Silence Never Sleeps
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dobarber
Posts: 611 Member
The text was copied directly from Tootsanderson's blog page:
Stunned by the mechanic’s ridiculous statement, “I couldn’t repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.” James thought he mistakenly heard him at first, when the mechanic handed him his keys and a bill for $1500.00
As a matter of fact, the entire repair shop had a lackadaisical air about it; everywhere he looked, he saw employees goofing off, playing computer games, texting, talking on the phone.
Maybe it’s a good thing the brakes weren’t repaired, he thought as he got into his car. Smiling to himself, he started the engine, and slowly backed out of the garage. He turned to car to face the shop, made sure the mechanic saw him, and, just to be sure, blew the horn.
The horn was still blaring it’s low, foghorn note as they pulled the demolished car from the office of the shop…
When the car was pulled out , suddenly a mysterious crate tumbled from the attic.
The end broke open and a long, low moan came from inside.
From the crate floated an amazing stench. The mechanic peered into the opening and quickly looked away in disgust at what he saw. A single hand reached for him as he back away. The hand walked as if followed by a body but nothing was there only the remains of what looked like a grisly murder. Above the knuckles of the hand. the words “Silence never Sleeps” was carved…
James jumped awake into a sitting position. Sticky with sweet, breath slowly returning to normal. Looking out to the sunny day, he could see his car parked in the usually spot, an old cat enjoying the sun on the trunk.
The dream had never reviled the words, “Silence Never Sleeps” . It always stopped what the thud of the crate and an eerie moan.
What was this new message? Where was his family?
“Silence never sleeps” and he never would either if this terror continued to repeat itself in his dreams. Or was it a memory…. Where is my family?
Family was the one thing that he wanted all of his life. He came from an abusive home. His father was an alcoholic whose favorite past time was teaching the kids how to knuckle fight and his mother disappeared in the evenings for a reason that he never knew until he became a cop for the NYPD and happened upon her file as his perused the daily list of active hookers a year after he joined the force.
He then found a loving wife who gave him everything that he wanted. But where were they. His morning routine was: wake up-get dressed-wake his wife up and get the kids up then go to work, but no one was home. He searched the house. At first walking to every room, then running back and forth from floor to floor until he came to the bathroom. The shower was running and his wife’s favorite cd from Queen’s Reich was playing. He liked to reach in and hug her and feel her soft skin but this time he stopped in his tracks when he saw writing on the mirror…
In scraggly handwriting, reminiscent of a second grader’s efforts, were the words, “the Langston crew”. At first thinking this was written in his wife’s lipstick, he leaned in closer to the mirror and sniffed. “Some sort of paint”, he mused. Suddenly, he realized why that smell was familiar. He turned and bounded down the hall and took the stairs two by two, through the kitchen to the basement. He slid back the deadbolt, and opened the door to the dark, musty odor of basement.
Switching on the light, he made his way down the stairs and over to the metal cabinets in the corner. Looking for can of paint he used on his daughter’s swing last year, he found it had been opened and the lid was gone. “What the heck is going on here?” Turning, he noticed the small casement window had a broken pane. Walking over to investigate further, he noticed traces of what looked like dried blood on the window sill.
Looking out window is didn’t see anything unusual. What he didn’t see was what usually sat in front of this window. His garbage cans. They were lying scattered across his driveway. The bags inside lay unopened. The handles of the cans had blood on them and there were further drops forming an ant’s path around each one. It was like the intruder didn’t know what to do once he escaped the house. James looked around the window opening more and found a piece of cloth that appeared to be flannel.
