“How long…how long…” Davis couldn’t get the words out; she felt depleted of all her energy and strength.
“Three days,” said Quinn, knowing what Davis wanted to hear. “You’ll have two or three more rough days, but not as rough as they have been. It will gradually get better. I bet you’re going to get very hungry soon. You’ve barely had any food. I’m going to bring you some water; I’m sure you’re parched. Other than that, do you want anything specific? Applesauce, broth, crackers—”
“What I want…can you tell me why I’m here? I just want to know what I’m doing here and why you’re doing this to me. What is the reason for this? I’ve never hurt anyone.”
“Honestly, can you tell me, have you never really hurt anyone? Were you blameless at the Everett Center?” Quinn raised her voice more than Davis had ever heard from her, and her face got red, her frustration showing. “You know what? I’m sorry. Never mind, this isn’t about that. You are here for a reason. In a few days, you can ask any questions you want. Everything will become clear then.” What she said next was done so quietly, Davis almost couldn’t hear it. Davis thought she said, “I’m sorry.”
“No,” said Davis after a short pause. “No, in regards to the food you asked about before. Maybe just some water. I’m tired; I think I want to sleep.” She then sadly turned away, even though the aches and pains all over her body made her cringe with pain and discomfort. She wasn’t thinking about that, though. She was just hoping that Quinn couldn’t see the tears starting to fall from her eyes and making a hot streak down her face.
All night, Davis tossed, turned, fell asleep into rough nightmares, and then would wake up, sweat making her clothing stick to her and giving her a cold, clammy feeling. She noticed her body didn’t ache and hurt, and her head wasn’t pounding as much as it had before. The welts that had irritated her so severely were gone. However, she was still hurting. Both inside and outside hurt now, but she would keep it to herself. She would keep it a secret that the sick feeling in her stomach now mainly had to do with the young boy and what she had done to him.
August 29, 2056 –
The Fog Begins to Lift
The next time Davis awoke, she realized she felt remarkably better, although that sinking feeling about the boy remained. She rolled over on her side, a massive sad feeling surrounding her, making her want to sleep more. But she couldn’t deny she was feeling some restlessness and energy. At the same time, Davis felt a bit hazy with her thoughts. It was as if she couldn’t decipher reality from dreams and wasn’t sure what had happened in the last few weeks. It seemed as if she was trying to look at her life and figure out exactly who she was and what had happened, but somebody had thrown mud right in her eye, and she wasn’t seeing or thinking clearly. It was an odd, odd feeling, and words and thoughts kept swirling through her mind at an alarming speed, way too quick for her to snag them and decipher their meaning.
At that moment, a man Davis remembered seeing during her illness walked into her room. He was tall and slim—lanky—and although a long torso held his long arms, legs, and feet, they still seemed as if they were too long for him. It was as if he were not quite put together right, a man in a scarecrow’s body. He was maybe sixty-five years old, with thinning light brown hair in a scrawny ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had thin wire glasses that did not hide his large brown eyes—the bridge of the glasses perched on his aquiline nose. Davis had read a book once, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and she imagined that the protagonist from that book, Ichabod Crane, would have looked precisely as this man did. He had a gentle demeanor about him, and it didn’t seem as if he would be mean. However, Davis, being unfamiliar with who he was, made sure the blankets covered her properly. She was wearing clothing, but she wasn’t willing to take chances. When he spoke, he spoke softly and kindly. “Hi…how are you, Davis? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I hope you’re feeling better. I’m not sure if you remember meeting me, but my name is Ringo. Can I do anything for you? Get you anything?”
Since being kidnapped, Davis didn’t feel overwhelmingly comfortable with anyone she had come in contact with, but she knew Quinn best, at least. She asked Ringo if he wouldn’t mind getting Quinn for her. Ringo nodded his head slowly, bobbing it a few times in rapid succession. “Of course,” he said, “I’ll send her right in.”
When Quinn came in, she parroted Ringo’s earlier thoughts, asking how Davis was doing and if she needed anything. “I’m feeling better, thank you. But I would like to have more information, please. About why I’m here, where I’m at, and what is going on,” Davis said smugly.
“Honestly, a lot of the information you will receive will be…overwhelming, to say the least. I know that sounds scary, but I want to remind you nobody here wants to do you any harm, and you’re safe.” Quinn took a deep breath before continuing, “I can tell you where you are. You’re in a bunker. Ringo, you met him; he built this years ago. It was his doomsday bunker.” She waited a beat for Davis to respond. But Davis just looked down at her hands, nervously twiddling her thumbs for a few seconds, so Quinn continued, “Do you feel like you can get up and use the restroom and shower yourself?”
“No, I’m not
