24. You're Not Making Any Sense (Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation)
Adam hadn't forgotten what it meant to be warm. He'd tried to remember what it felt like to feel the singe of sun against his skin. Tried to remember what a world of color looked like.
In his mind, all his memories seem to be dulling into muted colors. Vivid blue skies and scorching sunlight grew grayer and softer.
He hadn't seen light in two days. Not a ray.
Even when they slid meager meals in through the door, there was no light. It was as if they'd purposely turned off any lights before sliding the metal flap open. He'd had to grope in the dark for the tray, only going by the sound of metal scraping against concrete. The water was musty, and the cup felt rough, but he drank to stay alive. Even in complete darkness, he knew the water wasn't clean.
For each meal, he was permitted only a bland, stale chunk of bread. But the steady, rough chew through hardened crust gave him something to do in the sightless silence. And when they'd come back to collect his tray and cup, they'd tap on the door to give him some direction of where to stumble to.
He looked forward to those taps. It at least offered some auditory variety.
In the scuffle that had landed him here, a hard punch had ground into his throat, just under his chin. At first, Adam had thought it'd crushed his larynx, but after recovering from the initial shock, he could still breathe hoarsely. However, talking was painful. Humming was out of the question.
So in his dark, little box, his only music was the scraping rustle of his standard-issue pants and the rare sounds from the odd meal time.
As for his thoughts . . . Adam had a lot of time to think about the failed mission behind him. It wasn't often they botched an assignment so completely.
But there was only one way to fail a protection detail. And the asset hadn't survived the attack.
Adam had remembered the sloppy fall of the US ambassador. He'd known right then that they'd lost him.
But in the flurry of gunfire and raw, rabid violence, Adam could only refocus and put his team first. Patricia was spitting firm orders in his ear, telling them to get out. He'd put himself physically between the danger and his team, and he'd gotten a punch to the throat almost immediately.
Somehow, that was enough.
While the hostiles took advantage of his moment of weakness, grappling with his body as they tore him from the half-safety of his position, the rest of the team managed to gain ground and set up a proper defense.
Then he'd been thrown into a van and taken elsewhere.
He wondered what might've happened to the team. Did they make it?
Adam had never been more disconnected in his life.
Total darkness.
Almost complete silence.
His arrival at the facility had been met with harsh words and a threatening knife. Swallowing past his aching throat, Adam said nothing, putting everything he had into a defiant stare. The focus helped keep his mind off whatever lay ahead.
He'd been stripped of his shirt, and the cold blade was slid across bare flesh at regular intervals, leaving a cut for each passing minute of his silence. It must've been hours. At least, it had felt like hours.
Adam knew the exact moment they'd grown tired of trying to cut answers out of him.
His boots and socks were peeled off his feet, and he was angrily thrown into his inky cavern.
It had taken only a moment to realize just how small the box was. After using his hands to feel each corner and surface, Adam estimated it was about five by five feet. There was no bed or bedding. Just flat concrete around a solid, metal door and a bucket for his business.
And now he'd been here for two days. At least, he thought it had been. It was tough to track time in these kinds of conditions. But he had grown tired at least once, and if his groggy awakening was anything to go by, a night had passed. And considering his hunger between sparse meals, he estimated he was only fed and watered twice a day. Going by that logic, it must've been two days. His second dinner had been quite a while ago.
Sighing hoarsely in the dark, Adam curled tighter into the corner, trying to press the rough fabric of his pants against his chest for warmth.
While he would never reveal confidential information, Adam was starting to break in a different way. He felt starved—not just physically. This was lonelier than anything he'd ever encountered. There was something soul-sucking about the pitch black. And the cold concrete against his back was alienating and cruel.
He longed for a warm hand on his shoulder. A hot meal among friends.
The crisscrossed cuts against his ribs pulled and burned with every breath, and he shivered in the stale, chill air.
He'd settle for even the angry shout of his captors.
How long would he have to endure this?
For one debilitating moment, he pondered the possibility of long-term captivity.
Days upon days of this.
Months.
Even years.
Years of no one. Of no sun. Of no human connection.
Nothing to do but sit in silence. In the dark. Counting the meals.
Adam didn't panic. Panic got in the way of doing what he had to do.
But he was pretty damn close to panicking right now.
Trying to pull his mind from the endless, horrid possibilities, he started to pick at the flaking blood on his fingers. He couldn't see, but he could feel the blood crusted under his nails from when his many cuts had split and bled. It took some time, but he finally gave up on pressing against the newly open wounds.
