The slaps had kept me from getting a good breath in, so I quickly choked on the water. I fought to move my head -- to shake off the cloth -- but his mates kept me immobile and all I could do was swallow more and more of it and let it fill my lungs and my head felt ready to explode from the terror and my heart pounded like I was going mad and I tried to kick but couldn’t and my hands wouldn’t fucking move to let me push back up from under this hell and it kept on and on and on and on and I was sure I was dying and --
The cloth was whipped away, again. Terrence took me by the hair, again, and this time yanked me half off the table to face the floor and I vomited water into that other empty pail. It spewed from my nose as well as my mouth and I’d even swear came out my ears, there was so much of it. Then he shoved me back onto the table, even as I kept heaving and choking, and asked me questions that made no sense -- like he was speaking another language and I fought to get away from him but he kept yammering at me and asking me things and all I could do was shake my head until suddenly, suddenly I heard him saying, oh so gently, “I have to wonder, Brendan, are you really that fuckin’ stupid a bugger? We can end this, right now. All in exchange for one word, just one -- the name of one man who’s responsible for God knows how many deaths. You’d be doing mankind a favor by ending his reign of terror, Brendan. You’re a good lad. You want to go to your mum’s wake. And her funeral. You want all this terror to end. Help me end it, Brendan. Be the good lad I know you are.”
To be honest, I couldn’t have spoken then if I’d wanted to. That I was able to even understand him was a minor miracle to me. I was still retching from the water sloshing about in my lungs. I was coughing from my throat being so raw. I was freezing from the cold air blasting in. My nose was screaming from the sudden influx of foreign liquids -- not just water but acid from my stomach and God knows what else from within me. I was half afraid I was about to lose control of my bowels and I was shaking from the effort to just keep from screaming in fear.
“What’s your answer, Brendan?” The question was so tender, I almost wept. Jesus Christ, but this man was truly a devil.
I looked away from him. My head was snapped back into position and the cloth laid over and I began to scream and scream and from someplace distant I heard laughter as the water began pouring and smothered me and filled me and I kicked and fought and choked and swallowed more and more and my heart shrieked in anger and terror and my legs flailed --
And then everything stopped. And I felt myself drifting away from it all. Peaceful and sad. And I knew I was dying. I’d got my wish. I was dying and it wasn’t so horrible, drowning like this, no, not horrible at all as darkness whispered up and gently enveloped me in her beauty and grace and --
Shattering noise woke me. Like a car wreck or something, shredding metal and screeching to a halt against some banister. I had no idea where I was. Could I be at home on the floor behind the couch? I’d wondered if I could hide there, at times. Had I drifted to sleep and been dreaming it all? But I was on the sponge rubber mattress. And my clothes still wet, cold air blasting in, my hands and feet freezing. My heart still pounded. A dull throb in my head made it difficult to think. My lungs ached horribly. Sharp pains exploded from my wrists and ankles if I tried to move. I looked at them. The shackles were gone but my skin was rubbed raw from me fighting against them. And then I understood -- it was no dream, and I wasn’t dead.
I felt nothing about it. Not one emotion even approached my heart. It was just, “I’m still here.”
I lay flat on my back and slowly me mind rejoined me life. The light still burned in the ceiling, like an unforgiving sun, blistering through me eyes even when me lids was shut. Between the blades in me back was a sharp throb whispering over me spine. My thoughts -- what thoughts I had -- none seemed to be mine. Me voice seemed to be another’s. Had I begun to talk? Was I speaking even now? I had no idea. I still could not make sense of where or how or even who I was at the moment. The four walls around me looked not at all familiar. The cold wet foam under me behaved like a carpet hovering above the world.
I felt like it took hours for me to regain actual consciousness. True awareness. The throbbing in my head never ceased during this time, but did slowly become less demanding. I never stopped shivering, but it seemed to be more from the cold than anything more. Three more times the screeching crashing noise went past me door -- past my door. The one way out. The one way to look for anyone to come who did not come because no one knew where I was, of that I was sure. Even I was not sure of where I was -- except I was. I was. I knew. I knew.
A slat in the door snapped open and an eye bulged in to look about the room -- then it pulled back and happily cried, “He’s back!”
I assumed he meant me. Had I been somewhere and was not remembering? That would not be polite, not if I’d been with company. It’s poor manners not to recall going places with people you know...or even those you don’t.
The door opened and a man entered, followed by two more just like him. Triplets. I smiled and think I laughed. I might not have. I don’t recall.
The first triplet nodded, smiling. “That’s good,” he said. “You’re proud of yourself.”
Then he kicked me. The brisk sharpness of it jolted me and everything crashed back into my mind. Castlereagh. The Saracen. Tailored. Terrence. The water. The neverending fucking water.
