I was too tired and sick of the sight of food to eat and just slumberedin a sort of semi-coma like state, oblivious to the eating, belching andin the case of Granddad, unfortunately smelly gasses emanating from deepwithin his posterior region.Jane just looked blissfully happy that, for once, she wasn't the one tohave to do everything at Christmas. She told me later in a fit of guiltthat she thought several times that she felt a bit sorry for me, mypretty dress, cream coloured originally, but now peppered with thedetritus of the various Christmas meals; but she held back, rememberingall the times she had been in the same position as I was now in.It was now eight P.M.The younger children were now getting rather tired, having arisen wellbefore the crack of dawn and had now reached that charming state knownin the parenting world as "playing up'.Young Timmy started the ball rolling by pulling little Tracy's pigtailso hard that she screamed loudly and dropped her ice cream down. Once I was thrown inside, the van tore off down the dirt road that led out of the vacant stables. I was too shocked to cry, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my body, and I couldn't process all of this at once. The distinct sound of male voices were surrounding me -- three, I think. They had me laying face pressed down on a long bench seat. One of them tying my feet together, roughly, another tying my arms behind me, and one driving the van. They were speaking in some sort of coded language -- not a foreign language, but rather communicating in some kind of code so that I couldn't decipher anything they were discussing. My heart raced, I was hyperventilating behind the dark fabric that shielded my core senses. I tried to quiet my mind, to calm my breath, to assess the situation, and try to plot my course of action, but I was concerned about Buck's well-being. "My horse..." I mumbled into the hood, my face pressed against the cool seat. I pictured my beautiful stallion.
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