"We keep him until we know what he knows.Then we decide."
The footsteps retreated.A door opened and closed somewhere to Ben's left, and the voices faded to a murmur.
Ben opened his eyes.
He was in a small room—no, not a room.A trailer, from the look of it.Construction type, the kind you'd find at a work site, with metal walls and a low ceiling and windows that had been covered with what looked like black plastic sheeting.A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, revealing a space that contained nothing but the chair and the concrete floor beneath him.
His hands were bound behind his back, his ankles tied to each other but not to anything else.He tested the ropes carefully, feeling for any give.There was a little—not much, but enough that patient work might accomplish something.
Time passed.Ben had no way to measure it without a watch or a window, but he estimated hours based on the cramping in his shoulders and the growing urgency of his thirst.No one came to check on him.No one brought water or food.He was being left alone to contemplate his situation, a classic interrogation technique designed to soften resistance before the questions began.
He used the time to work at his restraints.Small movements, nothing that would be visible to a casual observer.Twisting his wrists, testing the knots, looking for weakness.The rope was good quality, tied by someone who had known what they were doing, but Ben had grown up around ranchers and rodeo riders.He'd learned to tie knots before he learned to read.
And more importantly, he'd learned to untie them.
Before he could make much progress, however, the door opened.
Ben went still, letting his head droop as if he were still unconscious or simply too exhausted to react.Through half-closed eyes, he watched two men enter the trailer.Both wore civilian clothes: jeans, work boots, button-down shirts that strained across muscular shoulders.They had the look of men who did physical labor for a living, or who wanted to give that impression.
One of them crouched in front of Ben and slapped him hard across the face.
"Wake up.Time to talk."
Ben let his head rock with the blow, then slowly raised it as if fighting through a fog."Where...where am I?"
"Doesn't matter where you are.What matters is what you were doing on private property."
"I got lost," he said, letting his voice slur."Following up on an old case.Got turned around in the dark."
The man hit him again, harder this time.Ben tasted blood.
"Don't play stupid.You cut through the fence.You were looking for something."The man leaned closer, his breath hot against Ben's face."What was it?"
"I told you.I was working on an old case.Missing person, fifteen years cold.The trail led out that direction."
"Evan Naalnish."The second man spoke for the first time.He was leaning against the trailer wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with an expression of mild interest."The geology student.Yeah, we know about that.Funny thing is, that case is closed.The FBI said so.So why is a tribal cop still poking around?"
"His family deserves answers."
"His familygotanswers.He fell in a cave, hit his head, died.Tragic accident.Case closed."The man pushed off the wall and approached."But you don't believe that, do you?"
Ben said nothing.
The man smiled without warmth."Here's the thing, Detective.We need to know exactly what you saw out there, what you found.Who you told."He glanced at his partner."We can do this the easy way, where you just tell us and we figure out how to handle the situation.Or we can do it the hard way, where my friend here asks you repeatedly until you decide cooperation is the better option.Your choice.But time isn't your friend here."
Ben met his eyes."I didn't see anything.I was on the property for maybe ten minutes before someone knocked me out.I didn't find anything, I didn't photograph anything, I didn't have time to do anything except walk around in the dark."
The first blow caught him in the ribs.The second in the stomach.Ben doubled over as much as his restraints allowed, gasping for breath.
"Try again," the calm man said.
"I'm telling you the truth."
More blows.Ben lost count after a while, focusing instead on protecting his head and his core, on riding out the pain without letting it break him.This wasn't his first interrogation—he'd been through resistance training at the academy, had learned how to compartmentalize pain, how to retreat into a mental space where the body's suffering became abstract and manageable.
Eventually, they stopped.Ben hung in his restraints, breathing hard, his body a symphony of aches.The calm man studied him with something that might have been respect.
"Tough guy.I can see why you made detective."He pulled a phone from his pocket, checked the screen."We'll give you some time to think about your situation.Maybe your memory will improve."
