The name is close- is it mine? Is it my son’s? A best friend’s? I’m caught in the cycle of this thought repeating and it’s growing more crowded with further questions of identity. I need to spend some time in my cell thinking about this.
I try not to appear as though I’ve had a revelation but my current physical condition is impeding my deceptive abilities. He’s staring at me like he knows I now know something. Is this my paranoia or an observation? He leans forward slightly.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” I reply, feigning ignorance. I doubt he’s going to let this go.
Abruptly standing, he comes around the table and shackles my wrist to it.
“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll return shortly.”
He pats me on the head as though I were a child, intentionally doing so on the wound. I hear him open the door behind me. When it shuts, the lights extinguish simultaneously. The only illumination is from the clock which now displays one digit, counting down from five. When the duration of one is complete the clock goes black. It’s on a loop; repeatedly counting down from five. It seems to be getting dimmer but a sound is getting louder. I hadn’t heard it at first because I was so focused on the change and clock. A crackling hiss like that of a radio for a few seconds followed by a thumping sound repeated twice.
The sound continues on in that order indefinitely. I’m lost in it, like a mantra. Slumping over, I fall asleep on my arm resting on the table.
Hiss, thump-thump. My eyes flutter slowly open. I must have been asleep for some time; I feel as though I got through a REM cycle. My stiff body is probable confirmation. In that time, my eyes have adjusted and the faint light cast by the clock makes visible the outlines of larger objects in the room.
Senses are heightened while others are suppressed or absent. I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating or actually hearing a voice in the radio hiss. If something is repeated long enough, the brain tries to find patterns in it. I fight the urge to listen. I focus on the room as I saw it when he was here.
Static, hiss, and what sounds like two words super imposed over the thump-thump. “Your head.” Over and over, “Your head.” I put my forehead to the table and cover my ears. I try to focus on the numbers, the name Ben, the sound of the interrogator’s voice. But I can’t seem to block it out and then, “your head” seems to sound just like the interrogator.
I need this to stop, I’m feeling crazy! My hands slide up to the back of my head and I’m trying to cover my ears with my forearms. Maybe pain will clear my mind and quiet things down. I press in on the wound.
Blinding pain- through the darkness my vision goes white and neurons seem to realign. Then, as pain subsides, the world comes rushing back in; the light seems to funnel back to darkness, the sounds crushing, holding me down. More pain, I need more.
I tear the bandage off my head and press down on the bare wound but the pain is less than before. I can feel stitches and there is a minute amount of fluid but not the carnage I was expecting, especially considering the pain.
My confusion is interrupted by silence. The clock no longer visible, I become disoriented in the sensory deprivation. It feels as though the air pressure is increasing. I try to speak but can’t hear myself, no attempt at sound succeeds. Shortness of breath, tightness of chest; shaking, I reach out to steady myself. My hand lands on the bandage. I squeeze it, trying to grip reality. There’s something hard, stabbing me in the hand.
I pull the wrappings apart, unraveling the mystery. I hold the object in my hand and trace it with the other. Grasping it tightly, the pain grounds me. Panic slightly relieved, I realize it’s a key.
Crysti Landis
May 21, 2020 13:50This is intense to simply read. I cannot wrap my brain around it as a reality. I don’t know what else to say… everything I think of feels trite and lame in the face of this narrative. I just knew I had to comment something. Kind of like, “I see you,” to acknowledge this.