Tim didn’t stop. He was almost to 10,000. Only a few more spaceships to destroy and it would be his highest score yet. His eyes were glued to the video screen, his hands to the joysticks, his fingers flashing over the control buttons.

Bam!!! Another one down.

“Good shot!” A man’s voice behind him. He didn’t lose concentration. There was another enemy ship coming up. Boom!!! It made an even bigger explosion and two more came streaking in.

Tim glanced up at his score. Only 50 more points! And that was his mistake. He aimed for the fighter on the left and the one on the right dived in under him and came up blasting. He tried to get the one he had chosen but his ship was being hit from below, spoiling his aim.

In a fiery ball of flame, the screen in front of him exploded in a roar and a lot of sirens hooting and bells ringing. Then the music began and the dreaded ‘game over’ sign flashed. His score was 9,975. He banged the machine in frustration. That was his last dollar. He felt like crying. It wasn’t fair!

“Bad luck, buddy.” A hand touched him on the shoulder. He was too upset to respond to it. It gave a squeeze and left him.

Tim stared at the stupid machine. He needed to go to the toilet, but walking away from the flashing screen would mean it really was all over.

“What are you going to do now? You going to play again?” It was the man again. He was still standing behind him.

“Nah!” Tim said, trying to be brave. “It’s a stupid game anyway.”

“You were going really great. I’m sorry I interrupted you. Can I give you some money so you can go again?” The man sounded quite sincere and Tim was pleased someone had seen him nearly get his highest score. The man wouldn’t know it wasn’t his highest score anyway. He brightened up at that thought.

“Aw. It’s not a really hard game,” he said, not really meaning it, and turned to look at the man. “I don’t want to play it anymore. Thankyou.”

The man was old. Older than his dad by the look of it. He was big and muscly and was wearing a teeshirt and jeans and riding boots. He looked a bit like a cowboy. He looked okay, though, and he was smiling and holding out a five dollar bill. Tim looked at the money. It would be good to have that.

“Well,” drawled the man, waving the money in front of the boy. He’d noticed the boy’s look of longing at the note and knew he had no more to spend. “Can I get you a Coke, then? To make up for it?” He smiled.

Tim was tempted. His mum and dad always told him not to talk to strangers and especially not to take things from them, but... It should be all right. It was daytime. And there were other people around. And he really was thirsty.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I need to go to the toilet first.”

“You know what? So do I. I’ll come with you then we’ll get a drink and maybe some chips. Sound okay?” The man put his hand back on the boy’s shoulder and began steering him towards the toilets.

Tim had a quick sense of unease but the man wasn’t forcing him and he sounded friendly and was going to buy him things so he allowed himself to be led away.

It wasn’t until they entered the toilets that Tim became frightened. And then it was only for a second because when the man saw the place was unoccupied, he suddenly reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it over Tim’s nose and mouth. Tim gasped in fright and drew in a powerful breath of acrid smelling vapour. The room began to go in and out of focus and a black curtain seemed to lower itself over him.

The bright light hurt his eyes. He squinted against the glare. His head felt whoozy and his mouth was dry.

Where was he?

What had happened?

Slowly his hazy thoughts became more clear. He remembered going into the toilet with the man. Then the hanky and that awful smell. Then nothing. He tried to clear his eyes but he couldn’t move his hands. There was something cold, rounded and spongy under his back. He couldn’t move his feet, either.

Gradually sensation returned to his body and he suddenly realised he was undressed. He had no clothes on! How? The coldness under him was like plastic against his bare skin.

Again he tried to move his hands. They were fastened to something ... held out and down by a strap of some sort. The same with his legs. They were spread apart and tied down. He realised he was lying along a ridge of something, a really narrow bed or something and his hands and feet were fastened to the floor either side of him. He also became aware that he needed to pee! He still hadn’t been to the toilet and his bladder was near to bursting.