Previous: Prison of the Mind 1

I open my eyes but it’s still dark. There’s some ambient light from the window so it’s not causing panic at the moment. My body is stiff on the cold stone and some joints seem locked in a cramp state. I begin to recall the earlier episode and start to acknowledge the knot into which my stomach is twisted. I curl into a fetal position wrapping my arms around my midsection.  As I hold tightly there’s a difference in fingers and a light sweep shows I’m missing nails on my right hand. There is no thought- only the overwhelming sensations and emotions.

The drone is still audible from the window and I hear voices growing louder. I can’t make out what they’re saying and realize it’s not English when they’re finally close enough to make out words. It sounds Russian- well, one of the languages from that region at least. A distant but familiar sound distorts their voices, the pulsing beat of rotor-wing aircraft. The sound shifts quickly as it approaches and reaches a painful volume, the wound on my head throbbing intensely.

It idles for what I estimate to be ten minutes but I have no way to tell. I cover my ears and try to breathe deeply through the waves of pain. Finally, it shuts down, the engine whine fades and the background drone is once again audible, though it seems much quieter now in comparison.

I crawl toward the window hoping to see something but the effort of movement increased blood flow to the head and my vision is pulsating in time with my heart. Then, there’s a sound at the door. A slot at the bottom is opened and a tray pushed through. I hear it shut again and some latch engaged.

I roll over and pull the tray toward me, open the water, and chug it without thinking. Too much, too fast- my stomach let’s me know that was a bad decision. The barley bread is dry and the piece of salty fish even more so. I’m wishing I had the water still. The sounds of my digestive tract fill the room. Thankfully this takes the edge off the headache even if my stomach is churning again and my mouth is like the dead sea.

I can’t keep my eyes open; I just want to sleep. With some of the pain mitigated, my body relaxes and I curl up for warmth away from my vomit.

BANG- the door flies open slamming into the wall. My body tenses and I try to get my wits about me. I try to sit up as three men in uniforms march in. Two of them seize my arms and pull me up while the third grabs my shoulders and drives his knee into my stomach. While I’m melting back into a puddle on the floor, the man on my left disconnects the shackle and they begin to drag me from the room by my arms.

I don’t know who I am or why this is happening but it feels like I’ve been through this before. I succumb to familiarity and cease my pathetic flailing. Exiting the door, I’m face up, heels vibrating over the stone as they take me. The back of my head rests against my trapezius and I partially see down the hall, moving toward a more illuminated passageway.

A left turn, down three doors and into the fourth on the left- they prop me in a chair and cuff my right hand to a table. Here there is light, painfully intense. The room is furnished with a wooden table and two chairs of like material. There are maps on the walls, two spot lights on stands that are pointed at me (though only one is on), and in the back of the room, shadows cover objects I’m conflicted about identifying.

This space is significantly larger than my cell and the warmth of the light is partially comforting if I imagine I’m somewhere nice with the sun on my face. Despite my seconds of fantasy, panic rules my brain and I’m becoming more desperate as to why I’m here. The door opens behind me and closes.

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