Denny’s house smells strongly of cigarettes. His wife—if he had one—must be a chain smoker too. The house isn’t exactly what you’d call clean, but it’s tolerable. I follow Denny to the upstairs bedroom which is the extra room that’s colored pink. Looking around, I feel something creepy about this and know this wasn’t the best idea. The bed was a single, so I crawl on top of it and close my eyes. This day has been scary and horrible, and very tiring. Denny leaves and I think I hear the door lock, but I’m too tired to care.

…

My wrists are hurting, and that wakes me up. To my shock, both of my wrists are tied to the bed and my ankles are tied to the bed as well. I struggle, but it’s no use, I’m stuck. I’m panicking. A woman, Denny’s wife I assume, walks in with a tray of what smells like pure shit.

“Eat this, honey. It’s good for little Rachel…”

“Little Rachel?” She’s looking at my belly and I know she means my baby, “Get away, you crazy bitch!” I cry.