Three months later…

d1: + 3 months

d3: − 4 years, 3 months

Part II: Getting Used To It

Nick nodded a quick greeting to the guard, slid his card through the security slot and stepped inside. As always, he immediately felt his stomach slightly rumble and thought he could smell the musty scent of sweat, blood and fear hanging in the air, although he knew it wasn't possible. In the beginning he had thought the deceptive feeling would go away once he had gotten used to the surroundings. But it never did. Instead he had gotten used to the feeling itself. Maybe it was because he wasn't here on a regular basis, maybe it would never feel any different even if he was to spend every single day down here. The truth was, he didn't want to find out. He could handle things as they were and although he didn't like coming here, it wasn't affecting his work. A work he hadn't done nearly as long as it felt like.

He walked down the corridor and wondered who the interrogator would be. He could only hope it wouldn't be Morrison again. Last time he had been put on a case with him, they had gotten into an argument. Nick had suggested a different approach which Morrison, of course, had ignored. Sometimes he wondered why he was even bothering. As long as he wasn't really supervising and vested with the necessary authority, his presence felt oblivious. Morrison obviously felt the same. All you guys can do is sit there, and watch, and make your smartass remarks. But when it comes to the dirty part of the job, it's guys like me who have to do it. That's okay with me, son, I have done this for a long time. But what I really can't stand is when one of you' masterminds' wants to tell me how to do my job. He had said a lot more but it all came down to the same general resentment, and Nick knew why these sentences had stuck with him.

If it was up to him, he would let Morrison and his colleagues do their job and stick to his own instead. No problem. Be my guest. But sometimes they were called in as well and then it was suddenly part of his job too. In his personal opinion it was nothing but a waste of time at this stage of an interrogation, but orders were orders and he would do the best he could.

Fuck you, Morrison, he thought and opened one of the doors to his left. Go drown yourself if you can't stand it!

He entered the room and noticed his mistake the moment he recognized Davis who had turned around on his seat in front of the monitors.

"Sturges. Wrong door?"

"Yeah. I guess either they have to put bigger numbers on them or I have to put on some glasses," he said jokily.

"Don't think they're gonna pay for either one."

"Probably not," Nick agreed. "Who do you got?" he asked and turned to one of the monitors.

"Myers," the older one sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette. "I'm still trying to figure out if this assignment is a reward or a punishment."

"She still hasn't given them anything?" Nick asked, taking a look at the other screens as well. He hadn't followed her case, only picked up some gossip here and there. It was still being talked about.

"Nothing," Davis growled. "Piece of scum is tough. Drugs didn't work so here we are."

Nick nodded silently, watching her bare body hanging limply in the restraints. Her interrogator had taken a few steps away from her, giving her a moment to reconsider.

"Her sentence is due and we're running out of time."

Of course. They couldn't put it off forever. At some point they had to decide whether she would be imprisoned or executed. In both cases the questioning couldn't proceed like this. They needed results now. Some people were probably sweating.

He watched her interrogator taking a step towards her again and wondered how long she would be able to stand this. He knew he would have surrendered a long time ago.

"Yeah," Davis remarked, "me too."

Nick glanced at him and frowned. Sometimes he wasn't sure whether he should be impressed or intimidated by the older one. He knew they were all good at what they were doing but he also knew that no one could read people's minds. When it came to Davis though, he wasn't so sure anymore.

He watched him lighting up a new cigarette, although the other one wasn't finished yet, and turned back to the monitors.

"Didn't you do the first evaluation?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, congratulations. Seems you were right."

"About what?" Nick asked over the voice of the interrogator coming through the speaker system.

"Well, I can only imagine one reason why she's still keeping her mouth shut."

She's protecting her employer because she thinks that's the only way to protect herself.

"Did you act on it?" he asked, knowing the answer already though.

"Of course. But you know how it is." Davis sighed. "They didn't listen to Chappelle either."

Again Nick threw a glance at him. Of course he knew.

He hadn't been particularly keen on her case but he had agreed with Chappelle. We need an outsider on this. Someone who hasn't been working with her, who's not…familiar with her. That was why he had been called in that day three months ago. And Chappelle had wanted him to stay on the case but obviously been superseded, for what reason ever. And now Davis was handling her. Davis who had been with Division for so many years now, there was no way he hadn't been working with or come across her at some point. And despite the open demonstration of contempt and despise in his voice and face when he glanced at the monitors – it was neither pleasure nor just a job for him. He certainly didn't feel sorry for her but it was still affecting him. How could it not when you knew the person on the other side of the wall. And when Davis looked at him again, he probably saw it in his eyes, saw that Nick knew. And didn't deny it. Talking like he didn't care wasn't an act for anybody else, he wasn't trying to pretend. It was just his way of dealing with it.

