by Budge Burgess

Created on: June 16, 2009

The steel door opened with the distinctive, echoing clang of heavy bolts being withdrawn.

Sandra woke, adrenalin investing her system to trigger its fight or flight response. She emerged from the darkness of sleep into the brightness of the cell, eyes darting here and there to take in the situation. The barrenness of the square room reassured her there was no immediate threat, but then she noticed that its doorway was filled by a uniformed policeman.

"If you'd like to follow me, miss."

She sat up; memories of last night began to assemble in disorderly jumble, jockeying around to try to organise themselves into some sort of logical sequence. She stood up; had it really happened? She tensed up as she realised how stiff she was and how improbable her story had been. Even she was beginning to suspect she'd made it up.

How long had she been lying there, she wondered. Her watch had stopped. It was showing 10.10, as it had, last night when she when it happened. In the bright glare of the cell's light she had no idea whether it was day or night. There was a small, thickly glazed window up towards the ceiling, the high ceiling, but it gave no indication as to whether there was daylight beyond.

Cramped limbs dragged themselves along the corridor in painful echo of the policeman's resounding footsteps, her spine and hips creaking with every movement. That bed in the cell - more of a shelf, really, a shelf with a thin sliver of rubber mattress glued to it - had been like something from a medieval torture chamber, not the transport to comfortable sleep.

She tried to stretch as she walked, rolling neck and shoulders, pressing her hands into the bend in her spine to try to knead some flexibility back into it. Her eyes were heavy with tiredness and disturbed sleep, her brain addled. She felt slightly hung-over - well, she'd had a couple of drinks last night, maybe more than she thought at the time. She wished she could brush her teeth and rinse her mouth with something minty and fresh. A lifetime of toothpaste adverts was playing in her head when what she needed to concentrate on was remembering the details of last night.

The policeman unlocked another steel door then led her down a corridor so dazzlingly bright she had to screw her eyes tight. Above her, recessed strip lighting buzzed and was it flickering rapidly, or was it just her tired imagination and the cloudiness of her mind? Was it daylight or still dark? Her guide opened a

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