It's not like it helped. They weren't deep enough to cause any real issues. So if they split, he'd just let them bleed.
God, he was thirsty. And hungry.
And tired.
And . . . overwhelmed by his own darker thoughts.
He hoped his team had made it back safely. He wished he could've at least seen it with his own eyes.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Four days. He thinks.
It was becoming harder to remember when meals had taken place. Had he been fed before or after he'd slept?
They'd given him some kind of soggy vegetable mush last time, and Adam had debated eating it at all. Because it meant they wanted him to live like this for even longer.
And he wasn't sure he could.
He'd even debated drinking the musty water.
The dark was pressing in at all sides now, looming over him like an inky, smothering ocean. His arms were wrapped around his torso, trying to keep the desperate feelings of isolation at bay.
He'd started to have complete conversations with himself in his mind, scrabbling for any kind of human connection—even if it was just with himself.
But while it kept him distracted, it did little to fill the void. It wasn't the good-natured arguments he had with McG and Jaz. And it wasn't the philosophical debates he'd have with Preach. It definitely wasn't those quiet talks with Amir because those pockets of silence still held something.
Oh, God. He was going to die here.
Adam drew in a deep breath, the rattle in his throat almost jarring in the silence.
He'd never get out.
He was never getting out of here.
He'd never see the sun again. Or the vibrant landscapes.
Or people. His team. His sisters. Strangers on the street.
Adam felt abandoned. Stuck. Tethered only by the prickly pain of thin cuts across his ribs and torso. Thin red lines across his fingers. His arms.
He couldn't pry himself from his body. Couldn't tuck his consciousness away into a warm, safe space.
Not that there were any left in the decaying carcass of his mind.
He held his hands in front of his face. Were they really there? He couldn't tell.
Adam had never longed to see his damaged fingers quite like this. Just to see the red dried and stretched over weary knuckles. Something to prove that he was still a person. Still alive.
Even that had been taken from him.
He had nothing.
His breathing hitched as he looked ahead to all the useless, empty days before him.
There was no end.
And at this point, he had to assume there was no hope of rescue.
His lungs heaved, the frightening rattle in his throat bouncing on cold, inescapable walls.
A five-by-five-foot box. Silence. Darkness.
He couldn't do this.
Emotion rushed through him, and Adam tried to swallow the harsh burn in his throat while blinking back an onslaught of fresh tears. He couldn't even see the blur in his vision.
What was it like to see?
He couldn't remember.
God, he couldn't remember.
-0-0-0-0-0-
The tray slid through the slot at the bottom of the door before the opening was covered with a heavy metal cover. But Adam didn't move.
He stared ahead, through the darkness, completely empty.
Six days. It'd been six days.
He thought.
He'd lost count of meals. Of slumbers.
There would be no rescue. No light.
And he wasn't going to live like this.
Adam made the only choice he was permitted.
He wasn't going to eat. And he wasn't going to drink.
-0-0-0-0-0-
"He'd better be here," Jaz muttered, the slightest wobble of worried anger in her voice.
This was their second attempted rescue, the last ending in empty rooms and no sign of Adam.
And they were starting to wonder if they'd ever see him again.
Patricia had managed to convince the powers that be that Adam was worth the time and resources. But it had been days, and one failed rescue had cut their morale considerably.
"Intel seemed pretty confident based on descriptions from a trusted contact," Noah supplied, an eagerness to his tone. DC had been just as anxious to find Adam as the rest of them.
But it was a bit different on this side of the line.
"Coverage seems pretty sparse," Preach reported, eyes sweeping each new room. They'd encountered only a handful of guards at the front, all unskilled and unfocused. So far, the house itself was empty.
"Yeah, seems a lot like they cleared out and left a skeleton crew," McG added quietly. The team moved with a joint alertness, clearing the house bit by bit.
Amir gestured from the corner he was investigating. "Found some stairs."
Immediately, they moved in his direction, Preach taking point as the other three followed behind. Noiselessly, they descended the steps, anticipating the worst.
At the bottom, there was one armed man sitting on a chair. Seeing the team, he jumped up, clumsily scrambling for weapon.
He was eliminated before he'd managed to get a good hold.
"We've got a door here," Preach reported, eyeing the heavy metal door beside the fallen guard. "I'm heading in."
Carefully, Preach twisted the deadbolt and turned the handle. He hauled it open, McG and Jaz covering him from behind.
Peering into the uncovered path, all they saw was complete darkness. Total black.
