I found myself in an airport lounge with George. After unsucessfully trying to find a decent hair colourant, I decided for once and all that I was going to return to my natural brown hair colour because all the red / ginger dyes seem to be mysteriously disappearing off the shelves. Since we had a couple of hours to wait until the flight, I decided that I would dye my hair then and there and use the shower facilities provided in the lounge.

I had just finished rinsing out the dye and had called on George, when I suddenly felt myself becoming very weak and very dizzy. I recall sliding down the cubicle wall and then feeling myself slip into a sickening blackness.

When I returned to consciousness, I was lying in a room that had windows all along one wall. For a moment, I thought that I was in a corporate skyscraper somewhere, because the glass of the windows seemed to be the polarized temperature adapting type. I noticed that my left hand was bandaged, as was my left foot. An intravaneous drip led into my right arm. Midway down the tube, an extra bag had been attached that allowed a pink coloured solution to merge with the clear fluid coming through the tubes and into my veins. For some reason, I knew that this pink substance was a form of analgesic opiod painkiller and that explained why I was feeling quite 'woozy' and why, when I had tried to lift my arm to study the bandages, I had felt 'drunk'.

I tried to call out, but my lips were very dry and my throat was parched. The bed I was in was not standard hospital issue. The sides were made of a grid-like plastic / polymer that felt metallic. Monitors were built into these grids and every so often, there would come a 'sshhhhink-shhhinkk' noise and the monitors would record information.

I have no clue as to how long I lay there, but eventually, a man entered the room. He looked like the cliché American / Australian surfer type and wore a blue suit with a white doctor's coat over it.

I immediately took a dislike to him.

He said nothing, approaching the bed with an assessing expression on his face. Almost as though he were considering something that I was certainly not going to be privy to. He leaned over me, raised my left hand and started to unravel the bandage. As the gauze fell away, I cried out, hoarsely.

My thumb had been surgically removed. All that remained was a little bit of the fleshy mound and the skin had been stitched immaculately so as to leave a miniscule scar. He re-dressed the area and then progressed to my foot. Having seen my hand, I had started trying to wiggle my toes because I had a sneaking suspicion that something would certainly be amiss with my left metatarsals.

My left big toe had received the same treatment. All I could do was sob. I couldn't ask why this had happened and he offered no explanation. Again, he re-dressed the area and left the room. I fell into sleep once more.

When I woke for the second time, I found a woman staring at me. She was approximately forty-ish and had mid length blonde hair and wore baggy clothes. For some reason, I thought she reminded me of Emma Thompson.

"My name is Barbara," she whispered. "You shouldn't be here, but he wants to keep you. That's why he's done that......" she nodded towards my hand and foot. "I don't know why he's taken you, but you should not have tried to dye your hair in the airport. He mixed chemicals in the shower cubicles to react with conditioners........" I could see there were tears in her eyes. She reached out and brushed strands of hair from my sweat soaked face.

"Things won't be easy. You'll need to learn..." she broke off, a panicked look in her eyes. "I have to go." She darted from the room.

The dream then jumped and it was a month and a half later. I was still in the room, but was allowed to walk around as and when I wanted. My meals were served in there and I had to perform ablutions behind a screen. Despite my right hand being the dominant, I still found it very difficult to manage certain tasks.

One morning, after I had eaten breakfast and had washed and dressed, the door opened and the 'doctor' returned. This time, he wore no coat, and had on the same blue suit as before. He carried a small spray in his hand and indicated that I should hold out my left hand. Thinking that this was some form of medicine, I did as instructed, flinching as the ice cold fluid landed on my skin.

After a few seconds, I began to feel extremely nauseous. I stumbled to the bed, trying to lie down lest I fell and injured myself. Then, the b*****d raped me.

I must have passed out, because the next thing I know, Barbara was in the room and daubing my face with antiseptic cream. My vision was blurred and I realised that my lip was swollen. I could taste blood and the rest of my body felt as though it was on fire. It hurt to inhale. I could just make out her muffled sobs and realised that she was shaking her head. "That's it," she kept saying. "We need to escape. He can't continue with this."

The dream then jumped once more and I found myself in another hospital room, but this time, I was talking with a uniformed female officer. She was dressed like an American policewoman and all I recall is her telling me that the "doctor" had killed himself after shooting Barbara when he discovered that she had smuggled me out of the building.

That's all I recall. Not a very pleasant dream at all.