I keep my eyes open now but feign the usual disorientation and blindness. The door opens and I look while trying to appear as if I’m seeing nothing. I see Dali for the first time. I am both elated and disappointed.
He’s a small man, dressed in a baggy jacket over a T-shirt, loose blue jeans leading down to hiking boots. He’s wearing a ski mask over his head, which hides his features. He approaches me with the stun gun, and I scan for any other distinguishing marks as I pretend to be blind. I see one thing just before the gun contacts the side of my neck. It’s subtle, and I am uncertain. I have no time to process it fully before my body begins to spasm, and I go down.
He shocks me again, twice. Grayness soaks my vision and I really am blind.
A moment later, the prick of a needle and a white light explodes inside my head like a bomb blast. I fall into it.
I wake up as before, facedown, shackled, bound. I shiver against my will at the thought of getting whipped again. I wonder frantically what I could have done to deserve punishment?
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here, number 35,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry. I didn’t bring you here because of any infraction. You’ve been a model unit.”
Unit. Number 35. Just storing meat.
“You’re here because I’m going to be asking you to make a choice. I’m going to ask you to decide whom I cripple and release: you, or number 36.”
“Who is number 36?”
“The other young agent I brought here after you.”
My heart lurches. Leo?
“Cripple and release? I don’t understand.”
“You’ve seen what I’m talking about. Dana Hollister is an example.”
Now it’s my stomach that responds. It rolls dangerously.
“I don’t want to make that decision.” My mouth is full of phlegm and bile. I force myself to swallow it all down.
“If you don’t decide, then you are the decision.”
A moment of blackness, almost like unconsciousness, passes over me. The world’s full of cotton.
“Why?”
“They’re continuing to hunt me. I need to send another message.”
“It won’t work. They won’t listen, don’t you see? There’s no reason for you to do this if it won’t make a difference.”
“It’s going to happen. The question: Who is it going to be?”
“Why do I get to be the one who decides?”
“I flipped a coin. You won the toss.”
I can’t speak for a moment. My face wants to twist into a sob. I fight it back.
“Why—why am I here, in this room?”
“I’m going to bring him in, and then I will leave you two alone for five minutes. You can tell him about the choice you have to make or not. I’ll leave that up to you. You are not allowed to discuss the subject of escape. When the five minutes are up, I’ll come back. I’ll return him to his room, and then I’ll ask you for your decision. The procedure will be performed an hour later.”
I feel cornered, panicked. I’m having trouble getting a full breath.
Worst of all:
“Why are you giving us the time together?”
This is the one weapon left to me, whether I get to put it to use later or not: my ability to understand him. Why is Dali Dali? Is there something giggling and drooly hidden under a mask of money and practicality? Or is it a simpler mantra:
“Because I’m not a cruel man, number 35.”
It’s always the cruel who feel the need to prove otherwise. I file the answer away. Depersonalization is essential for him. That’s useful.
“Enough questions. Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. I’ll bring him in shortly. He’ll remain facedown on the table. I’ll remove his blindfold so he can see you. I’ll move you over to stand next to his table. Your feet will be shackled, and your wrists will be cuffed to his table. Do you understand?”
Time, time, I need more time. I have none.
“Yes, I understand.”
He acknowledges me by leaving without another word. Gone to blind and stun and drug Leo. What am I going to do?
Panic has turned into something more distant. There’s a wall of unreality and numbness between me and the sharper edges of my terror. What are the factors? List them.
“One,” I whisper. “He means what he says. Two: I can decide if it’s Leo or me. If I don’t decide, then it’s me.”
That’s it. There are no other factors.
What should I do, baby? Tell me, please. Help me.
Baby does not reply, and I can’t get either the meadow or the light to appear behind my eyes right now. I search for words from Barnaby Wallace, something to fit the situation, but all I can find is fear.
Leo’s face comes to me, an image that swims into bright clarity. I see him smiling, on the plane where we met years ago, a young man, an earring in one ear, fighting not to become the establishment he worked for, full of the life ahead of him. He found himself in our orbit, and he walked away wiser and darkened as a result. He was seasoned by what we revealed to him, perhaps for the better, probably for the worst.
He’s here because he knows me.
I am bad for the innocent and the young. Doves light on my finger and fall off dead. Matt and Alexa paid the price for loving me. Maybe Alan has too. Will I make Leo buy me life? Will he pay for my baby?
I’m shivered from these thoughts by a susurrus of soft steps coming through the door. Dali wears hiking boots but walks like a cat. Leo will be nude. His bare feet won’t ring on the concrete.
“Lie down on the table, number 36.”
Leo mumbles something and, I assume, complies. It makes me wonder about the drug that Dali is using. I’d always assumed he had to carry us in here.
Chain clinkings, more mumbles. A pause, then more soft sounds against the stone, coming near me. Dali removes my blindfold. I am staring at Leo. His eyes are half lidded, his mouth open. He drools.
“I’m going to move you over to him now. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
He undoes the shackles at my ankles. He removes the straps at my waist.
“I’ll undo your hands. You will come to a sitting position with me behind you. I have a stun gun in my hand. If you attempt to escape or make any motion I’m not comfortable with, I will stun you, reattach you to the table, and punish you for an hour. Do you understand, number 35?”
“Yes.”
I have no time for my usual rage at his indifference. I can’t take my eyes off Leo.
Dali releases my wrists. “Come to a sitting position.” I comply. It occurs to me that I’m almost oblivious to my nudity now.
He grabs the back of my neck with one hand. “Stand up.” I stand, swaying slightly. My head is light. “Walk forward.”
I walk until we come to the table where Leo lies insensate. “Wrists forward, and together.”
