A short, corpulent woman with her hair pulled back in a tight, glossy knot at the back of her head entered the room where Regan sat up in bed, shaking as he wondered what was going on. It wasn't this woman who had brought him here. It was not the woman who had spoken from outside the door. She was dressed in white, and Regan guessed that she was maybe in her late forties just from glancing at her face. Her lipstick was running into the little creases around her mouth. She clutched a blue plastic bag in fingers that had no rings embedded in them, but the nails had been painted gold a long time ago.
"Out of bed, please." she instructed briskly, wrenching the tangled sheets away from Regan, and, grabbing him with one hand under each of his arms, practically lifting him out of the bed. He was suddenly painfully aware of his nakedness. The woman left him standing beside the bed, shivering and trying to cover himself with his hands, while she pulled some things out of the plastic bag.
"Hold still." she ordered, walking over to Regan. He was a lot taller than her, though he was intimidated by her. She laced him into what he suspected was a white straitjacket. She fastened what was clearly a red dog-collar around his neck, and clipped a chain onto it. Finally, she blindfolded him, took the chain in both hands, and yanked him out of the room.
Regan felt himself being dragged down hallways and flights of stairs, all the time wondering what the hell was going on. The straitjacket, dog-collar and blindfold made him wonder if he'd been kidnapped to be forced into a role in some bizarre BDSM movie. Still, he doubted that even the strictest dominatrix would drug him to sleep each night.
Eventually they stopped, after descending yet another stairs. Regan thought that whatever room they were standing in smelled like sickness, blood and metal.