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I’ve been tryingto keep time with the dripping of the water that I can’t seem to locate. As if it has the same steady cadence of seconds ticking by. After a few hundred drips, I’ve given up.
I drift off, my back still against the wall.
Eventually, I’m woken up by the lightbulb flickering on. I squint and watch the man who threw the bucket of water enter the room and head toward me. He pulls out a gun and jams it into my forehead. “Don’t try anything stupid, asshole,” he says while his other hand frees me from the shackle around my neck, but leaves the ones around my wrists and ankles.
He motions for me to stand and I struggle my way onto my feet with the help of the wall, the gun still pointed directly at me. He presses the weapon in between my shoulder blades and shoves me forward.
“Out, and take a left,” he orders.
In the hallway, I try to take in as much information as possible, but the building—or wherever we are—is stripped of anything useful. I slowly shuffle past a few closed doors, then down another half-lit hallway until finally, the Gravedigger tells me to turn into the only open door to our right.
With a quick look around, I notice this room looks more sterile. There’s a medical feel to it with its starchy white walls, stainless steel trays on counters lined with glass jars, and glaring fluorescent overhead lighting.
Lee is standing near, what looks like, a dentist’s chair in the middle of the space, alongside another one of his lackeys.
“Strap him in,” he barks, and for a split second I consider resisting, maybe even head-butting the one still pointing the gun at me.
I don’t put up a fight, half hoping whatever they have planned will kill me anyway. He shoves me into the chair, hands and legs still bound, and I can’t resist—I spit in the guy’s face while he secures my chest to the chair. I give him a bloody grin, waiting for his reaction.
I see the rage explode on his face, the gun cocked and ready to shoot, but Lee barks, “Stand down, Derek.”
Derekis shaking so badly, I swear I can hear his Glock rattling. So I smile even wider just to see what he’ll do. He pistol-whips me over the temple and I fight hard to stay conscious, the edge of my vision growing dark.
“What the fuck did I just say,” Lee growls between clenched teeth while he grabs him by the collar, spitting the words in his face. “Next time you disobey I’ll use your own gun to blow your fucking brains out.”
“Sorry boss,” Derek blubbers.
Lee lets him go, his eyes still on him when he says, “Jacob, finish the job will you?”
My gaze jerks to the other man in the room who’s been motionless until then. Must be Jacob. He shoves his palm into my face, pinning me to the headrest, nearly suffocating me in the process. Maybe it’s a promise of what’s to come because when he straps my forehead to the chair, I suddenly know without a shadow of a doubt what is coming next.
A cold wet towel is slapped over my entire face, covering my mouth, nose, and eyes. The freezing water that follows is not only a shock to the system, but sends an uncontrollable panic coursing through my body.
I’m drowning.
I try to stay rational. Repeating to myself that this will ultimately end, bound to last only a minute, maybe less, but my mouth is gaping open, swallowing water seeping through the wet cloth and I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking breathe.
I lose control of my body, survival instinct making my head thrash but I can’t move, the straps just digging deeper into my forehead and chest.
I don’t know how long the first round of waterboarding lasts, but it’s long enough for my mind to blank and my chest to tighten painfully.
The fluorescent lights blind me when the rag is lifted off my face, but I only have time to take a few ragged breaths before it’s placed back on, the darkness suddenly feeling like nihility itself. A dark hole of nothingness where all my fears are staring back at me. I’m still clawing to keep myself rational but it’s useless. The water is suffocating me, the air ripped out of my lungs.
I try to focus on something calming.
Lucy.
But even her name feels like a razor blade to the soul. My psyche turns into sand, sifting through the holes of my mind and I can’t keep a hold of anything.
Especially her. Especially now.
By the third round, I’ve lost all sense of pride, my body is convinced it’s dying and I’m desperate for some kind of respite. My muscles start to seize and I feel a warm wet sensation trickling down my legs. I have just enough wherewithal to realize that I’ve pissed myself.
When the rag is pulled off me once again, I retch but nothing comes up. Gagging, chest heaving, I try to suck in as much air as possible before that damn fucking thing is back on me.
