Jake completely ignored me for the next few days and even tried to avoid me. My attempts to talk to him were just met with grunts or not acknowledged at all. In the end I decided to apologise and leave him alone for as long as he needed. This seemed to improve things slightly, as he no longer avoided me. But he still wouldn't talk. I was worrying whether he'd ever talk to me again, when it happened.
It was the middle of the night. Jake was fast asleep, but obviously having nightmares since he was twitching and crying out. I was wide awake. It was just one of those nights where you had too much going round in your head to sleep. I was laying in bed, wondering if there was some way I could get into the lift without being caught when the siren went off.
To begin with, I was extremely confused. It was nowhere near morning yet. Why was the siren going off? Then the prison lit up with a blood red light, and with a flash of horror I remembered what Jake had said when I'd first arrived here, his story about the inmate who had been taken and transformed into a monster. And although I hadn't believed him then, and still didn't believe him now, I began shaking with fear.
"Scott," whispered Jake, barely audible. He'd obviously been woken by the siren. "Remember what I said before. Don't move, don't make a sound. Don't you dare bring that thing over here. I'll forgive you for the hole eventually, but this is serious."
"Believe me," I whispered, "I won't do a thing. I'm as scared as you." Then I lay dead still and closed my eyes. But then someone began screaming. Begging. I opened my eyes a crack, just in time to see someone being dragged past our cell.
It was Adam. I couldn't stop a sharp intake of breath which luckily, the wheezers did not seem to hear. My mind was flooded with emotions. I couldn't just leave him to get dragged off to whatever hell the wheezers had in store for him! But what could I do?! I couldn't even leave the cell unless someone came and unlocked it. I could bang on the bars and demand they take me instead. But then they'd probably take Adam anyway, and Jake too. And even if that wasn't a problem, I'm nowhere near brave enough for that sort of self-sacrifice. Much as I like to think I would be... I'm no hero. So instead of doing anything, I lay there, crying silently, and allowed my friend to be taken.
What felt like hours later, the siren stopped and the lights went off. A collective sigh of relief was heard. Apart from that, it was almost as if nothing had happened.
"Jake," I said, once I was sure we were not in danger any more.
"What?" He sounded irritable, as if he had been trying to get back to sleep.
"Did you see? They... they took..." I couldn't finish the sentence.
"I told you, Scott. That's what happens here. They come and they take people."
"But Jake..." I steeled myself up to deliver the bad news. "You didn't see who they took..." That got his attention.
"It wasn't... it wasn't someone we know, was it?" He asked fearfully. Unable to help myself, I let out a sob.
"It was Adam, Jake. They took Adam."
"No... they can't... are you sure?!" Jake gasped.
"I'm sure!" I sobbed. "It was Adam. He's... gone..."
"I don't believe it," whispered Jake. "They can't have taken him. It must have been someone else. Someone that looks like him."
"It's true! It was him..."
"We'll... we'll go to his cell tomorrow. Just to make sure. It can't have been him..." Jake said. I could see he still had a faint glimmer of hope that it had not been Adam. I hated to be the one to crush that hope. But I know what I saw.
"He won't be there, Jake..." Jake didn't reply. I heard him roll over, and then silence. He didn't want to believe me, that much was clear. I didn't want to believe me either. But it had happened, and I knew that when we went to his cell tomorrow, he wouldn't be there. I sighed, and tried to get to sleep even though I knew it was hopeless.
The next morning, Adam was not there at breakfast. Nor did we see him during our daily chores. At the end of the day, we ran to his cell, Jake hoping against hope, me with a heavy heart, knowing he would not be there. We reached his cell and stopped. Adam's cellmate was sitting on the bottom bunk, his head in his hands.
"He's not..." he began, then gave up and pointed at the wall. I gasped. There were several long scratches on the side of the cell. Scratches that had obviously been made by someone desperately grasping at the wall to avoid being dragged away. Jake turned without a word and began heading back to our cell. I saw the tears in his eyes. Silently, I followed him. There was nothing else I could do.