The pattern was the same as his favorite shirt that he hadn’t seen in ages since his wife mysteriously lost it in the laundry. Where had it been and why was this cloth here now? He then looked down and realized that he was wearing this same shirt. He took it off to look at the back of it. There was a hole that exactly fit the piece of cloth that he had found. He touched the hole not yet believing what he was seeing and noticed a cut that formed the letter S on the back of his hand. He examined himself further in a mirror and realized that he was wearing a black t-shirt. The design on the front was a large smiling skull with bright red eyes and below it said “Kill or be Killed”. On the back were the words Langston Crew in the same hand writing that he saw in the bathroom…
He felt suddenly light headed and queasy, but just as suddenly the feeling vanished when he heard multiple sirens converging on his location.
Running up the steps, he had a strong feeling of deja vu. The smells– the sudden taste of blood in his mouth–the sound of approaching police cars–everything down to the light beaming through the windows down on him at their exact angle were all familiar. He looked out the window through the front door. Two people were sitting with their legs crossed leaning against the white railing of the front porch. This would not have bothered him except for the trail of red that lead from the back of the adult’s neck to the porch. This was emphasized by the trail of the same red that seeped into a crack in the porch behind her and the lackadaisical way the child’s head leaned to the side.
He stood in the front room and screamed. There was a revolver on the stand by the door which he reached for then noticed the porch steps were empty. He curled into a ball by the door and tried to control his shaking hands and his nerves.
“What the hell is happening to me?, he cried through agonizing tears…
Stunned by the mechanic’s ridiculous statement, “I couldn’t repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.” James thought he mistakenly heard him at first, when the mechanic handed him his keys and a bill for $1500.00
As a matter of fact, the entire repair shop had a lackadaisical air about it; everywhere he looked, he saw employees goofing off, playing computer games, texting, talking on the phone.
Maybe it’s a good thing the brakes weren’t repaired, he thought as he got into his car. Smiling to himself, he started the engine, and slowly backed out of the garage. He turned to car to face the shop, made sure the mechanic saw him, and, just to be sure, blew the horn.
The horn was still blaring it’s low, foghorn note as they pulled the demolished car from the office of the shop…
When the car was pulled out , suddenly a mysterious crate tumbled from the attic.
The end broke open and a long, low moan came from inside.
From the crate floated an amazing stench. The mechanic peered into the opening and quickly looked away in disgust at what he saw. A single hand reached for him as he back away. The hand walked as if followed by a body but nothing was there only the remains of what looked like a grisly murder. Above the knuckles of the hand. the words “Silence never Sleeps” was carved…
James jumped awake into a sitting position. Sticky with sweet, breath slowly returning to normal. Looking out to the sunny day, he could see his car parked in the usually spot, an old cat enjoying the sun on the trunk.
The dream had never reviled the words, “Silence Never Sleeps” . It always stopped what the thud of the crate and an eerie moan.
What was this new message? Where was his family?
“Silence never sleeps” and he never would either if this terror continued to repeat itself in his dreams. Or was it a memory…. Where is my family?
Family was the one thing that he wanted all of his life. He came from an abusive home. His father was an alcoholic whose favorite past time was teaching the kids how to knuckle fight and his mother disappeared in the evenings for a reason that he never knew until he became a cop for the NYPD and happened upon her file as his perused the daily list of active hookers a year after he joined the force.
He then found a loving wife who gave him everything that he wanted. But where were they. His morning routine was: wake up-get dressed-wake his wife up and get the kids up then go to work, but no one was home. He searched the house. At first walking to every room, then running back and forth from floor to floor until he came to the bathroom. The shower was running and his wife’s favorite cd from Queen’s Reich was playing. He liked to reach in and hug her and feel her soft skin but this time he stopped in his tracks when he saw writing on the mirror…
In scraggly handwriting, reminiscent of a second grader’s efforts, were the words, “the Langston crew”. At first thinking this was written in his wife’s lipstick, he leaned in closer to the mirror and sniffed. “Some sort of paint”, he mused. Suddenly, he realized why that smell was familiar. He turned and bounded down the hall and took the stairs two by two, through the kitchen to the basement. He slid back the deadbolt, and opened the door to the dark, musty odor of basement.
