Too Late To Beg My Ghost

The morning after I accidentally spilled a glass of juice down the front of my husband’s secretary, two men ambushed my daughter and me in our driveway.

They hauled us into the back of an unmarked van and dumped us like sacks of refuse onto the concrete floor of an abandoned industrial basement. The heavy metal door slammed shut, followed by the metallic click of a deadbolt and the hiss of an unsealed valve.

Within minutes, the air turned dense and metallic. Lethal levels of carbon monoxide were filling the enclosed space.