He couldn’t be sure what it was. The fact that he had not had any food for quite some time didn’t help. Since he’d spoken to his captor yesterday, he had suffered at least three serious bouts of stomach cramps, all of which had ultimately led to the shits. As he’d had no food it was mostly liquid; but the bucket must be full. The smell was awful.
The light had been left on overnight, and Hobson had thought long and hard about the metallic object under his skin, and the suture on his abdomen. They couldn’t be helping him any, either.
For the last half hour, he’d simply sat on his toilet and held his head in his hands, defeated by the manipulation, as much as anything else. If there had been any further questions on his beloved Leeds United, he had almost certainly missed them.
Hobson figured he must have fallen asleep at some time during the night, because when he’d finally woken up, a bottle of water had been placed within reach. He didn’t care whether or not it had been tampered with; he simply unscrewed the top and started drinking. It tasted fine to him.
Hobson ran his hands over his face, and glanced upwards. He saw the computer monitor change question. It took him longer than normal to read it, but when he’d done so, he realized straight away that he knew the answer.
“Name the author of the bestselling books, Paint It White: Following Leeds Everywhere and Leeds United: The Second Coat, a man who has missed only one game, including friendlies, since he started watching Leeds United in 1968?”
Hobson was so excited, he leaned back a little too far, nearly tipping the bucket. That would have been a mistake.
He reached up as far as the frame would allow and shouted, “Gary Edwards.”
His reward came with a creaking sound, and the release of his left leg.
Hobson reached down and rubbed his ankle with both hands. There was a red band around the joint where the clamp had been too tight; all colour had drained from it. It felt funny, and although he wanted to try and stand up, he thought it best not to. One thing at a time.
He glanced at the PC screen again, but the topic of the next question was something entirely different, and he couldn’t hope to answer it in a million years. But however crap he’d been feeling, the release of one of his legs was beginning to make up for it.
Wouldn’t be long now.
What he had not noticed, however, was that the door to his basement had been opened, and the man holding him captive was standing in front of him.
“Well done, Mr Hobson.”
Something had happened to the man. He was normally suave and sophisticated, and almost always dressed in a clean, pressed suit. He may well have been in a suit today, but his right eye was bruised, and starting to swell. His hair was uncombed, and although Hobson couldn’t be sure, it appeared to have a streak of blood in it. When the man had spoken to him, he didn’t appear to be as calm and calculating as usual.
“What’s happened to you?”
“You need to worry about yourself, not me.”
Hobson was about to make another remark when a surge of pain equivalent to what felt like ten thousand volts engulfed his abdomen, pulsating upwards into his head.
Hobson screamed so loud his voice broke. His left leg involuntarily hit the bucket, and he ended up on the floor covered in his own excrement.
“Dear me, Mr Hobson. Now look what we’ve done.”
Hobson’s breathing was erratic. He was sucking in air at an alarming rate, but he was also struggling for breath.
His left hand went to the stitches, where the pain had originated. With his right hand, he was doing his best to support himself. Given the fact that his right leg was still trapped, he thought he was very lucky not to have broken his ankle.
Hobson did not want to do that. When – if – he finally managed to walk out of the frame, not to mention the basement, he wanted all his limbs in as good a condition as he could hope for. He was going to kill the bastard in front of him. And he wasn’t even sure he was going to stop and ask his name.
When his breath returned, he glared up at his captor. “What the fuck have you given me?”
The man stepped backwards, studying the vials before facing Hobson again. “You remember our little talk about honesty?”
“Not likely to forget that, am I?”
“Good. Look at the PC screen.”
Hobson did as he was told. At first he had no idea what he was staring at, so he struggled to reach a standing position in order to see the screen, trying to keep from putting too much pressure on his right leg, which was still clamped in the frame. As he drew level with the image, it finally dawned on him that he was staring at an X-ray. He could see the top half of a body. But he couldn’t quite work out what was going on inside.
“What the hell is this?”
“Take a closer look.”