Switching on the light, he made his way down the stairs and over to the metal cabinets in the corner. Looking for can of paint he used on his daughter’s swing last year, he found it had been opened and the lid was gone. “What the heck is going on here?” Turning, he noticed the small casement window had a broken pane. Walking over to investigate further, he noticed traces of what looked like dried blood on the window sill.
Looking out window is didn’t see anything unusual. What he didn’t see was what usually sat in front of this window. His garbage cans. They were lying scattered across his driveway. The bags inside lay unopened. The handles of the cans had blood on them and there were further drops forming an ant’s path around each one. It was like the intruder didn’t know what to do once he escaped the house. James looked around the window opening more and found a piece of cloth that appeared to be flannel.
The pattern was the same as his favorite shirt that he hadn’t seen in ages since his wife mysteriously lost it in the laundry. Where had it been and why was this cloth here now? He then looked down and realized that he was wearing this same shirt. He took it off to look at the back of it. There was a hole that exactly fit the piece of cloth that he had found. He touched the hole not yet believing what he was seeing and noticed a cut that formed the letter S on the back of his hand. He examined himself further in a mirror and realized that he was wearing a black t-shirt. The design on the front was a large smiling skull with bright red eyes and below it said “Kill or be Killed”. On the back were the words Langston Crew in the same hand writing that he saw in the bathroom…
He felt suddenly light headed and queasy, but just as suddenly the feeling vanished when he heard multiple sirens converging on his location.
Running up the steps, he had a strong feeling of deja vu. The smells– the sudden taste of blood in his mouth–the sound of approaching police cars–everything down to the light beaming through the windows down on him at their exact angle were all familiar. He looked out the window through the front door. Two people were sitting with their legs crossed leaning against the white railing of the front porch. This would not have bothered him except for the trail of red that lead from the back of the adult’s neck to the porch. This was emphasized by the trail of the same red that seeped into a crack in the porch behind her and the lackadaisical way the child’s head leaned to the side.
He stood in the front room and screamed. There was a revolver on the stand by the door which he reached for then noticed the porch steps were empty. He curled into a ball by the door and tried to control his shaking hands and his nerves.
“What the hell is happening to me?, he cried through agonizing tears…
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Replies
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Feel free to post any additions. Have fun and lets take James somewhere he's never been!0
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i'm dying to know what what happens next.0
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He picked up the gun again. Whatever was out there had some kind of control over him and placed this weapon here for a reason. Maybe they were using it as a test. Whatever he did with it, he needed to make it count. He thought of his wife and daughter and how they sat, dead, on the porch. Were they really there or some trick of his imagination or was this all just his imagination. He decided to try the gun.
"Surely they didn't put real bullets in it," he said before shooting. The lamp exploded across the room.
He heard a noise outside and looked. No one was there but he still heard sirens coming closer. He huddled, waiting for the inevitable. Sirens grew louder and louder until they rang in his ears. He looked outside. No one was coming. He then noticed how vacant nothing was. The street was empty of cars and the driveways were all empty of cars and people.
The grandfather clock in the other room chimed 9 o'clock.
"There should be someone outside right now," he said, "especially with all this racket. Where the hell are they?"
He looked through the window at all of the houses around him and saw no one.
He stepped out of the house. There was a weird smell to the air. It almost smelled like alcohol except slightly sweeter. He then fell to the floor.
