It was dark, the kind of darkness that prevailed whether your eyes were open or shut. Mary shifted her knee from under her chin; her joints were screaming in pain. Her hands were tightly tied behind her back and the rope they had used felt razor sharp against her wrists.
Her body lay awkwardly, half of it laid on the carpet, the other half on the tile. Oratile was dead, strangled by him. His admiration of the weather was interrupted by the uncomfortable feeling from the hardness of his erect penis. He was almost finished with her. He mounted himself on top of her and grunted like a beast.