They each turned on the lights on their rifles, shining bright beams down the lightless hallway. A row of solid doors lined one side of the corridor—cells.
"You think he's in there?" McG asked, trying to smother his own wild feelings.
"One way to find out," Amir replied darkly.
Preach pushed his way in, closely followed by the rest of the team. There were only three doors, but they had no indication of what awaited them on the other side.
Jaz pulled open the first. Empty.
Amir managed the second.
Empty.
McG practically lunged for the third, desperately hoping their search was over.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Adam heard something outside the door.
He thought it sounded like his team, their distant voices drifting down from some faraway place.
But it couldn't be.
His mind was playing cruel tricks on him.
He was going to die here alone.
Then there was a hasty twist of a doorknob.
-0-0-0-0-0-
McG yanked the door open, shining his light into the small cell.
A sharp, hoarse cry cut the darkness.
Adam.
He held blood-crusted hands up against the light, his head turned to avoid the blinding beam. Tiny, thin cuts laced across the bare skin of his torso. His hands and arms. His feet shoeless.
"Top," McG huffed, stepping into the tiny box of a room, hands already reaching as he dropped his rifle and let it fall uselessly to his side as it hung loosely from its strap. Behind him, the team aimed their lights into the room, trying to avoid directly shining them into Adam's vision. Preach muttered into their comms, verbally confirming for DC on the other end.
"Come on, let me see," McG urged, trying to push Adam's arms aside.
"It hurts," Adam growled, his voice gritty and low.
McG frowned, still trying to get Adam to look at him. "What hurts? Talk to me?"
"Light. Light hurts. Loud."
McG's efforts slowed, and he dropped a hand to Adam's shoulder, squeezing lightly. Taking his CO in.
They'd found him.
Finally.
Adam's shielding hands suddenly moved away from the light, searching out McG's fingers. His head still turned, he took hold of McG's hand. Desperately. Almost fearfully.
And he held on.
Speaking without talking. And McG understood. Suddenly. Sullenly.
"God, Top," he whispered. His grip changed. Bringing up his other hand, he steadily and cautiously took hold of Adam's other shoulder.
It took a minute for it to sink in, but then Adam's other hand found McG's. As if he didn't actually believe it. As if he thought it was some kind of trick.
Once his hands settled around McG's fingers, they tightened, imperceptivity at first. Then more firmly. Adam's breath hitched, quietly enough that only McG could hear.
"We've got you, man," McG muttered, pulling Adam closer as if to prove it. "We're getting you out of here."
McG felt a small hand on his bicep, and he turned just enough to see Jaz's worried gaze.
"What are we dealing with here, McG?" she whispered.
"I think . . ." McG swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. "I think he's been in here . . . a while."
Jaz only stared, not quite understanding.
"Without light," McG elaborated quietly. "And maybe visitors."
The implication hiccupped and stuttered in her brain, but then it finally seeped in.
And McG could only track the horrified pinches in her tough mask.
She moved away, and McG refocused on his CO.
"I've got to get a look at you, Top," he said softly, waiting for Adam to pull his hands away on his own. A beat of silence, then Adam slowly released his hold and moved back against the wall, a hand immediately covering his eyes.
The first thing McG noticed was the healing bruise just under Adam's chin. Alarmed, he leaned in, palpitating the area to make sure there wasn't any lasting damage.
Didn't seem like anything life-threatening.
"When did you last eat and have some water?" McG asked, lightly inspecting the many cuts. He bit back a hiss at the layers of thin scabs and dried blood that littered Adam's skin.
"Last night? Maybe," Adam croaked, wincing against the rough sound. "Not sure. Don't know what time it is."
Nausea burned in McG's stomach, and he kept a comforting hand on Adam's forearm as he continued his inspection.
It was hard not to notice how Adam seemed to lean toward the touch.
"Here," Amir mumbled, uncapping his canteen to offer Adam a drink. The blond drank slowly, pulling away after a several small gulps.
"I know it's not great, but I'm going to need you to take your hand off your eyes so I can take a look, okay?" McG coaxed.
Adam took a deep breath, then peeled his hand away, eyes still closed.
He looked sickly and wan. Dark circles stood out against pale skin, and his face seemed thinner.
Whispering an apology, McG opened Adam's eyes one at a time, forgoing the penlight to instead rely on the existing wash of light. His pupils still reacted and there was nothing too concerning, but Adam hissed at even the slightest shine of light, shutting his eyes again as soon as he could.