Upon waking he found himself in a dimly lit vehicle with 5 other people. They were all bound and gagged so conversation would be impossible so he decided to name them by shirt color. The first one was a mountain of a man. his arms stuck out of each side of his body like an exhaust pipe on a dragster. It looked like he fell in the wrong place because there was a nasty gash over his eye that was still bleeding--oh my god red. The next guy wore blue and had a cowboy hat covering his face. The only thing he could tell about him was the fact that he was still under the effects of whatever they used to knock them out. He then noticed the black shirts that they all wore--Langston crew. Maybe he was part of a recruitment that even the candidates didn't know about. He was think crazy now but couldn't get this crazy thought out of his mind. Why would a group of men be put through what looked like the same kind of treatment and sedated then thrown into a transport vehicle all at once if it wasn't some hush hush job. But what was the job that they were doing and why did whoever did this want him.0 -
He picked up the gun again. Whatever was out there had some kind of control over him and placed this weapon here for a reason. Maybe they were using it as a test. Whatever he did with it, he needed to make it count. He thought of his wife and daughter and how they sat, dead, on the porch. Were they really there or some trick of his imagination or was this all just his imagination. He decided to try the gun.
"Surely they didn't put real bullets in it," he said before shooting. The lamp exploded across the room.
He heard a noise outside and looked. No one was there but he still heard sirens coming closer. He huddled, waiting for the inevitable. Sirens grew louder and louder until they rang in his ears. He looked outside. No one was coming. He then noticed how vacant nothing was. The street was empty of cars and the driveways were all empty of cars and people.
The grandfather clock in the other room chimed 9 o'clock.
"There should be someone outside right now," he said, "especially with all this racket. Where the hell are they?"
He looked through the window at all of the houses around him and saw no one.
He stepped out of the house. There was a weird smell to the air. It almost smelled like alcohol except slightly sweeter. He then fell to the floor.
Upon waking he found himself in a dimly lit vehicle with 5 other people. They were all bound and gagged so conversation would be impossible so he decided to name them by shirt color. The first one was a mountain of a man. his arms stuck out of each side of his body like an exhaust pipe on a dragster. It looked like he fell in the wrong place because there was a nasty gash over his eye that was still bleeding--oh my god red. The next guy wore blue and had a cowboy hat covering his face. The only thing he could tell about him was the fact that he was still under the effects of whatever they used to knock them out. He then noticed the black shirts that they all wore--Langston crew. Maybe he was part of a recruitment that even the candidates didn't know about. He was think crazy now but couldn't get this crazy thought out of his mind. Why would a group of men be put through what looked like the same kind of treatment and sedated then thrown into a transport vehicle all at once if it wasn't some hush hush job. But what was the job that they were doing and why did whoever did this want him.
From what he could tell, James figured he was in the back of a utility van, like the ones the phone or power companies use. His thoughts were slow, detached. He knew he’d been drugged and was most likely why he couldn’t collect his thoughts. “What a difference 24 hours makes,” he mumbled to himself. “Boy, you ain’t kiddin’”, he heard. Turning his sore, swimming head, he noticed the big guy to his right. The man was sitting with his head leaning back against the side of the van and staring up at the ceiling. He was silent, but somehow James knew this was the guy who spoke. Fixing his gaze on him, James took stock of the man. He was tall; James could tell this even with him sitting, as his long, lanky jean-clad legs stuck way out in front of him, covering half the width of the van easily. One dusty black cowboy boot was crossed over the other at the ankles. He was not a handsome man in the usual sense, but had a commanding face all the same. Valleys of lines criss-crossed over his tanned face, which seemed even darker by the thick silver hair pulled back in a braided pony tail. Trenches of crows’ feet accented his eyes at the corners, made more prominent by the way he was squinting at the ceiling. He was stone-still, not moving a muscle. He didn’t even appear to be breathing.
“Where are we?” James asked. He didn’t know if this guy knew any answers, but he sure wasn’t going to sit here and maybe die in the near future without at least answering some questions. The man lost interest in whatever it was on the ceiling he was staring at, and turned his gaze to James. Watery blues eyes stared out at him; the kind of world weary eyes that appear to have clouds swirling in the irises, cruel clouds that bring rain and hellfire to those who dare to meet their gaze.
