"When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions!"
—William Shakespeare's Hamlet
Somebody behind him placed something around his head, and strapped it on tight.
Cecil struggled against his restraints, eyeing the thing in the "doctor's" hands. He watched in mute horror as he added a gooey substance to the ends of the metal contacts, and snapped them into a rubber coat. The guards had turned their tails and ran after making the connection of why exactly Cecil was strapped down. He didn't exactly blame them, but would certainly go after the two if he ever got out of this.
He struggled harder against the restraints as Dr. Vojin walked over to Cecil.
He smiled. "Our experiment, sir, is to truly change a hardened criminal."
"I AM changed! I swear to god, I HAVE!" Even if he hadn't before, the fear of what was going to happen in a matter of seconds certainly did.
The "therapist" smirked and swung the metal plates in the air.
Cecil shut his eyes. For the first time in decades, he wondered if he shut his eyes, then it wouldn't happen. He would not feel it, not let the doctor know his pain, to let him have what he wants.
The first shock jolted through his vulnerable body, making him convulse and almost throw up breakfast.
"W-wh-wh-ha-hat ah-ARE you?!" His voice came out shaky and—he somehow made the connection—mentally disturbed.
"Your sanity savior." Vojin said simply.
Cecil screamed in as much terror as pain as a second jolt was added onto that, and realized something that terrified him to the brink of insanity:
There was nobody who could hear him. And if they did, they didn't care. They wouldn't come.
The last thing he saw before blacking out was a needle, with a lilac filling. It didn't look right, surrounded by all of this grimy grey and dirty white. It hadn't been here long, or was cleaned frequently (if that was the case, then he feared what it did to the other men that were here), as the needle was clean and almost shone from the bare bulb hanging above them. The lilac color, however, was what Cecil saw.
It stuck out.
It was either good or pure evil. Most likely the latter.
Another jolt. He officially blacked out.
Smells—chemicals. Chlorine. Something burning. Probably me.
Cecil woke up in one of the cages. Well, it would be unfair to say it was a cage. More like a very small cell; he could still stand in it. This one was clean, thankfully, but still had scratching along the stone walls. He traced one with his forefinger. It said, "LONG LIVE FREEDOM."
He drew in a shaky breath. There was a bit of dried, rust-colored blood in the freedom scratches.
Someone sneezed across from him.
He attempted to jump and discovered he was back into the farther corners of the barred cage, against the wall. He could not move. Across from him, in the cell, was a woman. She had long black hair down to her shoulders, and a dirty and torn lilac shirt. Grey and grimy pants.
She was shivering, and up against the wall just as Cecil was.
He smiled weakly.
She did not smile back. "You're here." Her voice was clear and firm. Strong.
"So are you." Cecil's voice came out shaky and weak. He coughed.
"It's hell."
"Sucks to be us."
She sniffed. "More you. Heard the screaming. He does that often to us."
"Us?"
"Me. And now you."
"How long have you been here?"
"Longer than you."
His head felt ten times worse than just a regular hangover. It was like someone had shoved a rock into his ear. Or two metal tubes. "How are you still alive?"
She shrugged. "Won't give him the satisfaction of seeing the light go out in my eyes. If I could shake your hand, I'd tell you my name's Rebecka. Spelled with one 'c' and a 'k.'"
"And if I could move my body, I would tell you my name is Cecil Terwilliger." He was still sprawled on the ground, but liked talking to her. It felt natural, better than silence all the time, too, from solitary confinement.
Her brow went up. "As in, tried to murder the ten-year-old multiple times?"
"That's my brother, Bob. I almost flooded the entire town once, though."
"Well, got part of it right. It isn't nice to meet you down in here. Nobody deserves it."
"Right back at you."
"So we're trapped in this hell together, huh?"
"Indeed. Were there others before me?"
"Not too many. They disappeared after a while. As bad as it is to say so, now that you're in here."
"What did you do to get in jail period? You're so young."
She gave a small smile. "Thanks. I'm twenty-three. My boyfriend, Henry, used me to get outta a ten year sentence for robbing a bunch of guys."
"You mugged people?"
"I didn't say that," she smiled slyly, "I said he used me. I was framed. It was his doing. I was simply there."
He decided to change the subject. "What has Vojin done to you?"
"Mixed therapist with mad-scientist."
That explained enough. He nodded. "Besides mind games, he hasn't gotten away with anything especially bad, has he? Besides electric therapy?"
She was silent for a few moments, pausing. And shivering. "He made me always cold . . . yes. There's worse, up until he brakes you. I saw it happen before."
"How long have you been here?"
"A very long time."
He was starting to get annoyed now. "Shouldn't we try to escape then?"
"This is a prison, Cecil. If we end up escaping this maze, then the guards up there," she motioned with her head to the ceiling, "will just bring us back down here."
"But they'll see the cages," He realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. If the two guards that brought him down here ran away, and nobody was here now, then anybody else will not help at all.
"They're paid good money to keep their traps shut." A quick shudder. "And to keep us down here until the doc's done."
That interested Cecil. He attempted to lean up on his elbow, but failed and fell to the ground again. "When will he be done?"
"When he brakes you."
"What happens if he doesn't?"
"It gets worse."
"How so?"
"The experiments get worse. When he does finally brake you, you'll be a changed man. But that's the only way outta here." She shrugged. "A lot like those SAW movies, actually."
"Ah . . . not very encouraging, are you?"
She laughed. A dry, hardened sound. He knew then that she had reasons behind the hatred burning in her eyes. "Not after everything he's done to me, no freaking way. You'll learn better too."
"Learn what?" She intrigued him. Tough, but relatable. He would need that influence soon.
"How to outwit the evil shrink. Anyone in your family a psychologist?"
"Just my sister-in-law. And I've learned a few things from watching repeats of Frasier."
She nodded, and laughed. "That's a good start. You sound a lot like David Hyde Pierce. Anyone ever tell you that?"
He scoffed. "No, and I don't think I sound one bit like him."
She shrugged, "Well. You've been in prison for a while. Learn anything from inmates?"
"Much."
"All you need to do is stay strong. Don't let em' get to you. We're in this together, *cellmate."
"Cellmate . . . fitting." He smiled weakly at her. "I think this is the beginning of true hell."
She scoffed. "Beginning for you maybe, the middle of it for me."
*-This was mentioned in 'Dame Boot Camp,' when Bart and Lisa were playing word association with Cecil. That was before I thought of the plot for that story, so I couldn't really explain why he reacted so strongly to the word 'cellmate.' Now you know.
