Page 35 of Talk to Me

Low potassium, magnesium and calcium could lead to cramps. Check. So could reduced salt, lack of electrolytes, and dehydration. Also check. Without water, a person could survive three days. Five or six days was possible, but it was also miserable.

Six days was the absolute limit. Most wouldn’t make it that far. How long had it been for me?

A broken sound escaped me and I barely recognized the sound of my own laughter. Did I have a lot longer in these miserable conditions? I’d already pissed myself three times.

Good times.

It was only 3 times, right? I didn’t have anything else to waste on urinating. I couldn’t remember my last drink of water.

My last drink of anything.

Fuck, I would kill for coffee right now. I’d even lower my standards and take decaf.

I wanted to cry, but the lack of moisture had me closing my eyes again. They were so dry. No, I needed to keep them open. I needed to focus.

Eyes open once more, I studied my surroundings. Beige, plain room. Concrete floor. Drain in the floor.

That boded well for the future.

No sign of a door, but it could be behind me. I hadn’t seen anything on arrival. They’d had a bag over my head. I’d been drugged too.

That had been wearing off though in the car. It had been a car, not a truck. Cataloging what I could remember helped clear away more of the fog. It distracted me from some of the pain.

Some.

Not all.

I kept trying to flex my muscles to get the blood flowing and it just kept inciting agony. I rode out the cramps and the waves of discomfort that followed. Each time, I discovered a little more sharpness to my focus.

With the view so limited, I concentrated on what I could hear. There was a clang of mechanical equipment. Some kind of air conditioner? It rattled as it came on, followed by a humming whine.

Yeah, air con unit of some kind. A vague rush of air added to the soundtrack of my environment. It moved the mustiness around, but it didn’t detract one iota from the foulness around me.

Great.

Focus, I said. Ugly beige room. Concrete floor. Air con unit. No windows visible from where I was locked to the chair. I tried to turn my head but it just added another set of muscle spasms to ride out.

Then a lock tumbled behind me.

Hey, look, I was right about where the door was. I braced for the arrivals. On each of the previous occasions, I’d woken to them being present. I hadn’t actually had any time to myself.

How many visits had it been?

The scent of coffee drifted over to torment me. The smell of too much cologne followed it and I had to concentrate on breathing through my mouth. Had one of them fallen into a vat of body spray? It was worse than Axe or Hai Karate.

Shaggy drifted into view with his unkempt hair and rumpled suit. Mr. Cold was with him. He was as neat as Shaggy was messy. They were like the Odd Couple. Fuck—what were the character names?

“Well, you’re awake.” Shaggy lit a cigarette after his announcement. Wonderful, he was going to add the smell of acrid tobacco to the powerful aroma wafting off of them. I almost wished I could go back to my own stink.

“Miss Brady,” Mr. Cold said. “I will once again offer you the opportunity to cooperate.”

I just stared at him. My options were limited. Cooperate and they would probably just put a bullet in me. Continue to resist and I might survive another day.

Granted, it would be painful survival. But living afforded me a chance to escape, maybe. Dying, well it was a one way ticket out just not necessarily in the direction I wanted to go.

“He asked you a question,” Shaggy informed me, then backhanded me hard enough to send what little spit I’d managed flying out of my mouth.

I did cut my tongue and the inside of my cheek. The taste of blood filled my mouth. As gross as it was, I swallowed it. Moisture was moisture. Straightening, I managed to look up at them in time to get a face full of smoke.