See disclaimers.

Landon hadn't fought much as the guards had 'escorted' him back to his 'room.' He'd been tired, and he was growing more homesick with each passing day. Eamon's presence during his initial ordeal had tempered that somewhat, giving Landon something else to focus on, but now that he was alone it came crashing down so hard he thought his heart might break.

As day broke on his second day in this vast place, the nineteen year-old knew he'd have to find a way to escape. Carlyle would never let him go, and the man seemed to be taking all precautions to make sure that Landon's whereabouts was never discovered. He turned his head on the silk pillow to take in the brilliant sunrise—an array of pinks and purples blanketing a dark line of trees.

I wonder how far those woods go back, Landon wondered. Do they meet with the edge of a city? Or a town? Or am I really stuck in 'the middle of nowhere'?

He tossed the covers off of himself and stretched as he stood up. It had taken only about five minutes to fall asleep the previous night—sleep was a better refuge than this ornate prison. In sleep, Landon knew he could be home, working with the swimmers at the Institute or playing cards with Kyle or even sitting down to dinner with his dad.

Landon ran a hand through his hair. It was knotted and gnarled into hopeless tangles, and the oil that came off of it could have filled a diesel can. He felt grimy from the layers of dust and sand that had collected overtop of him during his time in the giant bowl.

Guess I could take a shower, he thought. Walking over to the small bathroom door, Landon checked to see that it could lock from the inside. The thought of having someone come in while he was showering sent shivers up his spine. To his great relief, the door did, in fact, lock from the inside. A giant fluffy red bathrobe hung patiently behind the thick door, almost as if it had been waiting for him.

The shower water was warm, and Landon let the spray trickle over his back, gently working some of the knots out of it. He thought he saw something step into the room briefly, but between the frosted glass and the generous amount of soap falling into his eyes he didn't get that good of a look. Landon stood under the inviting rainfall for a long moment, wishing that he too could fall through the drain like the water at his feet.

Once he'd rinsed out the soap and turned off the shower, Landon quickly reached for the red bathrobe and pulled it on. His clothes were lying right on the floor next to the sink, and he had learned through years of swimming practice how to change underneath a robe or a towel. When he stepped out of the shower, however, his clothes were nowhere to be found.

He took my clothes…why would he take my clothes? Landon worried. His initial thoughts on why someone would take a person's clothes from the bathroom were not pleasant ones—in fact, they sent even more butterflies and shivers into Landon's system.

Tying the robe's belt as tightly as he could around him, Landon cautiously stepped outside and into the small bedroom. The smell of sausage wafted up from another covered tray that had been placed on the small table next to the bed. A glass pitcher of orange juice sat next to it. On the bed lay a pair of jeans and a bright red shirt, as well as a decent pair of underwear and some socks.

Landon stared at the garments a long moment. They were new, and as he held them up he noticed they would almost certainly fit. There was something about them, though—the idea that he would have to wear something he hadn't chosen himself; that had been chosen for him. Even the simple act of picking out his own clothes had been taken from him, and it made Landon realize just how much of a prisoner he was.

Seeing as there was nothing else, he quickly put them on, feeling like he'd need another shower as he did so. He then turned his attention to the tray on the table, which contained sausage as well as two Belgian waffles with strawberries and a small pot of syrup. Landon made quick work of the food, his stomach ravenous from having not eaten the night before.

Okay, so I'm clothed and I'm fed, he thought. Just like some kind of living, breathing doll or a two-legged pet…

Landon stared through the barred window, looking out at the line of trees that seemed to signal the edge of a forest. If I could just get outside, he mused, and get them away from me a second, I might have a chance.

He knew the guards from last night were probably still stationed behind the door. Landon got the impression that Carlyle would take no chances with him. Walking over to the locked wooden barriers, he began to strike them as hard as he could. "Hey!" he called out, hoping his voice was loud enough. "Hey! In here! Please, open the door!"

A second later, the door cracked and one of the guards stepped into view—the tall, fat one that Landon called Alonzo. "What?" he said, careful to speak slowly and enunciate.

"I'm not feeling well. I-I need some air, and my window's blocked. Could…could I go out in the yard? Just for a few minutes?" Landon's face was pleading with his immediate keeper, hoping to stir a little compassion in him.

Alonzo shook his head, but held up a finger. "Not now," he said.

--"Please, the air helps. I don't want to be sick."—

Alonzo shook his head again.

--"Could you ask? I won't run, I promise. I-I just want some air…"—

The door closed, firmly. Landon tried pushing against it, but the locks wouldn't budge. Biting his lip in frustration, he began to pace the dark wood floors, holding his stomach. What had begun as a feigned illness was slowly becoming real, and he didn't want to be seen throwing up his breakfast through some camera that might be hidden in the walls or the fixtures. Soon the nausea slowly crept up his throat, and Landon made a beeline for the small bathroom.

Shaking, taking in heaving gulps of air, Landon had no choice but to rid himself of the fear that had taken root in his stomach. The remains of his breakfast continued to pour into the bottom of the toilet, and a dull headache began forming between his eyes. Calm down, he thought to himself sternly. Calm down. Getting worked up isn't helping matters any…

Just then a hand brushed over Landon's shoulder, startling him. Blue eyes stared back up into gray ones, and Landon felt embarrassed at the thought of his captor seeing him so vulnerable.

--Come on,-- Carlyle said. –Let's get you to bed.—

--No, please,-- Landon signed. –Please, I need some air. Let me go outside, just for a minute.—

Carlyle looked at the nineteen year-old before him, shaking with nausea and trying to keep himself steady.

--All right. But only a minute.—

--Thank you,-- Landon signed, smiling a small smile of relief. As he was picked up off the ground, Carlyle called out to someone—perhaps Alonzo or Steve, as he called the other, taller guard stationed outside his door—and soon Landon was being taken down a long corridor and ushered out a back entrance. The second the fresh air blew over his face, he instantly began to feel better. Landon took in deep breaths, each one working to steady himself on shaking legs.

--Feeling better?—

--Much. Thank you.—

--Come. You're going to bed.—

--The air's working…please, let me stay…--

--I'm afraid not. Come.-- Carlyle snapped his hand up, a motion that Landon was to follow him. Not wanting to be carried back inside, Landon resignedly began to walk back towards the giant house. I have to get him to let me stay outside, he thought. Maybe I can build from this, earn the chance to stay out longer…giving me time to plan an escape.

Once inside, Landon was escorted back to his room, where Carlyle watched as the younger man pulled back the covers and got himself into bed. When he was satisfied, he turned on his heel and left, stopping to have a word with the guards as he did.

"I think he might try something," he told them. "If he asks to be let out, tell him no, but run it by me first. Understand?"

"What if it's something like this?" the fat one said, tipping his head toward the door.

"You let me decide that. He's clever, and he's had exposure to the best in the business."

The two guards nodded as their employer headed out of the corridor. Pulling a small cell phone out of his pocket, Carlyle rolled the small device in his hands a moment.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow they learn he's never coming home…