Chapter 8
Sean
It feels like my eyelids are stuck together when I try to peel them apart, my eyeballs burning when the stale air assaults them.
I immediately recognize the inhospitable, dank surroundings of the place I called home for the last two years.
Discomfort cocoons me as I gingerly roll to a sitting position, wincing at the way my body aches.
I try not to move too much since the oppressive humidity only adds to the uncomfortable warmth of this place, and I don’t want to exert much energy.
Though my circumstances are anything but funny, I nearly laugh at the irony of this situation.
I hadn’t realized the bars on my invisible cell slamming closed a little more with each passing day over the years.
It took Louhi’s arrival for me to notice that this island had become my own sort of prison.
The difference between myself and the inmates is that the government didn’t bat an eye at my crimes.
In fact, they gave me a gun. It didn’t save me. But she did.
At some point while I was blacked out, someone changed me into the standard black prison uniform. When I lift the shirt, I find evidence of the onset of bruises splashed across my abdomen. Let’s just hope that’s all that was done to me.
My mouth is drier than cotton as I attempt to swallow, scooting back to rest against the wall.
I cough and rest the back of my head against the slimy cement, staring out the barred doors and assessing my situation.
The only music I hear are the whines and cries from my fellow inmates, no jack-hammering bass or thundering riff from the metal music I once ordered to be played through the speakers.
Just like Lou, I’m stuck in this cell, waiting for my savior to rescue me. Unlike Lou, I know with absolute certainty that I won’t be abandoned here.
To add to the tragically poetic irony, I’m even in the same cell that she was kept in. I’m sure that was done on purpose, but I find sharing the space that was once hers is strangely comforting and reassuring. If she survived Hell, so can I.
Eventually, a soldier appears in front of my cell. His warm honey eyes scan me carefully through the eyehole of his mask. I gulp down the massive bubble in my throat containing the dozens of questions I have for my best friend and clench my fists as I fight the urge to reach for him.
He squats down and slides a tray of foul fucking “food” through the slot at the bottom of door, his attention remaining on me. There’s something akin to fear looming in his gaze, and concern ripples through me. Is he afraid of me?
Rising to his full, looming height, his eyes boring into mine, he shakes his head almost imperceptibly before stalking away. Moments later, metal—the kind I appreciate—blares through the speakers. Thank you, Jace.
Understanding strikes me like a hard slap to the face: he’s not afraid of me, he’s afraid for me.
The putrid smell of rancid piss, sweat, and who-fucking-knows what else permeates the space. It’s amazing to me how accustomed I’d grown to the mephitic scent of this place while I was stationed here, but now that I’ve been away, I can recognize the aroma for what it is: fucking nasty.
Like Lou, I dedicate the far back corner of my cell as the bathroom. As I sit here, staring at the mold climbing the concrete walls, it occurs to me that I’m in Block One; housed with the other suspected terrorists and the most dangerous of the inmates.
Terrorist. I’m trying really fucking hard not to fixate on that word or its implications. I’m a defector; that’s a fact and not something I have any business letting get to me. I abandoned my post, turned against my country, deserted my men.
I can’t say I regret that choice, and I’m coming around to the idea that getting out was the right thing to do.
I know first-hand that the procedures of how this place is run are fucked, at best. The way we torture people that will never break, then kill them when we grow tired of playing with our food is wrong.
It’s as reprehensible as killing people who didn’t deserve to be here and certainly didn’t deserve death… prisoners like Lou.
However, I cross my fingers that the deplorable way this place is operated hasn’t changed much. I can use the knowledge I have to my advantage. Fuck, at this point, I’m praying for torture. The alternative is death, and that’s not an option I’m willing to accept.
Louhi will not be collecting my corpse.
She’s the beacon of hope I’m holding on to. The faithful lighthouse in the midst of a violent cloudburst in the aphotic zone I’ve found myself in.
Lou’s statuesque face was the last thing I saw before obsidian settled in. I’ll stay alive for her. For me. For us.
I’m lost in my thoughts of Louhi when five guards appear before my cell, none of them Jace. It wouldn’t take a genius to get the sense that I’m probably the most hated inmate right now, not that I blame them. A year ago, I would’ve felt the same way.
They unlock my cell with the retinal scanner and swing the door open, three of them stepping inside. I recognize one of the patrolmen in the hallway, his brown eyes full of enmity. I make no move to speak to him nor anyone else.
After they cuff me, they force me into the corridor, and I notice the rats in the corner, still nibbling on my dinner tray from earlier.
I stumble forward when someone shoves my back, but I recover quickly.
As I’m ushered down the hallway, I notice that Samuel, Carlos—noticeably less chatty—and Kazi are still all in their cells.
Unfortunately for them, it seems none of them got out.
All three of them sit naked in their cells.
I wonder just how much has changed in the last forty-eight hours. At least I gave the prisoners clothing…
I meet Kazi’s dark eyes as I pass, his inscrutable expression tracking me like I’m wounded prey until I’m out of sight.
I’m escorted to the playpen, and they shove a mesh bag over my head before forcibly strapping me to a metal table that’s been brought in here.
I don’t really bother to put up much of a fight.
They’ve shown their hand. It’s clear that waterboarding is in my future, which will require me to maintain as much strength as I can going into that experience.
They disappear, the door clanging shut behind them.
I focus on my breathing, attempting to keep my trepidation from taking control.
It’s hot and not easy to breathe through the bag, despite it being made of mesh.
I don’t know how long I’m made to lie here—could be minutes, could be hours—but eventually, the door swings open.
Multiple sets of footsteps—two, I think—echo through the concrete space, but since I can’t lift my head to see, I wait.
Unceremoniously, the bag is ripped from my head, and Jace’s eyes stare down at me, filled with caution: a message I heed.
The other set is familiar, and I crush the fear threatening to chew me up.
“Welcome back to Exile Island, Digs. We’re all glad you’ve returned to where you belong.” Major Thompson’s scathing voice bounces around us with an electrical charge.
A cloth is then laid over my face, and I take my last breath before a rag is shoved into my mouth, followed by a violent torrent of water that cascades over me. I sputter and choke, the feeling of suffocation and drowning crowding my senses. Fuck, this is worse than I remember.
I’m reminded why I liked to start with the sprinklers when we received new prisoners here. It tests them to see how much a person can handle and sets the tone for how unpleasant the remainder of their miserable life will be. Major Thompson clearly wants to reinforce those points.
This is about retribution for the soldiers stationed here—except Jace—though. I’m a traitorous toy to abuse until they decide to kill me.
Too bad for them that I won’t be living out the remainder of my life here. Lou is coming.
Visions of her stunning face flash behind my eyelids, providing me with the strength to endure the agony of swallowing copious amounts of water instead of the air I crave.
Deluges burn my lungs, damage my air passages, and test my psyche for what feels like hours.
At some point, Thompson has forced Jace to take over the torture, but I’m so lost in my own world—lit only by the light of Lou—that I don’t notice until the rags are yanked from my face and my mouth.
“There will be more where that came from,” my best friend warns me, speaking for the first time, but where Jace’s deep voice is usually velvety, it sounds hoarse and grating now.
What did they do to you, man? I query with only my eyes, but he makes no move to acknowledge the silent message.
With my lungs still on fire, I grit my teeth against the woozy feeling that the lack of oxygen has left me with as I’m dragged back to my cell, where I curl my body into the farthest corner.
I’m lethargic, dizzy, bitterly exhausted, and so damn weak, but I’m clutching onto the hope that they aren’t trying to kill me yet; not until they’ve had their fun.