“Friend,” he replied, “I got no clue. All I know is, I woke up a few hours ago in a pile of my own vomit, laying on my kitchen floor with my head hurtin’ me so bad I was begging God to take me on home. Next thing I know these two sons of *****es driving this rig here,” pointing his thumb towards the cab, “knocked my back door down, pointed a gun in my face, and proceeded to haul my butt into the back of this truck. And before you even ask, no, I don’t got a clue as to who these other two cats are.”
James started to ask him his name, when he noticed the truck slowing down and turning, as if it had reached its destination. “Whatever these guys are up to,” Cowboy whispered, “I got a feeling it ain’t gonna end well for us.”0 -
jules you rock!0
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oh this is getting interesting0
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He sat back and tried to inhale deeply in an effort to clear his head. He knew that keeping his wits about him might mean the difference between life and death. The window was very dirty but there were occasional lights, too spread out to be on a freeway or even a main road. After a few more minutes he and the cowboy realize they have nothing in common, so there seems to be no connection as to why they have been selected. Suddenly the van begins to lurch as they realize they are now on a gravel road. His mind begins clicking over the vague details but knows enough that very little good can come from being tied up and on an isolated road in the dead of night. The engine turns off and they all wait for the doors to open. He swears he heard a coyote howl in the distance, but as his heart rate increases he can't hear anything.0
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Whether through exhaustion or his brain's natural defenses against stress, James found himself sleeping where he sat. This time he didn't have the dream that's been repeating for months. This time he was tied to an alter surrounded by several people wearing hooded robes. Chanting began as he felt his heart race in his chest. A sharp pain stabbed into his hand. He tried to look toward his hand but could only see the crowd as they moved closer toward him as the chanting increased. He then realized who the people were above him-his wife and his daughter. They both had blood seeping from their dead eyes. They began to smile. He remembered their smiles. They used to brighten his day after a long day on the beat but this time they terrified him. Their smiles were wide and showed fangs.
"Daughters of Langston! Upon this alter I beckon you to draw your first blood from this creature,".
The crowd converged as he tried to fight them off.
Sweating he woke feeling like he had run a marathon in his sleep. His hand still throbbed.
He looked around him and saw that the truck was empty except for the cowboy's hat. He was now untied.0 -
OH MY GOSH!
If this were a book, I'd be up all night reading it.
Next?0 -
Knowing this might be the moment he had been praying for he stealthily crept out of the van. We was out somewhere in very rural America. The van was parked between the edge of a crop field and a bit of forest. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he realized dawn would be approaching soon. The sky was clear and the remaining stars were doing their best to light his way. It reminded him of camping with his father and grandfather as a child. Being so far away from the city lights, the stars were so much brighter. With that memory came a feeling of desperation to be once again with his family. He took a deep inhale and cleared his mind as he brought himself back to the present, his years on the beat helped his assess and calculate his next move. Looking down he could see 3 definite sets for footprints and could tell something or someone had been dragged off into the woods.0
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He walked around the van. Look in the ignition, no keys. Without wasting another moment he began running in the direction the van appeared to have come all the while thinking, "Get to the highway, get help. The cops can help the cowboy." With no idea how long he been running his heart leapt when over his own breathing, the thud of his footsteps, and his own heartbeat in his ears he could hear the growl of an engine. The idea of salvation from this nightmare drove him to run harder toward the sounds of the highway. He could taste that aluminum metallic under his tongue that comes with overexertion. It was becoming difficult to see in the twilight and sweat pouring into his eyes was making it worse. A flash of light to the left caught his eye, before he could even discern what he was seeing his felt his right foot, which should have been making contact with the ground... and then he was falling.0
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For a split second he was relieved to be falling because he knew this nightmare would soon be over. Death had a knack for ending these things for people but then his instincts kicked in. His military background served him well as he pulled his feet in to get ready for a tuck and roll move. Fortunately he wouldn't need this instinct because he was caught by a large net that overlooked a large military compound. This wouldn't phase him normally but all of the "soldiers" wore flannel shirts with black t-shirt underneath. He could barely see the outline of a skull on each marching person. His hand started to burn. He felt the palm of his hand tighten uncontrollably. He held his hand out and felt a sharp pain near his knuckles. What once was a small curved sut had become Silence. He turned his hand over to look at his palm and noticed a dull red light showing through his skin. A siren blared from the direction of the compound. Looking that way, he saw the group of marchers gathering. They all faced his direction. Another man ran from the main buildings of the compound. He carried a set of large binoculars which he looked through. The man waved his way and lowered the binoculars. He raised his other hand which held a small device and squeeze whatever it was. James watched as each soldier dropped to the ground in turn. Before they all dropped, he smelled that same sweet alcohol smell. He woke up tied to a gurney on the compound. The cowboy stood above him pointing a rifle at him.
