Chapter 2
Atrophy Rated PG
Darkness has a life of its own, secret and veiled. Irina had been living in the dark for days. She was beginning to know the smell and texture of darkness, heavy and velvety and dangerous. She had lost track of the hours that she had spent in the dark. She was beginning to find comfort in the dark; she felt more aware than she had in years.
The darkness was becoming a blanket, warm and enveloping, helping her drown out all that her heart was screaming. Loss, grief, pain, heartache. Her arms were forgetting the feel of being around those she loved. Irina desperately tried to remember the smoky, salty smell of Jack after lovemaking and the airy, clean scent of Sydney's hair.
She looked into the darkness at her hand, seeing the faint outline. The old women and gypsies used to tell her that if she tried hard enough she could see her aura in the darkness. Red, they told her, was the color of her aura. Dangerous and deceitful, but with the power to change everything. Irina had laughed at the description the first time she had her fortune told. She was 16 and her friends, Svetlana and Masha, took her on a dare. Only now, in the darkness, did she agree. She was dangerous, deadly, and that is why she was confined to this dark, cold room.
The first days of her confinement, Irina had desperately waited for those tiny shafts of light that would filter in when she was given food. The ache she felt when the light was gone and the anticipation of seeing color again made the minutes seem like hours and the hours seem like days. Now, some unknown time later, she had stopped looking for those rare small shafts of light that would filter in under the door. Her eyesight had become so accustomed to the dark that she was began to wonder if any one had ever taken the time to notice the variety in the shades of black and gray that the darkness held.
She likened herself to a cat, with her new night vision. She would become a new secret weapon. Who needs night vision goggles when Irina can see things so easily in the dark now?
Irina was still separating herself from her last incarnation and it was not easy. And she wondered if that was why she had been placed here. She was being forced to forget the life she had. She had to return to Irina and shed Laura's skin. Instead of being here in the dark, Laura would rather be curled up in the big bed at home with Sydney breathing heavily in her sleep, sprawled between herself and Jack. But here she was, Irina, chained to the bed like an animal. Khasinau had often told her that she was forgetting herself and her mission, that she was becoming soft and American. Here, in the dark, she needed to be strong and enduring and Russian. Her blood was colder now, not constantly warmed by Jack's touch. Her mind was turning tough and sharp and deadly, instead of soft and nurturing as with Sydney. Irina knew that in order to survive, she needed to remove and compartmentalize and forget. And she was trying.
She had lost track of the days since she had been put on a plane, still shivering from the icy water, back to Mother Russia, armed guards at her sides. As the plane touched down on Russian soil, little had she known that that day was the last daylight she would see. She was immediately blindfolded, pushed into a car and driven for hours to meet a waiting plane. Another small plane ride in the dark and another car ride had brought her here. Wherever here was. She was placed in this room and then left alone. Meals arrived at random times, never on a consistent schedule. The food was always the same, so she could not identify the time of day by the meal given her. Her body had developed its own circadian cycle to adjust for the lack of the influence of daylight and night.
This was only to be the beginning, Irina knew. The KGB had volumes of written and unwritten methods to entice the cooperation of its citizens that were detained for their own good. They were watching her, she knew, she felt. She rarely spoke, in order to keep them out of her mind. She spent hours prowling her room, doing as many exercises as the chain would allow. She meditated, and when she could she slept.
After the twenty-fifth meal she stopped smelling her unwashed scent.
Some time after her thirty-third meal she stopped longing for a bath and fresh clothes.
However, sleep and dreaming were her downfall. Irina's subconscious would not let her forget about those 10 years. It knew that during those 10 years, Irina had felt the closest thing to freedom since that first ride on a horse. She hoped that her sleep did not betray her. She hoped that she didn't call out in her sleep, reaching for those now out of her grasp.
Somewhere during this metamorphosis, anger had pierced into the fringes of her thoughts, slowly penetrating and filtering through her memories. Hate for her superiors who gave her the assignment in the first place. She loathed America for its wealth and opportunity, for its modern conveniences and its lightness. She resented American people for their open smiles and their perpetual optimism. Fury seethed under her skin at Jack for being so easily deceived and for loving Laura. She felt anger at herself for responding to Jack and the life he offered her. She disgusted herself for wanting it again. She had been so careless and weak, getting pregnant and falling in love with their daughter.
Around the ninety-eighth meal she didn't care any more.
And then after her one hundred and fifteenth meal, the door to her cell crashed open and blinding light filled the room. She cowered in the corner, shielding her tearing eyes with anything she could. She felt the chain fall away from her ankle, and she was brutally pulled from her sanctuary.
