He was alive. His hands warm to touch. I tried to let my breath catch, tried to push away the musty tang of dust in the air, tried to let my chest relax as I sat on the floor, staying where I’d landed, the carpet in the hallway of the stranger’s house.

“You were done for, before I saved your ass,” the man’s voice said in a thick, west country accent, his body just a wide shadow at the door.

“Thank you,” I said, my breath yet to slow. “I’m okay, but thank you.”

“Unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, you’re a lucky girl,” he said still staring through the open door, looking left and right, before stepping back into the hallway. The room was too dark to see very much, the carpet a shade of grey, the walls stained with what seemed like damp, the thick air only helping my conclusion. I looked around, saw the door open directly to my left, another to the right at the base of the rising stairs.

“Thank you again,” I said. “But I’ve really got to go. I have a friend out there, she’ll want to make sure I’m okay.”

He paused and I watched his head twist, but the light was too dim to catch more than a pudgy outline of features as they lingered in my direction. He turned around through the doorway, took another look left and right, pausing in each direction, before he let the door close at his back. The silhouette of his hands turned and pulled the key from the lock.

“I’ve really got to go,” I said, my heart rate still not falling, the heels of my feet stinging as I pulled myself up.

“Wait it out here,” he said in a breathy, asthmatic voice, offering out a hand while he pushed the key into his pocket with the other.

“I insist, but thank you,” I said, already at my feet without his help, trying my best to keep my voice even. A shadow passed by the front door, and then another. I thought about screaming, but I could have read this all wrong, my first fears a hang up, annoyance creeping in. I’m not a weak woman. I couldn’t be dominated, especially not by a man. “Look, I really am thankful for your help, but I have to insist you open the door so I can rejoin my friend.”

“Insist all you want, you’re not going anywhere.”

Bile rose in my stomach, but I held back from my gut reaction to scream and call for someone to come to my rescue. This guy just needed to be told to stop being such a prick. What could he do anyway, the size of him? He looked like if I said boo, he’d have a heart attack and fall to the floor clutching his chest.

“I’m going. Now get out of my fucking way you big fat creep,” I said, taking a step forward. Despite the darkness, with my first foot forward I saw a smile bunching in his cheeks, his hand pulling something from behind him and pushing it out towards me.

He mumbled something under his breath with all but an aura of light around his wide frame blocking the doorway. His face lit from below, his chins and heavy hanging features shadowed as the crackling blue light of electricity arced between the two prongs of the taser in his hand.

I turned and ran to the back of the house, racing through the hallway, knocking a thin, tall telephone stand to the floor, the bells pinging as the Bakelite hit the carpet. In the kitchen I had my hand on the back door, pushed down, pulling as hard as I could. It was locked. Of course it was. I picked up a bowl filled with rotting fruit from the kitchen counter, raised it above my head with both hands and felt his grip against my wrists and his pull backward as my legs buckled from under me. I screamed, but the air went from my lungs before I could get any volume, each of my muscles contracting and relaxing at the same time. All I could do was listen to his words brimming with laughter.

“You’re mine now.”

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Reading out of sequence, here’s the rest of Season Two.

Not read Season One? Here it is.