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance you little ****. 'Bout time you woke up," said the cowboy.0 -
James fixed the Cowboy with a cold, distant stare while a million thoughts were running through his mind. James attempted to speak but no words came out of his mouth he could not talk or scream. Cowboy was standing over him laughing this evil laugh and pointing his riffle at his head....0
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This is a great story and my contribution pale in comparison. I wish I had some creative talent when it comes to writing stories.
Keep up the good work-- I want to see how things turn out for James.0 -
So I am SUPER swamped at work these last two days but I hope I will be able to get back on board and contribute something soon. Sometimes when you write all day at work (like a BOSS these last two days) your mind can't wrap around the awesomeness that is this story. You guys are AAAAAAWWWWWEEEESSSSOOOMMMEEEE! :bigsmile: :bigsmile: :bigsmile:0
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The general came into the room and stood at the foot of the table where James lay.
"I bet you're wondering who I am and why you're here?," he said leaning on the foot of the aluminum table, "I'm Joseph, but of course you can call me Joe. You're name is not important because you're really not important, to me or anyone else for that matter," he said as he started to walk around the table and nudge the cowboy away, "You see you're only purpose is to do what I say when I say it and if you don't then I can erase you."
Joe smiled a crooked, sarcastic smile at James and turned toward the Cowboy.
"You see the people in this world live in the illusion of free will and think that no one can take this away from them. What they don't realize is free will is only what your brain allows you. I'm sure you figured out that you're implanted with a homing device that I track you on and if you get to far from me I get notified and can turn you off with the touch of a button," he stepped up to James and put his finger through his hair then grabbed a handful to bring his face to James' face, "but that's only half of it."
Joe released James' hair letting his head bang backward on the table.
"You see this little thing?," he said holding up a small remote control with a flashing red light on it, "All I have to do with this to shut you down is touch this light and this happens. He walked over to the Cowboy and held it in front of the man and pushed the button. He fell limp on the ground. James could still see that he was breathing but he was not moving.
"But that's not the coolest thing that I can do with this. You see, seeing grown men pass out at your whim is only on thing that's cool. Seeing them do this is a whole other thing to see. Check this out!"
He turned the fallen man over on his back and sat on his chest. He took the remote and pressed the button that had now turned to a flashing yellow. He held the button down until the remote buzzed in his hands. Cowboy raised his arm. The hand began to shake violently and twist. The flesh around his wrist tore with the motion exposing tendons and veins. The hand lay limp facing the wrong direction. Cowboy's other hand rose toward his mangled hand and twisted it more and pulled the hand off of his wrist.
