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You're not afraid of water are you?", Amonas' low gruff voice barely revealing a hint of worry."Water? Why count to thirty? Do you mean fast or slow?" Go on then!"Amonas had to shove Hilderich inside, whose protests became dangerously loud:"You really plan to kill me!"Hilderich's terror was evident in the shrill quality of his voice. It had all happened too quickly to try and hold back, so when Amonas pushed him down the tubing he tried to follow his advice: he held his arms stiff to his body and started counting to thirty.The tubing angled downwards pretty soon and Hilderich felt he was riding a children's slide, with the slight difference that the end of the slide was nowhere in sight, and mad, possibly delusional, quite certainly heretic thugs, were shoving you down into one.Hilderich heard a splash echo dimly in the metal tubing, and was suddenly reminded of Amonas instruction. He wasn't sure if he had counted past thirty or not, but his terror and anxiety mixed with his. She had on the same clothes she had when she first met him three years ago. She wore the same ear rings. Her long black hair was in a pony tail, like it was then.That evening, three years ago, she had not intended to be picked up. She had gone to a club on Wisconsin Avenue in Washington, DC with a girl friend wanting only to have a few drinks, and maybe meet someone. She met Ken. He was several inches taller than her, charming, and good looking. Because he was well dressed, when he told her he had a position with a prominent law firm she believed him. He was a good dancer.Later on that night she found he was good in bed, with the chiseled body of one who works out at a health club. Ever the thoughtful lover, he had an unused toothbrush for her. Everything in his condominium overlooking Connecticut Avenue spoke of good taste and a good income.When Emily looked at pictures framed on the walls, she said, "I recognize several reproductions from the National Art Gallery. The others are.
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