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as though her clothes had suddenly caught fire – she wants to be naked as quickly as possible so he won’t hit her again. Alex wriggles and squirms, takes off everything she’s wearing, every last stitch, quickly, then stands up, arms against her body, and it’s only then that she realises what she has lost and can never get back. Her defeat is absolute – by undressing so quickly she has accepted everything, said yes to everything. In a sense, Alex has just died. She dimly feels something, though it is very far away.As though she is outside her own body. Perhaps this is how she finds the courage to ask:
    “Wh— what do you want?”
    His lips are so thin they’re almost invisible. Even when he smiles, you can tell it’s anything but a smile. Right now, it’s a question.
    “What have you got to offer, you filthy whore?”
    He tries to make it sound lascivious, as though actually attempting to seduce her. To Alex, the words make sense. They would make sense to any woman. She swallows hard. She thinks: he’s not going to kill me. Her mind coils around this thought, knotting itself tightly against all contradiction. Something inside tells her he’ll kill her anyway, later … but the knot in her mind is tight, tight, tight.
    “You can f— f— fuck me,” she says.
    No, that’s not right, she can tell, that’s not the right way …
    “You can r— rape me,” she says, “You can do wh— whatever you want.”
    The man’s smile freezes. He takes a step back so he can look at her. From head to foot. Alex spreads her arms wide; she wants him to know she is offering herself, surrendering herself – she wants to show him she has relinquished her free will, that she is putting herself in his hands, that she is his, so she can buy some time, just a little time. In these circumstances, time means life.
    The man studies her steadily; his eyes move slowly down her body, finally coming to rest over her genitals. She doesn’t move. He leans towards her slightly, questioningly. Alex feels ashamed of what she is, exposing herself like this. What if he’s not attracted to her? If what little she has to offer is not enough, what will he do then? He shakes his head as though disappointed, no, notgood enough. And to make her understand he reaches out, grips Alex’s right nipple between thumb and forefinger and twists it so hard, so fast, that the young woman immediately doubles up and screams.
    He lets go, and Alex holds her breast, eyes bulging, gasping for breath, hopping from one foot to the other, blind with pain. The tears come in spite of herself as she says:
    “Wh— wh— what are you going to do?”
    The man smiles as though simply stating an obvious fact.
    “Me? I’m going to watch you die, you filthy whore.”
    Then he steps to one side, like an actor.
    And she sees. Behind him. On the floor, an electric drill lying next to a small wooden crate. About the size of a human body.

4
    Camille pores over a map of Paris. Outside the concierge’s lodge, a uniformed officer seconded by the local station spends his time telling the rubberneckers and the neighbours that they’ve no business being there unless they have vital information about the kidnapping. A kidnapping! It’s entertainment; almost like being in a movie. Granted the star is missing, but that doesn’t matter – just being on the set is magical. As the night wears on, the news spreads like wildfire, like village gossip. People can’t believe it,
who is it, who is it, who is it, I told you I don’t know,
some woman is what I heard, but do we know her, tell me do we know her?
News travels fast, even kids who should be in bed by now are coming down to check out what’s going on; the whole neighbourhood is thrilled by this unexpected situation. Somebody asks whether they’re going to be on T.V. Over and over people ask the duty officer the same questions. They hang around waiting for no-one knows what, just so they can be there in case something