Page 34 of Talk to Me

Chapter

Eleven

PATCH

The clank of a generator kicking on echoed through the wall and jerked me out of sleep. The jolt of alertness didn’t do much to clear the fog in my brain. Piece by piece, reality sifted through me.

Numb arms.

Numb legs.

Numb ass.

I tried to lift my hand to wipe the drool from my face, but it was lashed to the arm of the chair.

Right.

I couldn’t move.

Fuuuuuck.

Twitching my fingers didn’t seem to work. Or maybe it was cause I couldn’t feel them. I needed to look at my hands, but it was dark. No, not that dark. There was light against my eyelids.

Shit.

My eyes were closed.

Reality kept telescoping in and out. I was numb, tied to a chair, pain was right there, surging against my consciousness like the tide rolling in.

Open your eyes, I told myself.

Open them.

A part of me didn’t want to and another wasn’t even sure I could. I refused both and went for doing it anyway. If I couldn’t move my hands or my feet, I had to be able to open them unless they’d been taped shut.

They wouldn’t do that. No, they wanted me to see. Taped open for two whole sessions, I couldn’t miss anything. Not their glee and satisfaction nor the way they leered. They’d stripped me down to my bra and panties. I supposed I was lucky to have those left.

While rape hadn’t occurred yet, they made it clear that the option was on the table. Being cold, stripped mostly bare, and left vulnerable? It was assault all the same. It didn’t matter what they stuck inside me.

Those images were imprinted in my brain forever. As if conjured by the thought, I could see both men. My interrogators. Tall, at least from my angle in the chair. One was swarthy with a scar that distorted his upper lip on the right side. Maybe a leftover from a fight or an accident where his teeth went through the lip.

He had dark, shaggy brown hair that desperately needed a cut. It didn’t match the suit he’d been wearing or the air of cold authority that settled over both of them. Wild-eyed, I almost preferred his open cruelty and sadism to his partner.

The second man was all clean, pressed lines, and perfectly manicured. Even his nails had been rounded and neat. Such a small thing to notice, but his suit was immaculate, so were his perfectly white teeth, almost too smooth skin. There wasn’t even a suggestion of stubble.

He reminded me of a mannequin or one of those CGI monstrosities in the movies when they de-aged stars and they looked plastic. His eyes were cold, devoid of any emotion, and his manner was—clinical and detached.

When he took charge of the sessions, I screamed until my throat was raw. What little spit I managed to form wasn’t enough to soothe anything. But my eyes opened, the sudden light, no matter how dim, stung until a suggestion of tears formed.

Not real tears. No, just a little extra moisture. I was dehydrated. I actually couldn’t remember the last time I’d had water. Or food.

The room wavered in my vision. It was a plain room. The smell was rancid. Though that could be me. I needed to take stock of where I was.

Glancing down, I tried not to wince at the bruises on my neck. I’d pulled every muscle or they had. Even breathing hurt. I tried to move my fingers and the flicker of motion was my reward.

Okay, the pins and needles when I got free were gonna suck. I couldn’t see my feet, but I could see my legs. I tried flexing my muscles. Yeah.

Pain rippled through me as the back of my thigh cramped viciously. Charley horses were awful. The fresh surge of pain ripping through me chased away the fog and brought clarity back.