Jean locked gazes with Lucien as she accepted the earbud from him to listen to the session that had brought Alice to tears and left Lucien in such a fragile state. He nodded at her, then closed his eyes and returned his attention to the recording.
At first she didn't realize that the voice she was hearing through the bud was Lucien's, it was so flat and emotionless. "My helicopter is leaving. Their soldiers are headed toward me. I want to grab the strut as it's lifting off, but I know the chopper is already carrying too much weight. If I add my weight to it, that might bring it down and kill us all. Even if it doesn't crash, hanging on like that would leave me exposed to gunfire. If I'm shot I'll let go and the fall will kill me. No, I have to face them and surrender.
"They think I'm a prize they've won. They haven't captured a major before. They take my rank insignia and my dog tags. They bind my hands in front of me and drag me through the streets as they laugh and shout. Very thirsty from the dust. I see a few children along the way. They don't seem to know what to make of all this.
"Their base is apparently several miles away. They get into a vehicle, a very old truck. The rope tied to my hands trails out the rear window, so I have to run behind. Difficult to keep my balance with my hands bound, but I know what will happen if I fall, so I don't fall.
"We reach their base. It's actually little more than a shack. No windows, just one door. What looks like a cage for a dog in one corner, but I immediately know it's not for a dog."
Alice's voice said, "What are you feeling?"
"Scared. More afraid than I've ever been before. They untie my hands, but just to tie them behind my back. They push me down to my knees. One of them puts a sidearm to my head."
Jean could hear the fear in his voice as he relived the moment. She put both arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, needing to remind herself and Lucien that he had survived this horror and was here with her.
"I'm sure this is it. Fight or flight response, but of course I can do neither. I'm sorry, Mei Lin. I'm sorry, my darling Li. I hear the click of the trigger. I flinch but there's no bullet. 'You're lucky today, Yankee devil,' the one holding the gun tells me. 'Maybe tomorrow not so lucky.'
"Before I can process what just happened, they force me into the cage and lock me in. It's so small I can't even move, especially with my hands bound behind me. I don't know how long I'm in there. I'm so thirsty, but there's nothing to drink. I'm afraid to call their attention to me by asking. After a while I fall asleep. I wake up and I don't know how long I've slept, but my hands are completely numb. I don't know if they've been damaged. How badly? Will I ever play the piano again if I even get out of here alive?"
There were audible sobs on the recording by now. Jean reached down to take his hand in hers, entwine their fingers, and kiss the back of it. She had never imagined just how real it would all seem just by having him recount the tale in the present tense.
"It's dark. I don't know if there's anyone else there with me or if I'm alone. I want to see if I can get my hands free but my fingers still don't work. Maybe they're just going to leave me here to die. No, that doesn't make sense. They think I'm a prize of some kind. Maybe they don't know yet what they want to do with me.
"Bored, hungry, so thirsty. I fall asleep again. I wake up when they kick the side of the cage. They drag me out. Down on my knees again. Gun to my head. I'm resigned at this point. If they're going to kill me anyway it might as well be now. Again the click of the trigger but no shot. I don't flinch this time, don't react at all. This angers the one holding the gun. He shouts at me, 'You think it's not real?' He holds the gun beside my ear, but not pointed at me, and fires several times. I only hear the first one that explodes next to my head. My hearing is completely gone. I panic at that. I'm not Beethoven, I can't manage if I'm deaf.
"Another man bursts through the door. He looks to be in charge; he's wearing my oak leaves insignia on his shirt. He seems to be shouting at the one with the gun, although I can't hear any of it. My head is ringing, concussion I think. He motions to the others and they untie my hands, help me into a chair. He stands in front of me and says something to me, but I just shake my head as I point to my ear. I don't feel like I can speak because I can't hear myself. At least I have some feeling in my hands again, though."
Again Jean pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it, hoping to reassure him that his hands were just fine now. His large, beautiful hands.
"A full canteen is thrust at me. I wonder if it's drugged or contaminated, but I'm so thirsty I can't really worry about that for long. I drink half of it without stopping. They give me a piece of bread. I eat that more slowly, washing it down with more water. Gradually the ringing in my head begins to subside a little, but I still can't hear much of anything.
"The leader is talking at me again. I don't know what he's saying. He has my dog tags around his neck, and keeps pointing at them, then at me. Yes, they're mine, but he took them from me so he knows that.
"He reaches into a bag he brought with him. Damn! He has a record album. One of mine. I can't believe it."
