Valentine ripped at the fingers clinging to her face and was able to see, in flashes, that the hands of her attackers had carried her down the stairs into a tidy, nautical-themed cellar. Finished to keep out the damp, but still with a basement chill, the narrow hallway was painted navy blue. Beige utility doors, each embellished with a miniature white wooden anchor, were clearly marked in brass letters: “Laundry”; “Fitness”; “Exit”; “Storage.” The signs passed in fast-forward as the hands dragged her unceremoniously down the hallway on her back, and finally through the last door marked “Bike Room.” The hands released her and she hopped into a crouch, arms extended, ready for what was to come.

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