Eighty-one

Rebecca's eyes fluttered open, the pain in her head making her groan. She tried to sit up but found her hands tied to the bedpost. Panic set in as she looked around the unfamiliar room, trying to remember how she got there. Then she saw John sitting in a chair next to the bed, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Good morning, Rebecca," he said, a sly grin on his face. "I hope you're feeling better. You gave me quite a scare last night."

"What...what happened?" Rebecca asked, her voice hoarse.

“Don't you remember?" He said he was leaning forward by resting both elbows on his legs. He appears eerily nasty. His hair appeared to have been combed through with his hand numerous times, and he had large eyes.

John stood up and leaned over her, his breath hot on her face. "This is your last chance to behave, Rebecca. Don't make me angry."

Rebecca knew she had to come up with a plan—some way to escape his grasp. She had tried to reason with him, to plead with him to let her go, but his delu