Todd Stowman groaned.
His eyelids fluttered open, and his vision was blurry. Somewhere in the room, water dripped into a pool in a constant staccato of plips and plops.
Todd squinted to try to bring his eyes into focus, as much as he could in the dim light anyway. The only illumination was a bare incandescent light bulb that flickered and sputtered, casting odd shadows all around. The whole room stunk of mildew mingled with rot. The walls, as much as he could see them in the wavering light, were slick with moisture and glistened with black mold. Where there wasn't mold, Todd saw bare concrete, pocked and pitted with the passing of time and the action of water.
He found a patch of bare concrete and stared at it for a long moment, trying to cut through the static in his brain. It was as if he were lost in a fog, with no beacon to guide him. The more he focused though, the more the fog began to lift. And as the fog in his mind began to recede, he became aware of a throbbing pain in the back of his right hand. When he tried to life it to get a look at what might be wrong, but he met unyielding resistance. He tried to lift his left hand as well, but met the same resistance.