Page 25 of Sigma

My stomach lurches as we lift up, up, up, and then tilt to the side and forward. It’s disorienting, feeling movement but not being able to see.

I know there’s someone else in the cabin with me—I feel a thigh touching mine occasionally as the aircraft jostles.

Sense of motion recedes once we’re moving. I’d estimate a trip of over an hour, at least, and then we’re circling and descending. Touching down. I’m unbuckled, handed down to my feet, a hand once again pressing my head down as the downdraft beats on me.

Through a doorway, which closes with a loud slam, abruptly cutting the noise of the helicopter to a muffled roar.

Walked forward a few steps, then a hand on my arm stops me. “Stairs down.” The voice is an accented growl.

I cast around with my foot, find the edge, and step down. His hand remains on my arm, but I manage to make it down the staircase mostly on my own without incident.

Man, by the time this is over, I’m going to be an expert at walking around blindfolded.

It’s a long trip down, and we emerge in what sounds like an underground parking garage.

I hear an engine idling, and a car door opens, closes. Another opens, and I’m guided into a car, a hand pushing on the outside of my hip to rotate me so I’m sitting sideways in the car—a limousine.

Silence, then, and a long, long drive, swaying this way and that around occasional curves.

Stop.

Guided out. Same person, different? No way to know and it doesn’t matter. This time, I’m guided by two people, a hand at each arm. This feels more final. Two guards is…official.

An elevator ride up.

The doors open.

I’m pushed forward, stumbling a step. Behind me, the elevator doors close. The sound of something heavy scraping across stone, metal hinges squeaking gently. Another push forward, half a dozen steps, and I stop. The same scraping as of enormous doors sliding across stone or tile, and a resounding slam of the doors closing, the noise echoing as if I’m in a fairly large room.

I can sense, somehow, that I’m alone, now.

My heart pounds.

I’m sweating.

I can smell myself—I don’t smell very nice.

I swore I wouldn’t say anything, so I wait.

And wait.

I sense nothing, no one.

Finally, I break. “Hello?”

Nothing.

I cast out with my toe in a sweeping arc. Forward, sweep. I reach something—a wall. I put my back to it and sit down.

How long, then? Hours?

Despite being bound, I manage to doze off.

* * *

Like the nightI was taken, I’m not sure what wakes me up.

A sense.