From the crypt

Adam had had enough. In fact, he'd had more than enough, having realised he'd had enough long ago.

Days ago? Hours ago? He had only the vaguest idea, locked in this cell-like room. He remembered heading downstairs, and it smelt like he was in the damp of a cellar - or a crypt, he supposed they called it in a church.

With no clock, his mobile phone taken from him and no other way to tell the time, he was drowning in boredom. Boredom and the same nagging thoughts in his head.



Part Three begins here.