The door swung open. Brightness spread inside.
Cevil opened his eyes and watched. Two figures entered the room, whispering to each other, making sure they wouldn't be overheard by Cevil. Now, Cevil was too weak to even make a movement or speak. He lay still, trembling. The figures approached him, and he saw their body size. Big and muscular, like the ones that were ordered to catch him, or perhaps they were.
The next thing Cevil knew, he was on his back, his arms stretched out above his head. The two men had seized his arms, dragging him out of the room. Cevil did not struggle to get away, he did not have the strength, and he obeyed. He was dragged out of the room and found himself in a corridor. It looked somehow ruined, or maybe abandoned. Spider webs were falling from the ceiling. He could see bugs crawling on the ceiling, too. There were candles placed hanging on the wall, the dim light lighting up the place, although it did not help much. The paint peeled across the surface of the interior walls; it was peeled so much that it seemed like it had been done by human instead of itself. The only thing that looked new was the red rug in the corridor. Cevil was secretly glad he was dragged on his back instead on his stomach, or the wound would hurt badly. It wasn't warm outside the corridor, but at least it wasn't cold. He felt his heels hot and burning from the friction of it against the rug in the corridor.
He twisted his head around, trying to look in the direction they were going. There was a door in front, made of dark oak wood with a grey knob. One of them twisted the doorknob and pushed it open, dragging Cevil inside.
The floor inside was made of wooden planks, and the walls were pure white. Cevil felt someone lift his legs up and the next moment he was thrown onto an armchair, in an unpleasant position. Now, he could have a proper look around. The room was quite small and low-ceilinged. It was shabby as if it hadn't been taken care of for years. The door stood on his left, and there was a large but inefficient fireplace. It hissed and crackled when Cevil watched it, as if hissing towards Cevil, warning him. There were two armchairs beside him, and a table stood opposite. A skinny, middle-aged German man was sitting behind the table. He was small sized with broad shoulders which didn't seem to match him and was in his mid-fifties. His pompadour haircut was silver, and he had a speckly black and grey beard. His eyebrows were bushy and had Irish blue eyes. He wore an open-collar white shirt with a fashionable and baggy brown trouser. He sat straight up, with his hands clasped together on the table.
The two men settled themselves on the armchair besides Cevil.
"Welcome," he didn't have perfect accent and he had blur speech, but at least Cevil was able to hear and understand them. Cevil adjusted himself into a comfortable position on the armchair. He was staring at the hissing fire; he didn't want to look at the man.
"I know you have a lot of questions," the man began, his eyes fixed on Cevil. "But it's not the time for it. Let's introduce ourselves first, I'm Konrád Ferando." He took a novel out from his bookshelf. Cevil read the title: We Are Friends. "Yes, this book, We Are Friends, by an author called Prejanvi Milton. It talks about friendship, and I loved reading this book. It reminds me of my old friends..." he said every word very carefully. "Do you want to have a look at it?" He offered the book. Cevil glared at Ferando, "Get straight to the main point, why did you all kidnap me?" Cevil snapped. Ferando waited, then he smirked, "Young people nowadays. My boy, I did not kidnap you. So now, let me repeat, do you want to have a look?" He pushed the book to the end of the table. Cevil decided to not reply and stared at the wall, as if a childish kid throwing tantrum. "Boy!" the old man yelled, "You do not treat me like this!" Ferando punched the table and jumped up. He made his way around the table to Cevil. Cevil had just realized what he'd done, he never thought thrice before acting. He was facing a dangerous man, someone who kidnapped him, obviously someone evil and cruel, and here he was, acting arrogant.
The two guards got to their feet immediately too.
Cevil rose to his feet to plead. "I'm sorry..."
But it was too late, Ferando whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and grabbed him before Cevil knew what he was doing. Ferando pressed the handkerchief against Cevil's face. Cevil struggled. His strength drained out of him. He felt his legs numb and fold. He heard Ferando mutter something in German, and darkness rushed in.