It had been a nightmare. An endless nightmare. And Luka struggled to waken from it. First had been the dream itself - the same dream he'd had a hundred times before, and before he had begun to dream it, of course, had been the reality. Then had come another reality that he had experienced before, of hands trying to press him into the dirt ... into the bed, of his own voice screaming in terror - panic - out of control, fighting desperately, until hands too strong for him to fight had tied him, bound him, and he couldn't fight any more. He could only scream. Then a fog, a heavy fog where there had only been terror, where voices sometimes spoke to him, where hands, gentle but still horrifying, still touched him, where he knew only fear and the awareness that it was all happening again; that he hadn't been able to leave any of it behind in Africa.

Finally the fog had thickened, and he had slept. A dreamless sleep.

He wakened again. His body ached with fatigue. The clock on the wall said 2:30. The light from the window told him it was the next day. Gillian was asleep in her chair. He remembered all of it. It had been better, he thought, when he hadn't remembered. When was it all going to stop? He remembered having asked Gillian that question. He remembered that she had given him no answer. He remembered sobbing helplessly, knowing that it would never stop.

No, there was an answer. DeRaad had been right. There was only one way he would ever be able to make it stop. He had to face his demons. However painful it might be, it could not possibly be worse than going through this, night after night, day after day.

But could he do it? Was he really strong enough? Could he talk about the things he couldn't even bear to think about? The things that sent nausea through him when he even tried? The only time he'd been able to talk about them, even a little bit, had been to Carter, that one time - when he had known that death would soon come to free him from the memories, that he'd never have to think about them again. Now there would be no such guarantee, no such promise. What if the talking just made things worse? Just caused him more pain? Could he bear it? He still felt himself so close to the edge of his sanity. He was barely holding on. Would this be enough to push him over the brink, into an even more horrible darkness?

A soft whimper of fear slipped out. And Gillian was awake in an instant. "Luka?"

"I'm ok," he said. "Did I miss PT this morning?"

"Yeah, you were sleeping. You needed sleep more than anything else. We're going to skip your afternoon session too. Allenson thinks you aren't quite up for it today."

"I ... I want to."

"You'll start fresh tomorrow. You won't get much done, and you can hurt yourself if you're too tired." She gave him an encouraging smile. "Are you hungry?"

Luka wasn't hungry; he recognized the familiar nausea from Kisangani, but he nodded. He had to start getting well. He couldn't go backwards again, into the darkness. "I missed lunch, didn't I?"

"And breakfast. I'll go see if I can find you something."

Luka was alone. He struggled to think of something cheerful, anything at all. He didn't want to watch tv. There was no newspaper. There was a book on the bed-side table. Where had it come from? It was the one Susan had mentioned the other day. Had she brought it? Had she been here? When?

A knock on the door. DeRaad. A wave of nausea.

"You're early."

"I wasn't busy." Carl pulled the chair up and sat down. "You had a rough time last night. I've been by a few times already, but you weren't in any shape to talk." Luka nodded. "Has anything like that happened before?"

"Yeah ... once ..." Luka could feel his breathing quicken. He wasn't going to talk about this. Carl wouldn't make him remember that, talk about it? He couldn't start with that part ... he knew he had to talk about it, but there had to be an easier way to start, an easier way to do this. "Could I get some ... medication? Paxil maybe? I think that might help."

"I may put you on meds eventually Luka, but not yet. What you are experiencing is a very normal short-term response to the trauma you went through. It's something you need to deal with, work through, not cover up with drugs. In a few weeks, if you still need medication to help you cope, we can discuss it then."

"I just want it to stop. I just want all of it to stop."

"All of what?"

Luka didn't answer. Carl waited patiently. Finally Luka said, barely audible, "I couldn't make it stop ... any of it ..."

"Make what stop, Luka?"

"The pain. It hurt so much. I couldn't make it stop."

"When?" Carl's voice was almost as quiet as Luka's. Luka didn't answer. He couldn't. He was shaking too hard. He tried to make himself stop shaking, wrapped his arms around himself. "What was hurting?" Carl asked. "Who was hurting you?"

No... he couldn't go there. No yet. Carl couldn't make him talk about that part. Not yet.

Luka finally said, "It wasn't so much when ... they were ... hurting me. That part didn't last so long, and I knew I would die, and it would have to stop." Luka was aware that he was slowly rocking back and forth, but he couldn't stop himself, and Carl didn't try to stop him. He just listened calmly. "When they were done, they just left me there ... to die. But I didn't. I didn't die. There was just pain ... for so long. I couldn't get away from it no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't make it stop.

"It was days ... Carter said it must have been 4 days, maybe 5 ... I'm not sure how long I was conscious ... it was at least a few days. I remember it being daylight, and then it was night. That happened a few times... going from day to night and back again. I couldn't see ... I thought I was blind ... but Angelique said my face was so swollen when they found me, I probably just couldn't open my eyes enough to see very much. I couldn't really see, but I could tell when it was day, and when it was night. The darkness looked different."

Luka fell silent. He was exhausted. This had to be enough for today. Carl couldn't expect more. He'd been talking for an hour, surely. But no, the clock showed, unbelievably, that less than 10 minutes had passed since Carl had come in. And the psychiatrist wasn't going to let this be enough.

"You were alone all that time? There were no other prisoners there?"

"Not ... alive. At first, the others were still alive. I remember Patrique calling me. But then they came in ... I heard shots; gunshots. They killed them. I think they all ... died quickly. I remember people crying, asking to be spared ... but after all the shots were done, it was quiet. There was just me."

"Why didn't they shoot you? Do you know?"

"Why bother? I was already dead." He had stopped rocking, stopped feeling. He was just talking now, saying words. It was easier when he didn't feel, didn't think.

"So the others weren't ... beaten?"

Luka shook his head. "I don't think so. At least ... not like I was."

"Do you know why?"

"Charles said it was probably because I'm ... western ... it's dangerous there for westerners. They wanted to make an example of me."

"And what do you think?"

Luka just shrugged, shook his head. After another long minute he whispered, "I don't know." The pain was coming back. He could only stay numb for so long. He looked at Carl for the first time. "I'm tired. And can you see what's keeping Gillian? She was supposed to be getting me something to eat."

Carl sighed. "Ok, Luka. You get something to eat, then get some sleep. We made a good start. I know this is hard, but it will get easier, and you'll begin to notice a difference soon. It's going to help. I promise."

"Yeah..." Luka shut his eyes and waited until he heard the door open and then shut again.