Blinking away the gloss of tears, familiar brown eyes peered back at me. I croaked, “Charlie, where are we?” Panic rolled in my gut at the worry in his gaze. We weren’t safe yet.

Not safe from what? I couldn’t quite remember the details, although my body told a story of trauma.

He leaned away from me with a sigh of relief allowing my vision to widen, scanning him and the place we found ourselves. Though dimly lit, I could still make out the purple bruises under his eyes, stubble growing into a short beard, hair that looked usually a dirty blond color was now more dirty than blond. His t-shirt, trousers, and shoes looked as though they were covered in a layer of dirt.

He sat cross-legged on the stone floor next to me.

Stone. Not tile. Not marble. But cold, wet, gravelly stone.

Are we outside? My thoughts felt distant, calm, and unattached. As though I were watching this scene on the television and guessing the location with the protagonist.

Confused, I rolled my head toward the tiny light which seemed to be coming from behind me. I couldn’t see the ceiling or the walls due to the dimness, but it felt dark, and claustrophobic.

Was the roof slanted?

My cheek scraped across the rough flooring, but I couldn’t feel it. Shock had frozen the blood in my veins, the breath in my body, the nerves that should be telling me more about my current existence. Expecting to see a window or entrance, the sight of a tiny lantern on the floor made my heart drop as it cast shadows around bars which sealed us into our prison—our cage.