Herbert slid his shirt on over the bandages covering his sides. The wounds were painful, but not crippling.
Picking up the steel letter opener, he realized he didn’t really care how he had come to be here. All he cared about was getting out.
Unfortunately, he still had no socks.
“Consider us philanthropists,” gargled one of the inhuman faces.
Herbert looked woozily around the room. His tattered clothes were draped over a chair. The steel letter opener was lying on the floor.
“May I get dressed?” he asked. “Privately?”
“Certainly. Your wounds are healing well, but be gentle.”
They left.