I was delivered there like a package, now I was expected to go in. I was being watched carefully in case I tried to escape.
My hands felt clammy, and I was rigid with fear.
“Do I have to come in there with you?” I was asked.
I shook my head, this was something I had to do on my own. I straightened my back and took one step forward before twisting the doorknob and entering the room. My eyes darted about frantically, searching for a corner in which I could hide. I squatted down in a chair and tried to make myself invisible. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the ends of the armrests, but there was no controlling my trembling legs. My feet danced across from side to side, much to the annoyance of the other people trapped in the same room.
Alternative bouts of screaming and crying penetrated through the walls from the torture chambers. My nerves were on edge, I was sweating profusely, I was determined that they would not get anything out of me, I was going to keep my mouth firmly shut.
I was offered a drink to calm me down, it looked like water but I was not going to take any chances.
I felt eyes watching me, I looked up.
“You’re next,” she said.
I wanted to scream, I wanted to escape but there was no escape. I was lead into a back room and fainted when I saw the array of torture tools laid out on the table.
The next thing I remember was a bright light shining in my face. I was lying down, almost horizontal. No straps held me down but a burly masked man leaning into my face barred my escape route. I tried to speak, but couldn’t. My mouth felt it had been stuffed with something.
“You had us worried there for a moment, Mr. Jones. Everything will be fine now, see you in six months’ time for your next appointment.”
