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trembling. She focused on that stupid gesture. The cap gave way and popped
off the neck, making a part of the contents squirt onto the table. Amelia drank
avidly.
    Then she stopped. What if there were more
drugs in the water? Oh, what the heck, who cared? She was thirsty. She resumed
gulping down and finished up half of it in a few seconds. A large part had
ended up on her clothes. As she looked at them, it occurred to her that they
seemed perfectly matched to the filth of the place. Her beautiful grey suit.
Who knew whether they would refund it? After all she was using it during a
police action.
    She muttered under her breath as a reply to
that question, while her brain was focusing on that sense of annoyance she’d
had since her awakening. Her feet. Of course she was still barefoot. They were
dirty and she felt a diffused burning sensation. But she hadn’t the courage to
check them.
    She raised her eyes. The door. Yes.
    The water had put her straight. She was still
in the cottage, alone. And that thing over there was an exit. She didn’t
certainly delude herself it was open, but perhaps she could peep from the
window and see what was outside. Or who was there.
    She set the bottle down. She was feeling more
confident on her legs now. She crossed the rest of the room with ease. She
reached out to the handle, hesitant. It had to be a trap. As soon as she had
touched it, she would catch a shock, or get burnt. But no, it wasn’t a film.
She grabbed and turned it. The door opened.
    Oh!
    Careful not to cause the slightest noise, she
pulled it as much as she needed so she could look outside. The sun’s rays ran
over her, but her eyes, already accustomed to the light, didn’t betray her.
    An open space covered with white gravel spread
before her, and beyond it were some bushes.
    She ventured out on the doorstep. She looked
at one side and then the other of the cottage. No car, no other building
nearby. Not another living soul.
    She descended a step and placed a foot on the
small concrete passage. She remembered the sensation she had felt when she’d
entered. It had to be the same place. She turned to the house, then forward
again.
    Had they let her go?
    She was convulsing with laughter. She was
free. They hadn’t killed her. Hurray!
    She ran to the open space and, oblivious of
her sore feet, started hopping. Then she stopped, breathless. Her jubilation
vanished in a moment. Her eyes were still not betraying her. All around her was
an uncultivated field, and a little further away to the right were some hills,
while on the other side there were more plots of land. A grove opened behind
the cottage.
    Except for a beaten path extending from the
open space, there wasn’t the slightest sign of civilisation. A distant road, at
least? She started listening. Maybe there was one, only it was hidden by the
plants. She would hear the sound of the engines. But no. Only twittering birds.
    Her chest deflated and she felt herself almost
collapsing, while her enthusiasm slipped away. She remembered well the time
spent in the boot, as it travelled on a country road. Never-ending minutes. On
foot, moreover without shoes, they would turn into hours.
    Disconsolate, she looked in the direction of
the pathway. Its track got lost as the terrain twisted.
    “Bugger,” she murmured.
     
     
    She had the feeling that she had been walking
for days, but considering that the length of her shadow looked just the same,
not even half an hour must have passed. The sun was quite high and she was checking
her shadow to understand whether it was shortening or lengthening, in other
words whether it was morning or afternoon. But until now, it had been a useless
exercise.
    She drank the last sip of water from the small
bottle. She had returned to the cottage to take it before venturing along the
pathway. She was still thirsty, though.
    She threw it away. Yes, she knew, as a
policewoman she certainly wasn’t setting a good example. But there was nobody
able to