Satisfied that Adam's eyes were healthy, McG wrestled with his next question. But he had to ask. "How long have you been in here?"
Adam's eyelashes grew suspiciously wet, but he swept away the moisture with a quick swipe of his hand. "Seven days, I think."
The nausea was back, but McG tamped it down, focusing on the task at hand.
"How long have I been missing?"
The question was quiet. Unsure.
McG swallowed, letting his right hand rest on Adam's shoulder. "Nine days."
"Then it must've been eight and half."
At first, McG didn't know what Adam meant. Then it clicked. And he followed Adam's math.
Eight and a half.
Eight and a half in a small, dark box.
With a huff for strength, McG turned away to dig into his bag for some kind of power bar. But as he pulled one, then two, hands toward his task, Adam stiffened with a gasp.
"Please, don't—" he whispered, stopping abruptly with a grimace.
McG jerked his hand back to Adam's knee, realizing his mistake. "Sorry, man. I'm still here." The medic looked to the closest person for help—Amir.
The ex-spy held a knowing gaze beneath a smooth mask of anger.
Like he had some idea of what Adam had been through.
Amir moved to dig through McG's pack, seemingly knowing what was needed, while McG quickly looked away. Suddenly, the air felt stifling. He needed a minute.
"Hey, Jaz, could you . . . ?" McG asked, nodding toward his hand, attempting to wordlessly communicate.
She understood immediately.
Dropping to her knees, she took one of Adam's hands in hers, resting her other hand on his shoulder.
And McG gracefully slipped away and out the door.
Get it together, Joseph.
He brushed a hand through his hair, trying to pull the torn bits of his emotions back together again. "Fuck."
Footsteps echoed behind him, and he turned just enough to see Preach approach.
"You good, McG?" Preach asked, his low voice gentle and concerned.
"Eight and a half days, Preach," McG muttered, dropping his hands in defeat. "Eight and a half days in complete and total darkness."
Preach's mouth hardened into a grim line, his gaze steady. But he said nothing.
"I mean, besides the vitamin deficiencies, do you realize what that means?" he croaked, leaning against the wall. "The psychological effects this could have on a person?"
Preach tilted his head, his eyes growing softer as he watched the medic.
"Imagine not talking to or seeing another person for over a week. Or the sky. Or anything." He shook his head, clenching and unclenching his hands. "Imagine weaponizing a person's right to privacy."
Preach dropped his stare at that, picking up McG's alternate meaning.
Imagine being alone in the dark for so long, you fear even a second more of it.
McG shook his head, tugging himself from the troubling line of thoughts to shift gears. "I'm not sure yet if Top can walk out of here on his own. But it'll take a bit for him to adjust to the light outside."
"Tell us what to do," Preach replied. He offered a sympathetic look before turning back to Adam's cell, silently beckoning McG to come with.
McG followed.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Adam squinted harshly against the light of the house as Jaz and Amir helped him up the steps. He felt unbalanced and out of sorts, somewhat surprised by the warmer temperature of the stairwell.
Was he really free?
He felt the hands on his arms and back, but it didn't seem real. And yet, it had to be.
He was sure he was going to die there.
He was so sure he'd never see the sunlight again.
As they got to the top, he stopped, trying to see through narrowed eyes.
"Here," McG muttered, and Adam felt glasses being gently placed on the bridge of his nose.
Sunglasses.
He opened his eyes a little wider, taking in the reds, the blues . . . the colors.
The images.
He found himself blinking against a new sheen of tears in his eyes, forcing the emotion back. Without realizing, his breath quickened, and he looked down at his fingers.
And he could see them.
Every finger. Every little cut.
He could finally see them.
Adam tried to stand strong against the barrage of emotion that weaved its way through his chest, but he couldn't help the blur of tears and familiar burn behind his ribs.
Things he never thought he'd see again . . . right in front of him. Friendly, warm hands on his arms and back.
He wasn't alone. In that little box.
He was free.
Among friends.
Adam cleared his throat to push the emotion back, clinging to a strong image—even as his shoulders shivered and shook.
He was stronger than this.
Had to be.
The hand on his left arm tightened, and Adam found himself looking into Amir's eyes.
Looking into someone's eyes for the first time in far too long.
And he could see the deep understanding in Amir's eyes. The companionship. The knowing.
Overwhelmed, he looked away.
"Let's just get out of here," he croaked, coughing some to disguise the emotion bleeding into his tone.
And they left.
