She sat slumped in the hard chair, head down, eyes closed. She felt herself shuddering, involuntary twitching throughout her body. It was like her skin and muscles were dancing to a song she couldn’t hear. Her hair was finally starting to dry, though pieces were still stuck to her face. She could feel the leather straps around her wrists and ankles biting into her skin, could feel the pressure, but the pain was gone. She wondered idly if her hands and feet would burn when the bindings were released, as blood rushing back into her extremities. Her throat was raw and aching, from her screams, from gasping for breath. She could still feel the cold water around her head, enveloping her, trying to swallow her, could still feel the cold sting of air on her face as she was jerked back, could feel the pain of her lungs expanding, sucking in stale air.
She didn’t know how long she had been here. It could have been a day, or it could have been months. At first, she had tried to keep track of time. Tried to study the schedule of the guards, of when she was left alone and when she was questioned. She couldn’t discern a pattern, though, and they had ways of keeping her unfocused, on edge. With each dose of pain, she lost a little more of herself, until here she sat, alone in the dark, feeling like a live wire, a nerve that was constantly shrieking, where even the next breath seemed like a challenge, like it might not arrive.
The door opened with a creak, and she didn’t move. Didn’t look up, didn’t say anything. To some of them, that in itself was enough provocation to beat her, to run blades along her skin until it looked like so many tic-tac-toe boards. She almost giggled at the absurd idea. Tik-tac-toe. What a strange thought for a place like this.
She jumped as a rough blanket was draped over her shoulders. The scratchy wool felt like barbed wire across her skin, but the shudders turned to shivers almost immediately. She had forgotten they had striped her of her clothes, that she had been left in the damp, dark room in the cold. She slowly looked up, and saw a woman looking at her, pityingly.
“I told them not to do this,” the woman said, her expression changing to ruefully apologetic. “I told them I could help in a much more,” she paused, “civilized, way. But since their method clearly isn’t working, they sent me in to do damage control.”
She looked away from the woman’s cool face, her neat suit and politely-clasped hands. She was nothing. She was no one. She was just pain, and fear, and there was nothing from her they could want. Some lost voice echoed in the back of her mind, trying to tell her something, but she ignored it. That voice couldn’t help her now.
The woman sighed deeply, then crouched next to her, those clean hands enfolding her dirty, blood-crusted ones.
“I can get you out of here. I can help you. You will never see these men again. They won’t be able to hurt you. You can disappear, try to rebuild yourself, your life. But,” the woman’s eyes searched hers, “you need to tell me what you know. That is the only way you will get out of this.”
She looked back at the woman before her, and desperately wanted her to be real. She felt hope flicker in her chest. There was more to the world than this pain? Faint images flashed in her mind, of a place beyond these grim walls, of sunlight and flowers, of warm breezes and easy laughter. That voice in the back of her head grew louder, and she finally listened. This is what they wanted. This is how she could get out.
She tried to speak, but her voice was too raw, too dry, and all she managed was a choking cough. The woman snapped her fingers, and in her hand was a glass of water. The woman helped her drink, slowly. Finally, she looked back up at the woman, and started to speak. She spilled everything she knew, and even some things she didn’t, but guessed. Anything that would help this woman, anything that would get her out of here.
She finally sagged back in the chair again, her words exhausted. She knew nothing else.
“Please,” she gasped. “Please, let me go.”
The woman looked at her, evaluating, then stood abruptly, brushing off her suit.
“She doesn’t know anything else,” she said briskly, washing her hands with a damp cloth. “Do what you will. I have what I need.”
She watched in numb horror as the woman turned, left the room, and all light and hope seemed to leave with her. She felt the coarse weave slide down her back, and realized that she was never getting out.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020