Page 130 of Hidden in Memories
Daniel glances up at the drone, which is hovering motionless in the air.
“That must be the dining room,” Hanna says breathlessly. “Or maybe the old Loft, where we were the other day. The room with the bar and the ceiling paintings.”
She points to one of the short sides of the building and takes a step closer to Petter.
“Fly as close as you can to those windows.”
The quadcopter changes direction and heads toward the section where the Loft is located. Daniel is staring so hard at the screens that his eyes are hurting. Hanna lets out a small cry as a shadow passes by.
“There! I’m sure I saw something!”
The drone has moved on, but Daniel also thought he saw a silhouette that didn’t belong in the room.
“Fly back,” he says quickly. “We need to take another look.”
The pilot moves the joystick. Daniel and Hanna wait as the seconds crawl by. Then the quadcopter is in the correct position, hovering motionless once more.
It is dark inside the window, it is not easy to see through the dirty glass, but the image on the screen appears to show someone sitting on a chair.
“Is that Filip?” Hanna whispers. “Do you think it could be him?”
The figure is not moving, the head is lolling onto the chest.
Hanna inhales sharply. “Is he alive?”
104
When Filip wakes up he is sitting in the middle of a room with a dark carpet. There are large windows all around, with nothing but whiteness visible outside.
The bright light hurts his eyes so much that he closes them again.
The next time he opens them, he is even more bewildered. He is alone, there is no sign of his abductor, and he is in a place that resembles an old-fashioned bar. There is a long counter behind him, with small groups of chairs and tables dotted around. The ceiling is covered in highly stylized paintings of animals and people in pastel colors.
In his confused state it looks bizarre, like a weird version of Dante’sInferno.
Is he under the influence of drugs?
He still can’t move. His arms and legs are tied to the chair; he has no feeling in his muscles. The gag has slipped down a little, making it easier to breathe, but the panic means he is shaking uncontrollably.
Was this how his mom felt in the moments before she died? Was she as afraid as he is now?
She had always represented the security in his life. When Dad didn’t get in touch at Christmas, she would always wrap presents and pretend they came from him so that Filip wouldn’t be upset.
There is a horrible musty, stale smell, and he is very thirsty. His lips are dry, and his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth. When he tries to swallow, there isn’t enough saliva.
Is he going to die here—of thirst?
Filip tugs at the ropes, but his efforts are in vain. The pain makes him grimace; the skin around his wrists and ankles is already sore and red-raw. He cannot free himself.
He slips in and out of consciousness. When he comes around again, he can’t work out how much time has passed. But something is different, there is a flashing light in the distance. The white landscape has changed.
Blue light.
It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, but it does allow a faint hope to stir in his breast.
Filip prays, silently and feverishly. Please let it mean that the police are here, that they have found him.
That someone is on the way to rescue him.
