat at the back of my neck and running down my backbone. I’m still in the trap, that bastard must be behind me.

Slowly, I straighten up, duck my head as I clamber out, take a step backwards, look cautiously around. Nothing! Just the insects humming and the birds twittering, no human being.

I have to get away from here. Along the forest path, the way he brought me in the Fiesta? He’ll be sure to search that first, and with the car he’s bound to catch up with me. That’s no good. I must cut through the forest. Find a road or a house.

Where’s he gone? Never mind. I must just get out of here before he turns up again. I force my way through the brambles and undergrowth, going further into the forest. I run, I stumble, I jump up. I have no idea where I’m going, I’m just running, running away. I see a path through the trees, it’s almost overgrown. My blouse catches on thorns. I trip over a root, tear my tights, scramble up again, wipe the dirt off my knees and run on. I keep looking round, but no one’s following me. The path leads along the bank of a dried-up pond. A big, black wooden house beside it. I cross an old wooden door lying over a muddy stream. The door wobbles as I cross it. I go up to the house. Its rusty iron door is open just a crack. I make my way in. Now I’m the other side of the door.

The light of the setting sun falls through the doorway into the room. Casts golden light on a narrow strip of floor and the wall beside it. The rest of the room is dimly lit. I stand there waiting. It will take my eyes some time to get used to the darkness. Slowly I start to make things out. A large room without any windows, with a low, narrow brick wall across it, beginning in the middle of one wall. My glance moves over the projection to the darkness beyond and the opposite wall. There’s a closed door on the other side of the room. Part of a wooden ladder to the right, beside the door. Its top rungs emerge from an open trapdoor to the cellar below. I lean over and look down. I see large crates and thick pipes going up to the ceiling. Everything is all jumbled up. Nothing’s tidy, the place looks deserted. A wooden staircase rises to my right. My eyes follow the steps up. The stairs end at another trapdoor. The back of the room is in gloom, a little light coming through from the upper storey. A bright strip around the edge of the trapdoor picks out its position on the dark ceiling.

I hear footsteps above. Someone’s up there. My eyes try to follow the invisible person. The weight of his footsteps sends dust trickling through the cracks between the wooden planks in many places. Motes drifting slowly down, floating in the narrow strip of light shining through the crack of the open doorway. I look up, transfixed. Stare at the dark ceiling until my eyes hurt. A sharp burning pain makes me close them.

Who’s up there? I’ll have to ask if he can help me. Will he take me to a phone box, or maybe he even has a phone here? I must call the police. But suppose it’s him? No, he’ll be searching for me in his car, going back along the road. He’d think I could never be silly enough to run into the middle of the forest without knowing where I was going. But suppose it is him after all? There’s still time to get away from here. Hell, what am I to do?

I pluck up all my courage. The bottom step of the stairs creaks when I try it. I stop, hold my breath, looking up in suspense. I wait. Nothing happens. No more footsteps up there. Silent as the grave. Did whoever’s there hear me? Is that why it’s so quiet?

Nonsense! Don’t be so stupid! The next steps don’t make any sound at all. There’s a cast iron catch fitted to the underneath of the trapdoor. I hesitate for a moment, then I take hold of the catch and push the trapdoor up. It’s very heavy; I push at it with my head until I can open it a crack. I peer through the gap. The legs of chairs and a table in the middle of the room, to the left an old bedstead with a faded flower pattern painted on it, to the right a chest of drawers and a wardrobe with round feet. No one in sight.

But I can only see part of the room through the crack. I raise the trapdoor further. Tilting my head back, I reach up and push it open as far as I can reach, rubbing against the rough wood, my hair snags on it. I still can’t see enough, I can hardly hold the trapdoor open. I take one more step, push the door further up until my head is halfway through the opening. Now at last I can see more. I realize I’m getting out of breath. The trapdoor is pressing against the nape of my neck. The bloody thing’s so heavy.

‘So there you are!’

I lose my footing on the stairs. I stumble, I slip. Let go of the catch of the trapdoor, hit my head on the steps, stay lying at the foot of the stairs. Everything goes black around me.