It was Terrence who kicked me. He leaned in and snarled, “Think about everything we did, today, Brendan, and how we’ll begin it all again, tomorrow. You’ll speak to me. You’ll talk to me. I swear by God before the day is through, you’ll think me your bloody father confessor, you fuckin’ will.”
Then he rose and gave me another kick in the back before he and his twins left.
More of this tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And I felt nothing. It was like I was saying to myself, “I think I’ll have the chicken fried steak every day this week and the next.” It meant absolutely nothing.
Except...
My stomach boiled. And my cough returned. And I felt tears sting my eyes. I rolled over and my face pressed into the rough sponge, and I noticed my tears disappearing into it -- and suddenly I knew -- I wouldn’t have to keep going. I knew how to end it, now. I knew what to do.
I made myself reach under the block of sponge and pull off a good chunk of it. My whole body ached from the exertion, but crushing it into my hand made me feel powerful, once more. Put me back in control of my destiny.
The next time they came, I’d have that sponge in my mouth. And I’d wait till they poured the water over me, again, and I’d swallow it and it would soak in the water and expand and choke me and I’d be dead before they figured out how to keep me alive. They’d get nothing from me, not even enjoyment -- they’d get nothing except my death. The bastards’d get only my death.
Shattering noise woke me. Like a car wreck or something, shredding metal and screeching to a halt against some banister. I had no idea where I was. Could I be at home on the floor behind the couch? I’d wondered if I could hide there, at times. Had I drifted to sleep and been dreaming it all? But I was on the sponge rubber mattress. And my clothes still wet, cold air blasting in, my hands and feet freezing. My heart still pounded. A dull throb in my head made it difficult to think. My lungs ached horribly. Sharp pains exploded from my wrists and ankles if I tried to move. I looked at them. The shackles were gone but my skin was rubbed raw from me fighting against them. And then I understood -- it was no dream, and I wasn’t dead.
I felt nothing about it. Not one emotion even approached my heart. It was just, “I’m still here.”
I lay flat on my back and slowly me mind rejoined me life. The light still burned in the ceiling, like an unforgiving sun, blistering through me eyes even when me lids was shut. Between the blades in me back was a sharp throb whispering over me spine. My thoughts -- what thoughts I had -- none seemed to be mine. Me voice seemed to be another’s. Had I begun to talk? Was I speaking even now? I had no idea. I still could not make sense of where or how or even who I was at the moment. The four walls around me looked not at all familiar. The cold wet foam under me behaved like a carpet hovering above the world.
I felt like it took hours for me to regain actual consciousness. True awareness. The throbbing in my head never ceased during this time, but did slowly become less demanding. I never stopped shivering, but it seemed to be more from the cold than anything more. Three more times the screeching crashing noise went past me door -- past my door. The one way out. The one way to look for anyone to come who did not come because no one knew where I was, of that I was sure. Even I was not sure of where I was -- except I was. I was. I knew. I knew.
A slat in the door snapped open and an eye bulged in to look about the room -- then it pulled back and happily cried, “He’s back!”
I assumed he meant me. Had I been somewhere and was not remembering? That would not be polite, not if I’d been with company. It’s poor manners not to recall going places with people you know...or even those you don’t.
The door opened and a man entered, followed by two more just like him. Triplets. I smiled and think I laughed. I might not have. I don’t recall.
The first triplet nodded, smiling. “That’s good,” he said. “You’re proud of yourself.”
Then he kicked me. The brisk sharpness of it jolted me and everything crashed back into my mind. Castlereagh. The Saracen. Tailored. Terrence. The water. The neverending fucking water.
It was Terrence who kicked me. He leaned in and snarled, “Think about everything we did, today, Brendan, and how we’ll begin it all again, tomorrow. You’ll speak to me. You’ll talk to me. I swear by God before the day is through, you’ll think me your bloody father confessor, you fuckin’ will.”
Then he rose and gave me another kick in the back before he and his twins left.
More of this tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And I felt nothing. It was like I was saying to myself, “I think I’ll have the chicken fried steak every day this week and the next.” It meant absolutely nothing.
Except...
My stomach boiled. And my cough returned. And I felt tears sting my eyes. I rolled over and my face pressed into the rough sponge, and I noticed my tears disappearing into it -- and suddenly I knew -- I wouldn’t have to keep going. I knew how to end it, now. I knew what to do.
I made myself reach under the block of sponge and pull off a good chunk of it. My whole body ached from the exertion, but crushing it into my hand made me feel powerful, once more. Put me back in control of my destiny.
The next time they came, I’d have that sponge in my mouth. And I’d wait till they poured the water over me, again, and I’d swallow it and it would soak in the water and expand and choke me and I’d be dead before they figured out how to keep me alive. They’d get nothing from me, not even enjoyment -- they’d get nothing except my death. The bastards’d get only my death.
---------------
This is the last bit from the two previous days. It's taken a lot out of me...and I won't have much time to write while in Reading, so...later.
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