Joe got up and looked at the motionless body and shook his head, "That's some good **** there man! I could watch that all day long. F%^& nightmare and Jason when you have this little device."0 -
James' mind was overwhelmed with horror, he began to hope that it was just a horrible nightmare. I slight movement in the doorway behind Joe caught his eye, He lowered his head so that he could glance that direction without Joe seeing what he was looking at. The rouse worked Joe said, " so you get my point...." and then continued to gloat about his power and lust for human misery. As he did James as able to make out the thin, almost gaunt, figure of a woman clinging to the door frame. She held a finger up to her lips, and then withdrew from the doorway, leaving James to wonder if she was ever really there.0
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A siren began to wail, letting out one long, high pitched note followed by three short bursts. The general snapped his head up, cocked to one side, intently listening to the siren. He sniffed the air, almost like a dog sniffs for the scent of his prey when he’s on the hunt. He stood, glaring at James, and strode over to the dirty window behind him, never letting his eyes leave James’ face for a second. As the general turned to peer out the window, a small red light began flashing in his left hear, and James realized he was wearing some sort of radio device. He reached up and pressed it. “State your purpose”, he spoke into the air to the unseen person on the other end of that device. James could only hear the general's side of the conversation.
“Affirmative. The prisoner is secure.”
“That’s a negative Delta. Stick to the plan. DO NOT DISCOURSE.”
“Delta, I could give a bear’s butt about protocol at this point. DO NOT DISCOURSE.”
“ Delta, you tell Teale he’ll move when I tell him to move. You copy that, soldier?”
“That’s a roger. Eagle Base out.”
There were bursts of automatic weapon fire. "That's a SAW gun", James thought to himself, "I'd know that sound anywhere."
A few more short bursts, then silence. It was deafening, that silence.
The general turned and grinned at James. “Well, son, looks like that little dog and pony distraction your people orchestrated got my men’s drawers all misty. Too bad it didn’t work. It’s a shame, too, to take a woman’s life so matter-of-factly, don’t you think? Nevertheless, it had to done. Yes, sir, she was pretty in an odd sort of way, too. Would’ve loved to have gotten to know her a little better, know what I mean?”
James just stared in disbelief. “Look, general, I don’t know who the hell you are, and I don’t know where the hell I’m at. For God’s sake, man, at least tell me why she died. Tell me why I’m here. Tell me who the cowboy was. TELL ME!!! James slumped against the wall. His energy was spent. He was thirsty, he was hungry. He felt so completely defeated. It was as if the entire world had shifted on its axis, and he somehow was left out of the loop. What had he done to deserve this? He was so tired….but he had to try and figure out who this guy was. What he meant by prisoner. That word really scared him. No one, NO ONE, knew how badly, terribly, that word prisoner scared him.0 -
James heard the door close and the lock click. For a moment he breathed a sigh of relief, now hopefully he could try and process all he had witnessed and attempt to make some sort of sense or at least connection to it. There was something about the general's voice that he couldn't put his finger on- but knew that it was important. A few minutes later the door opened and a young man dressed in old tattered khakis handed him a tray, a sandwich of some sort and a cup of water. "It's your ration, you will need it" the young man droned out, expressionless then turned and walked out. James knew the risk- in his state of deprivation the food could be laced with anything and would have a stronger effect on him. He also had a fleeting thought that if it was poisoned he might be out of his misery sooner. He decided to risk it, the bread was somewhat stale and had some kind of meat. It was by no means a tasty meal but he quickly devoured it like a starving animal and gulped down the water. Although still hungry he could at least begin to concentrate and sort things out. He got up and carefully paced around the room, then he measured , roughly 10x10 and for a fleeting moment felt relief that his room was bigger than a prison cell- "I am not a prisoner" he whispered to himself. Returnign to the window he took off his shirt and began trying to clean some of the grime to get a better look, he was able to see a portion of the compound. Looking down he noticed a few rocks and pebbles on the floor. He gathered them up and busied himself with using them to create a map of what he could see and hoped to learn about this place. With a task at hand a plan formulated he felt better. "I am not a prisoner, I am a captive and my job is to escape" Soon the sky began to turn and he realized his window faced north. That was good to know- he wasn't sure why but gathering all the evidence he could right not was vitally important and he knew he would have time to put the pieces together. This had become a jigsaw puzzle and he simply had to find all the pieces before he could put it together. His mind had calmed and he felt focused, strangely it was the best he had felt in a while.0
