He sounds panicked and scared and for a moment you feel irritated by this. He, whoever he is, is walking around, whereas you are bruised and tied up and currently residing in hessian sack. What right does he have to be losing it? Surely that's your prerogative here?
He moves around, every one of his steps quaking the boards and making your head ache. What's he doing? He seems to be alone and if he's not the one who tied you then why isn't he getting on with any untying? His breathing is loud and ragged. You can smell the sweat on him, which given your position means he must truly stink. He's been running? Running from what? From whoever tied you up maybe?
"Hey!" you say. "Over here!"
"Shhh!" he hisses. "Shut up, shut up!"
You decide to lose it.
"Help!" you scream. "Help help help!"
It's the best plan your fogged brain can come up with. If you make enough noise maybe he'll at least take the sack off to tell you to shut up to your face.
He kicks you instead, pretty hard in the knee.
"Sorry, sorry!" he says, the clumsy bastard. But you forgive him at once, temporarily anyway, as you gather he's kneeling beside you, his fingers fumbling at the sacking. One of those fingers pokes you in the eye, but you forgive him this as well and lie as still and quiet as you can.
Finally the material is torn away and you stare up into the face of your rescuer. He's staring at you just as hard, and neither of you are impressed.
You see a man of about twenty, with a long terrified face and huge terrified eyes. Even his hair seems scared to death, the way it's standing up on his head, but this could just be a hair-gel misadventure. He also has a black eye, a cracked lip and a beautifully purple bruise on his forehead.
Fuck knows what he sees, because you can't seem to remember what you look like.
"Shhh!" he warns.
Possibly you are hysterical with fear because his earnest expression strikes you as hilariously funny. He looks so scared. It reminds you of something. Your own face maybe? Or the face of a victim?
Hang on, you think: Did I think 'victim' then? I'm the victim here for fucksake! So's he. We're in the same boat. Up the same shit creek.
"Who are you?" he says.
"Who are you?" you say at the same moment.
This is funny too. He gapes, wondering if you're crazy. Is he right? Is it possible to go crazy with fear? If so, then that's what happened to you, you guess. Fear has driven you stark mad, and you've lost your memory into the bargain. Did you see something so terrible you brain just shut itself down?
You neither of you say anything for a moment, both waiting for the other to answer. In the silence, you hear the sound of a horn blowing a fanfare some where far below.