Leaving the empty box behind.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Adam had stayed as strong as one could after such a lengthy ordeal. But they all knew he was barely keeping it together.
It had only been two days since they'd returned to base. Adam struggled to eat properly, and he often seemed skittish in the evenings. McG had run an IV on the transport home to combat dehydration and vitamin deficiencies. Health-wise, Adam was recovering well. Somehow, his cuts had stayed clean, and he hadn't ingested anything terrible while in captivity. If anything, he was a little thin.
But he was quiet. And uneasy.
The team had made an effort to drop the odd hand on his back or shoulders, trying to make up for the long deprivation of human touch and interaction. They spent a lot of time in the common areas, constructing warm, welcoming places for Adam to recover in. Even at the best times, he'd zone out or startle easily. Light still dug painfully into his eyes sometimes, and he often leaned further into an arm around his shoulders or a hand on his arm.
He'd been so isolated that he seemed eager for the many things he'd missed.
Like a brilliant sunrise. Or even a warm breeze on his face.
There was often a suspicious sheen to Adam's eyes in those simple moments. No one mentioned it.
But the nights were the worst. When the world grew dim and dark, Adam changed. He withdrew inwardly but physically migrated closer to the team. When he'd finally insist they all go to bed, he was the slowest to move down the hallway. And they'd all noticed his tense hesitation at the door.
And they'd noticed the light from under his door. On all night.
So when he awoke the next morning, he was perplexed to find his team dragging their mattresses into the indoor common area.
"Since we won't have missions for a while, we figured we had to keep up our tolerance of McG's snoring somehow," Amir teased with a lighthearted crinkle around his eyes.
Adam knew it was a blatant lie. But he went with it, relieved. No one mentioned what it was really about, even if they all knew.
And the day felt better. Safer. The darkness didn't loom quite so largely at the end of it.
When it was time to turn in, Adam still felt uneasy. But not like before. Because at least he wouldn't be alone.
"Well, this is nice," McG hummed, smirking up at the ceiling. "Feel like a kid again."
Amir was the last to climb onto his mattress, the lights twinkling above them.
Adam frowned. "Somebody going to turn the lights off?"
"Not a chance," McG answered curtly.
The façade cracked. The light tone thinned. Adam wrapped arms around his chest.
They all felt it.
And words rolled around in their minds, held back only by their own uncertainty.
Until Jaz couldn't take it anymore.
"We just . . . didn't want you to have to sleep alone for a while," Jaz muttered, eyes slowly tracing the ridges in the curved ceiling. "With the lights on."
Adam swallowed thickly, tears nipping at his eyes again.
Dammit. He usually had a better hold on his emotions. Not lately.
At night, when he was alone again, the same thought would invade his mind, pressing itself to the forefront. A memory. Something he was ashamed about.
He longed to tell somebody. If only to get empty reassurances. Maybe even a bit of human kindness. Support.
Maybe just to test the strength of his personal bonds.
"I gave up," he blurted, suddenly wishing it was dark. If only to hide himself away in a discreet corner. In case things didn't go well.
The silence that followed was tense, swirling with a myriad of emotions.
"What does that mean?" McG asked, his voice just above a whisper.
"I hadn't seen another face for days," Adam mumbled, injecting whatever strength he could manage into every word. "All I had to look forward to was chewing on a stale piece of bread twice a day."
He stopped, thinking back to the long, empty days. Darkness suffocating him in the quiet.
He continued. "I was counting mealtimes to try and keep track of the days. But after a couple days, it all started to blur together." Adam swallowed, staring into nothingness. "I thought it had been six days. And by then, I figured my chances were pretty low."
Another long beat of silence. Adam pushed away his own reluctance, making way for what he needed to confess.
"So I stopped drinking the water."
And eating the food.
The silence that followed was heavy. Strangely emotional. So unlike the silence Adam had felt in that little box.
"I don't think anyone can blame you for that," Amir said quietly.
And just like that, the mood changed. Unspoken agreement. Silent support. A quiet that moved like a comforting blanket, enveloping his shoulders with reassurance and companionship. The kind of quiet he longed for in that empty, cold room.
"I think we have a lot of time to make up for," Jaz muttered into the still night, shifting the topic slightly. As if she knew that's what Adam wanted.
The five of them stared up at the ceiling, drinking in the moment. Four basked in the presence that had been missing for so long. The fifth soaked up every sight. Every sound.
Every feeling.
This was home. Safety.
And he'd never take it for granted ever again.
Fin.