On the recording he began to laugh mirthlessly.
Alice's voice was heard. "What's so funny, Lucien?"
"The album they have. It's the Christmas one, the one Jean loved."
Jean inhaled sharply, wondering if her joking about loving that record had caused him pain. Lucien glanced at her for just a moment, long enough to squeeze her hand, before he closed his eyes once more to listen.
Alice spoke again. "You need to put that aside. What are they doing, now that they know who you are?"
"They look at my dog tags, then at the name on the album. They know it's me. The leader is shouting at me again, but I still can't make out what he's saying. I can tell it's not good news for me, though.
"He's frustrated. He seems to be yelling at the one who fired the gun. He points to the door, and that one leaves, not very happy. Another one, smaller, with very bad teeth, gets his instructions. I'm shoved back into the cage. My head is pounding, hurts so much that I don't even care about the cage. Finally I manage to fall asleep.
"The sound of men talking wakes me up. I can hear again, at least out of one ear. I ache all over, everywhere. I open my eyes just a crack to see what's going on. The leader is back again. He's speaking to his deputy in Arabic. I can make out some of it. Strange. They're talking about my father. They want to send him something. Movies? What kind of movies?
"When the leader pulls a camcorder out of his bag, I understand. They're going to send Dad movies of me. Will he even care? If they're looking to get something out of it they should be sending it to Maman. I'm not sure what Dad's reaction will be. I think about when we got word Tommy was dead. Dad was more upset that Maman and I were devastated than about losing his son.
"They pull me out of the cage and sit me in a chair so they can film my face. Don't want any doubt of my identity, I think. I don't let on that I can hear and understand what they're saying. Maybe they'll let something slip. They talk about money, a million dollars, two million. They're going to ask Dad for a ransom. Will they really let me go if he pays up?
"They're already spending the money. Weapons and trucks and explosives, hiring mercenaries. They have big plans for it. They think it's a done deal. I'm not so sure about that.
"The leader continues to film me. They have a rope, and they bind my hands in front of me with one end of it then toss the other end over the main beam that supports the roof. They pull it taut so that only the toes of my boots are on the floor. This can't be good. Then they tear my shirt off. One of them picks up what looks like a riding crop, and then I know what's coming.
"All I can think about is not shaming myself. 'Do your best,' my father used to tell me if I was nervous before a big concert. It always sounded like a warning to me back then, but it's all I can think of now. 'Do your best,' I tell myself as the first blow hits my back. Do your best. Do your best. Do your best!"
His voice on the recording got higher and louder. Lucien himself was squirming in the chair, as though he could feel the blows even now.
On the recording he began to shout. "Do your best! Do your best! Do your best!"
The pain in his voice brought Jean to tears. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. Lucien opened his eyes, and he put a finger under her chin to lift it so that he could see her. When he saw the tears, he motioned for her to remove the earbud and give it back to him. After a moment's hesitation she complied. It had to be difficult enough for him to relive it; he shouldn't have to worry about her reaction. Instead she would just be at his side to offer her support.
She held tight to him as he closed his eyes again to listen to the rest of it. Soon she saw tears coming from him. She wondered if he'd suffered from a flashback as he recounted it all to Alice.
At one point she could hear him screaming as the sound leaked out from the earbud. All she could do was rub his shoulder and squeeze his hand to let him know she was there and she loved him. She wanted to remind him that despite the terrible things they'd done to him, he had survived, and the two of them would share a future together.
Jean didn't know how long it took before he finally switched off the recording and removed the buds. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over the hair at the back of his head before he met her eyes. He managed a tentative smile for her.
"All right?" she asked softly.
"Quite," he told her after clearing his throat. "Thank you for being here."
She hugged him tightly, at a loss for words, except the ones that mattered most. "I love you, Lucien."
"And I love you, my dear. I'm sorry that I upset you."
She snorted at that. "I'm so proud of you. What you've been through, what you survived." She thought it best not to mention that she thought his father must have been some kind of monster to have watched the film of what Lucien described and not been moved to do whatever was necessary to save him from more of that.
"Yes, well, I didn't really have a choice, did I?" he noted.
"Now, then, what do you say to a cup of tea?" Jean suggested. She thought they could both use something soothing and comforting.
He nodded, standing up and taking her hand. "Don't you have more important things to do?" he asked.
"Nothing more important than you," she assured him. The last thing she was going to do was to leave him on his own for the rest of the day. She would be with him to make sure he didn't slip into depression. She felt it was the least she could do.