No luck

His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route. The windows caught his attention, but a quick glance outside revealed a dizzying drop. "That's got to be at least twenty feet," he muttered. "No way out there."

Frustration mounting, George began to shout. "Hello? Is anyone there? Let me out!" His calls echoed through the room, met only with silence. He yelled again and again, his voice growing hoarse.

Finally, exhausted, he slumped onto the bed. Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. The door handle turned, and in walked a striking woman with long, dark hair. George's breath caught in his throat as recognition dawned.

"You!" he exclaimed. "You're the witch from-"

She cut him off with a bemused smile. "My, my, such a racket. Isn't it a bit early to be yelling like that? You might wake the neighbors." She paused, then chuckled. "I'm only joking, of course. There are no neighbors. But really, do pipe down."

George noticed the covered tray in her hands, the scent of food making his stomach growl audibly.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Why have you kidnapped me?"

The witch's eyebrows rose in mock offense. "Kidnapped? How rude." She glided past him, setting the tray on the bed. Then she turned, facing him with an air of casual indifference that left George stunned.

"I expected you'd have bathed by now," she said, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Had I known you'd still smell like you work in waste management, I might have taken my time with breakfast."

George let out a shocked, confused chuckle. "What is going on here? Why are you acting like this is normal?"

The witch merely smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement at his bewilderment. The situation was surreal, leaving George feeling as if he'd stepped into some bizarre alternate reality where his kidnapper was playing the role of a slightly annoyed hostess.

George took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "Listen," he said, his voice wavering slightly, "if you let me go, I promise I won't tell anyone. Not even the police. We can just forget this whole thing ever happened."

The witch chuckled, waving her hand dismissively as she walked past him. She patted his shoulder, her touch sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. "Nice try," she said, her tone laced with amusement. "But let's not forget, you're the one who ate a purse thief alive, remember? If anything, you should be begging me not to call the cops."

George's face drained of color, his eyes widening in shock. The witch's words hit him like a physical blow, causing him to stumble back his words. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as the implications of her statement sank in. He wasn't sure if she had concrete proof, but her confidence was unnerving. The memory of that night in the alley flashed through his mind, bringing with it a wave of nausea and guilt.

His hands began to tremble slightly, and he clenched them into fists to stop the shaking. George's gaze darted around the room, suddenly feeling trapped not just by the locked door, but by the weight of his own actions.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. The realization that he was completely at her mercy dawned on him with crushing clarity. She was a witch, after all – who knew what other powers or knowledge she possessed?

His shoulders slumped in defeat. Any thoughts of escape or bargaining evaporated in an instant. He was acutely aware that the scales had tipped dramatically in her favor, leaving him with no leverage and nowhere to turn.

His voice, when he finally found it, was barely above a whisper. "How... how do you know about that?"

The question hung in the air, but George already knew it didn't matter. She had him cornered, and they both knew it. The maths, as she had so casually pointed out, wasn't in his favor at all.

She sauntered over to the windows, peeking out before drawing the blinds closed. George couldn't help but notice her red gown, which hugged her curves in a way that would have been distracting under normal circumstances. But something else nagged at him - a sense of familiarity he couldn't quite place. He could swear he'd seen her face somewhere before.

Turning back, she caught George still staring at her, his expression a mix of confusion and wariness.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, gesturing to the tray on the bed.

George shook his head, his voice firm despite his inner turmoil. "I don't want food. All I want is to go back home."

The witch sighed, already moving towards the door. "I'm already running late for a board meeting," she said dismissively. "We'll continue this chat when I return from work this evening. Ring the bell if you need anything,"

Before George could react, she had slipped out of the room. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed in the sudden silence, leaving him completely stunned.

For several seconds, George stood rooted to the spot, trying to process what had just happened. His kidnapper was going to work? To a board meeting? The sheer absurdity of the situation left him feeling as if he'd stepped into some bizarre alternate reality.