Mark downed the milk and sent the tray out. It had been a late one today and he had already completed his workout. He sat on the floor, legs crossed. If nobody came to take him away for questioning, he spent the time between breakfast and the next meal doing imaginary photo shoots. Today, his model was a top cover girl. Her picture graced the pages of swimsuit issues, high fashion magazines and she had her own line of clothing. Every detail of the photo-shoot played in his head. The lighting, the camera angles, and the location. Sometimes, he even allowed some bad frames to tarnish the proof-sheet. On a good day, those mistakes made him smile.
He had just tested the light meter in the imaginary shoot, when the tinny voice came over the speaker commanding him to put his hands through the slot. The photo-shoot dissolved in his mind, and his heart thumped against his ribs. Even with all of his exercises and stretches, the positions caused him agony. It just took longer for the pain to hit.
There was a tiny part of him that welcomed the excursions. As horrible as they were, at least he had someone to talk to. Pain was the price he paid for company. Pain he could deal with because it wasn’t permanent. There was an end to it, and then it was gone with nothing to show for it. No scars or disabilities. It could be worse. He could be in a pit with rats and fed maggot infested rice. Compared to that, this was nothing. Mark took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. He winced as the left one grated in its socket. Maybe just a little bit of disability.
Five minutes later, he stood in the familiar room. The three usual spectators sat at their table, quietly chatting as he entered. He listened as hard as he could. Sometimes, he caught bits of sports scores or traffic reports. As mundane as it was, he relished every scrap of it. He felt less isolated when he knew the Knicks beat the Lakers or that there was a ten car pile up on the freeway. There was still a world going on outside his walls and he clung to that fact like a tick to a dog.
Jim strode into the room and Bill tagged along behind him blowing on a cup of coffee. Mark’s mouth watered at the scent. They ignored him while Jim sorted through some papers and Bill told an off-color joke to the other three. Mark filed the joke away for later, when he could smile in private.
Finally selecting a sheet of paper, Jim closed the file. It was Mark’s. He knew it. Every time he was brought here, it was a little thicker.
Jim approached him, his face grim and not in sync with his greeting. “Good afternoon.”
Mark filed that information away too. So, it wasn’t even morning although he had eaten breakfast less than an hour ago. He would try to go to sleep earlier today and see if he could get his nights and days back on track.
“Good afternoon.” He didn’t mean to emphasize the afternoon part, but Jim caught it, and gave him a sharp look. Mark knew somehow he had blundered.
“I have some questions to ask you, but you probably already knew that.”
“Yes, sir.” There, he had spoken. It felt good, even if it was to Jim.
“You’re looking rather smug today.” Jim quirked his mouth, as though trying to figure out what Mark was up to. “What’s going on?”
Mark raised his chin a notch. He would never admit coming here was better than sitting in his cell waiting for the walls to close in on him. “Nothing, sir.” His stomach churned. It was their mission to make his life a complete hell. It wasn’t enough that they stole every last shred of pleasure from his life, now even a pleasant thought was forbidden.
“We’ll see if you’re feeling so pleased with yourself after today.”
Mark swallowed and dropped his gaze to the floor. Maybe the cell was better.
Jim paced, his measured steps in cadence with his words. “Okay, first, I’ll give you the opportunity, as always, to be forthcoming and admit to your crimes. Give us the information we’ve been asking of you.” He stopped directly in front of Mark. “We can end this session on a good note for once. How about it?”
Mark lifted his gaze, not fooled by the hopeful look in the other man’s eyes. The men at the table behind Jim sat straight, more alert than he had ever seen them. One drummed his fingers. Mark’s stomach went from churning to a whirling mass of acid.
“I…I don’t have anything to confess.” He almost wished he did. He would do nearly anything for all of this to be over. More than once, he’d considered making up a confession. If only he had details. Plausible details. But he didn’t.
Jim sighed. “I didn’t want to have to do this.” Regret flashed over his face and it looked genuine. Then he nodded to the guards stationed behind Mark.
They unlocked his ankle shackles from the floor and grabbed each arm, dragging him to a corner and ordered him lie down on a hard board. His arms were stretched over his head and secured so tightly, his own arms restrained his head from moving. The chains on his ankles tightened, and he heard the clink as the guard clipped his feet to something. His heart skipped a beat when the foot of the board was raised. Blood rushed to his head, and he tried to control his trembling. What were they going to do to him?
There was a shuffling and the scrape of chairs on the floor. Jim stood to the right of Mark’s head. He couldn’t turn his head far enough to see, but it sounded like the men in the room had come closer. The door to the room opened, sending a slight breeze over him and he shivered.
Jim stepped away from Mark, his footsteps headed towards the door. “Thanks for joining us, Dr. Solomon. We’re almost ready to begin, so please, just have a seat.”
A doctor? What the hell did they need a doctor for? Mark pulled against the restraints as his stomach twisted into a tight knot of fear.
“I can’t say I’m glad to be here, but it’s good to see you again, Jim.” Out of the corner of his eye, Mark caught a glimpse of a white coat and heard a rustle. The doctor was going to just sit and watch while they did whatever the hell it was they planned to do?
The guard spoke to Jim and pulled Mark’s attention away from the doctor. “Sir? How do you want me to do this?”
The uncertainty in the man’s voice terrified him. Was there a hint of reluctance too? The man had never been reluctant to restrain him before. What was different this time?
Jim returned to the spot near Mark’s head. “Use the cloth. Put it over his nose and mouth. That usually works best.”
Did they plan on smothering him? His breath rasped out in ragged pants as he tugged again on the chains. “I don’t have anything to confess. Please.”
He met the guard’s eyes, but whatever reluctance had flashed earlier, was gone, and the guard let his gaze slide away from Mark’s. The other man’s expression a blank mask, he draped a cloth across the lower part of Mark’s face. It felt too light to smother him. The guard disappeared from his vision, but Mark’s fear escalated when water splashed nearby. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as a chill swept through him.
The guard returned with a large pitcher in his hand. It was like the one Mark’s mother used to mix Kool-Aid when he was a child. The guard looked up as though waiting for a signal from someone. Mark riveted his eyes on the man’s face and held his breath waiting for…what? If only the guard would look at him again. His eyes would show if it was going to be bad. If he knew for sure, he could brace himself. Mark froze when the guard took a deep breath and nodded to someone out of Mark’s field of vision. The signal had been given.
The cloth fluttered against his lips with every ragged breath. Mark locked onto the pitcher in the guard’s hand. He held it over Mark’s head and wouldn’t look him in the eye. The water flashed in the light an instant before it hit his face. For a few seconds, Mark sputtered, too ticked off about the iciness of the water to recognize the real threat. With every breath, water flooded his nose and mouth. His body spasmed in an effort to get rid of it. The water kept coming and coming. He coughed and gagged, sucking in even more liquid. It ran into his nose and his sinuses burned as they flooded. He fought, bucking against the shackles and arched his back in an attempt to move his head. That only made the stinging in his sinuses worse and increased the pressure behind his eyes.
This was it. He was going to drown. Above the roar in his ears, Mark heard Jim ask if he’d had enough. If he just talked, the torment would cease. He opened his mouth to say yes, just to get them to stop-whatever it took, but the water filled his throat. Without enough breath to even cough, his vision narrowed and his strength ebbed.
