Then someone grabs me from behind. I start to scream, but a hand claps over my mouth. It smells like soap and it’s big enough to cover the lower half of my face. I thrash, but the arms holding m e are too strong, and I bite down on one of the fingers. “Ow!” a rough voice cries. “Shut up and keep her mouth covered.” That voice is higher than the average male’s and clearer. Peter. A strip of dark cloth covers my eyes, and a new pair of hands ties it at the back of my head. I struggle to breathe. There are at least two hands on my arms, dragging me forward, and one on my back, shoving me in the same direction, and one on my mouth, keeping my screams in. Three people.