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“Yeah, yeah, I saw them. Shell-shocked.”
“A little outdated on your terminology but essentially correct.”
Sometimes all you really needed was a little happy coincidence, and right at that time, about a dozen people entered the medical center—four guards and a bunch of inmates all holding their stomachs. It didn’t take long for the nurses to assess the situation and start moving the food-poisoned prisoners to the various cots around me. A few minutes later, as Mark continued to argue, another batch was brought in.
“We’re going to need all the beds we can get,” the nurse told him.
He let out a long sigh, glared at Mark and then at me.
“Solitary.”
“I’ll take it.” Mark nodded vigorously.
Hands grabbed my arms, and I was hauled out of the medical unit and into a hallway. An elevator door opened, and my pair of escorts shoved me inside with Mark following. When the doors opened again, we walked out into the common area of one of the cell units.
The area was carpeted and painted with warm earth tones. Several inmates sat around small, round tables in cheap plastic chairs and played cards while a few others stood around a bumper pool table. A couple of them looked up as I was led up a short flight of stairs and paraded along the curved railing that overlooked the recreation room.
Along the walkway were several numbered doors without windows in them. I was brought to the last door which contained a small window at eye level and a slotted opening in the center. The guard unlocked the door to take me inside.
The narrow cell was obviously designed for single occupancy. I could have walked the length between the door and the tall, narrow window overlooking downtown Chicago in about four steps. A metal-framed bed in the center took up most of the floor space. The legs of the bed were bolted to the floor, and I could see four loops that could be used for restraining straps on the sides. Aside from the obligatory toilet and sink, there was only a small writing desk with a single, thin drawer under the tabletop, a stool, and a locker shoved up against the foot of the bed to complete the room.
As soon as I was inside, the guard removed the cuffs, and I felt nearly dizzy with relief as the weight left me. I squeezed my hands into fists a couple of times to restore the feeling of blood running freely through my veins and tried to take a few long breaths.
“I’d like to have my session with Mr. Arden now,” Mark said with conviction.
Another long sigh from the guard, but he didn’t protest. He moved outside the cell, locked the door, and peered at us through the window as Mark ran his hand through his hair and watched me.
Without any other direction, I sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed my wrists. Once I had myself convinced that the restraints were really gone, I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes. Now I could wrap my arms around my gut and try to force myself to think of anything but sand.
Mark pulled the stool next to the bed and sat on it.
Glancing back to his face, I could see how distressed he was and felt a little bad about it. I knew he’d tried to help on more than one occasion; it just wasn’t the kind of help I was seeking. I needed to be able to sleep—that’s all I had wanted. He couldn’t do that, though, because he wasn’t going to break that patient-counselor code long enough to lie down in bed with me.
Without the cuffs around my wrists, I managed to find my voice.
“Sorry to disappoint you, sir,” I said.
Another sigh.
“I’m not disappointed,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow at him. I didn’t believe a word of it—he was a proud guy and considered himself good at what he did. It wasn’t his fault I wouldn’t tell him everything that was going on in my head. It wouldn’t have helped anyway.
“I’m angrier with myself,” Mark claimed, “because I didn’t see this coming. Not at all. It’s rare I’m caught so off-guard.”
My chest tightened as memories flooded over my brain like an ice-cold shower. There was a time I thought I understood people when I really didn’t—not at all. A single conversation changed everything.
“Do you know what she said to me?” I asked Mark.
“Who?”
I turned my head toward him
, but my vision was focused entirely inward.
“The wife of the journalist guy who was killed in the video. You remember that guy?”
“Yeah, I do. You told them to kill you instead of him.”