TBC
Atrophy Rated PG
Darkness has a life of its own, secret and veiled. Irina had been living in the dark for days. She was beginning to know the smell and texture of darkness, heavy and velvety and dangerous. She had lost track of the hours that she had spent in the dark. She was beginning to find comfort in the dark; she felt more aware than she had in years.
The darkness was becoming a blanket, warm and enveloping, helping her drown out all that her heart was screaming. Loss, grief, pain, heartache. Her arms were forgetting the feel of being around those she loved. Irina desperately tried to remember the smoky, salty smell of Jack after lovemaking and the airy, clean scent of Sydney's hair.
She looked into the darkness at her hand, seeing the faint outline. The old women and gypsies used to tell her that if she tried hard enough she could see her aura in the darkness. Red, they told her, was the color of her aura. Dangerous and deceitful, but with the power to change everything. Irina had laughed at the description the first time she had her fortune told. She was 16 and her friends, Svetlana and Masha, took her on a dare. Only now, in the darkness, did she agree. She was dangerous, deadly, and that is why she was confined to this dark, cold room.
The first days of her confinement, Irina had desperately waited for those tiny shafts of light that would filter in when she was given food. The ache she felt when the light was gone and the anticipation of seeing color again made the minutes seem like hours and the hours seem like days. Now, some unknown time later, she had stopped looking for those rare small shafts of light that would filter in under the door. Her eyesight had become so accustomed to the dark that she was began to wonder if any one had ever taken the time to notice the variety in the shades of black and gray that the darkness held.
She likened herself to a cat, with her new night vision. She would become a new secret weapon. Who needs night vision goggles when Irina can see things so easily in the dark now?
Irina was still separating herself from her last incarnation and it was not easy. And she wondered if that was why she had been placed here. She was being forced to forget the life she had. She had to return to Irina and shed Laura's skin. Instead of being here in the dark, Laura would rather be curled up in the big bed at home with Sydney breathing heavily in her sleep, sprawled between herself and Jack. But here she was, Irina, chained to the bed like an animal. Khasinau had often told her that she was forgetting herself and her mission, that she was becoming soft and American. Here, in the dark, she needed to be strong and enduring and Russian. Her blood was colder now, not constantly warmed by Jack's touch. Her mind was turning tough and sharp and deadly, instead of soft and nurturing as with Sydney. Irina knew that in order to survive, she needed to remove and compartmentalize and forget. And she was trying.
She had lost track of the days since she had been put on a plane, still shivering from the icy water, back to Mother Russia, armed guards at her sides. As the plane touched down on Russian soil, little had she known that that day was the last daylight she would see. She was immediately blindfolded, pushed into a car and driven for hours to meet a waiting plane. Another small plane ride in the dark and another car ride had brought her here. Wherever here was. She was placed in this room and then left alone. Meals arrived at random times, never on a consistent schedule. The food was always the same, so she could not identify the time of day by the meal given her. Her body had developed its own circadian cycle to adjust for the lack of the influence of daylight and night.
This was only to be the beginning, Irina knew. The KGB had volumes of written and unwritten methods to entice the cooperation of its citizens that were detained for their own good. They were watching her, she knew, she felt. She rarely spoke, in order to keep them out of her mind. She spent hours prowling her room, doing as many exercises as the chain would allow. She meditated, and when she could she slept.
After the twenty-fifth meal she stopped smelling her unwashed scent.
Some time after her thirty-third meal she stopped longing for a bath and fresh clothes.
However, sleep and dreaming were her downfall. Irina's subconscious would not let her forget about those 10 years. It knew that during those 10 years, Irina had felt the closest thing to freedom since that first ride on a horse. She hoped that her sleep did not betray her. She hoped that she didn't call out in her sleep, reaching for those now out of her grasp.
Somewhere during this metamorphosis, anger had pierced into the fringes of her thoughts, slowly penetrating and filtering through her memories. Hate for her superiors who gave her the assignment in the first place. She loathed America for its wealth and opportunity, for its modern conveniences and its lightness. She resented American people for their open smiles and their perpetual optimism. Fury seethed under her skin at Jack for being so easily deceived and for loving Laura. She felt anger at herself for responding to Jack and the life he offered her. She disgusted herself for wanting it again. She had been so careless and weak, getting pregnant and falling in love with their daughter.
Around the ninety-eighth meal she didn't care any more.
And then after her one hundred and fifteenth meal, the door to her cell crashed open and blinding light filled the room. She cowered in the corner, shielding her tearing eyes with anything she could. She felt the chain fall away from her ankle, and she was brutally pulled from her sanctuary.
TBC