The dancing lights behind my closed lids were the first thing I observed. As consciousness seeped into my oxygen-deprived brain, I started noticing the change in my surrounding. There was no doubt that I was no longer being held down. My arms were free, heated and tingling, and too heavy for me to move. The chill of the floor was missing. In its place was the warmth of freshly washed bed covers. The temperature in the room was pleasant, something I had not expected to feel.
My mind started to question the legitimacy of the last lucid memory I possessed. I remembered the hard body pushing mine down; I remembered the long fingers wrapped around my throat. Had that incident really taken place? I was quite sure that I would not be alive if that were the case. Anthony Murray had every intention to leave me breathless—literally, and punish me for causing trouble.