Their eyes stayed locked for a while, silence fell between them. Until the cries of pain from next door filled the room and they both turned their attention to the monitors again. But Nick soon looked away.

"You have to get used to it," Davis nearly whispered, as always when he gave a piece of advice, his voice soft now.

"I'm late," Nick said and avoided the other one's gaze, wishing he was right. I wished getting used to it was the problem.

A last look at the monitors and he left, closed the door behind him and turned back to where he had come from. He had gone past the right door on his way, caught up in his thoughts about Morrison. Now, he had just reached it when a sound told him that someone was about to enter the corridor of Section C. Looking up he recognized Alberta Green. Being a person of good manners, he waited up to greet her.

"Nick."

"Alberta."

"I didn't know you were back on the case," she insinuated and reminded him right away why he still didn't like her.

"I'm not. I was just talking to Davis," he replied. But who would have thought you are. He wondered why she of all people had been put in charge of the investigation. Not only had she been involved in the events of the day, she also obviously had a past with Myers. He really couldn't see why the case was her responsibility now.

He watched her glancing at the door they were standing in front of. "Hirsh?"

"Yeah," he nodded and glanced at his wristwatch. About time he went inside. The interrogation was supposed to start in two minutes and he still needed to talk to the interrogator. Whoever it was.

"Tough case," she said with a businesslike expression but he could see the sneer in her eyes.

"Guess he's already waiting," he said and reached for the handle. "Alberta."

"Nick."

She walked past him and he glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head a last time. He still didn't get it, but he had to focus on his own assignment now. Checking his watch, he realized he just wanted to get out of here and see a part of the world that was still sane. But where would that be.

¤¤¤

She only realized she had passed out when she came to again. The pain kicked in immediately and made it meaningless that she was left to herself for a few seconds. She couldn't feel better at the small break.

Well, that's not exactly the idea either. He was just giving her body a moment to reorient. To make sure she would stay awake for a while and not pass out again right away. He's not here to make you feel better. Although he kept saying so.

Don't listen, she kept telling herself. Don't listen, don't pay attention. But it was hard. Not to listen to him was easy, but not to listen to that other voice inside her head, telling her to give them what they wanted, to make it stop, that was the hard part. Reminding herself that talking wasn't gonna get her anywhere, wasn't gonna get her anything. It would only make things worse. They hadn't offered her a deal yet and they clearly weren't going to. So if she told them now, she would only have blown her chances to maybe have some leverage one day to get herself out of here. Her employer wouldn't break her free but if she sold him out and ever managed to walk, he would be there and wait for her.

Not if you help them to take him down, the deceptive voice told her, but she was still strong enough to dismiss it. They wouldn't be able to take him down. At least not in time. She couldn't take the risk and it was not an option anyway. Taking one man down wasn't gonna save her.

The pain finally silenced all objections, getting too powerful to ignore it any longer or have any complex thought beside it. She didn't even try to tell herself she had gotten used to it. Maybe she had gotten used to the procedure, the humiliation and the techniques, but that didn't lessen the pain. The only thing that did was the sweet relief of passing out. But it never lasted long enough.

She felt him stepping closer again and tried to prepare herself, knowing it was pointless but trying nevertheless. What else could she do?

Hold out, she repeated what seemed to have become her mantra. You can hold out.

Her chin was lifted up to make her look at him but she avoided his eyes and looked past him, shaking all over, glancing at the cameras. She's watching, she reminded herself.

Alberta had been interrogating her personally until now, and in a way it had been the best thing that could have happened to her. Not to let the drugs break her under Alberta's watchful eyes had been a challenge Nina had taken up willingly and that had boosted her motivation and her resistance. Now Alberta wasn't in the room any longer, for obvious reasons. She wouldn't want to get her hands dirty like that. But Nina was sure she was watching.

You really think you can take this much longer, Nina? Her condescending question the last time she had seen her.

Yes, she could. Because it couldn't last that much longer. She wouldn't get a proper trial, of course, no jury, no court. But they still had to have a hearing and sentence her, and it would have to be soon. Something in Alberta's appearance had told her. She's worried. Which could only mean one thing: she was running out of time. And now here they were.

"Wanna try again?" her interrogator asked, his hand still around her chin, and she let her gaze return to him, her entire body trembling, fear and pain clearly visible in her face.

Hold out. Just a little longer, just a little while…

"Just tell us what we need to know, and all of this will be over," he encouraged her, his voice a bit softer now, lower, almost a whisper. As if he was conspiring with her, making her an offer. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You're just delaying the inevitable. You can make it stop. It's all up to you. Just give us a name."

She closed her eyes again but he shook her to make her stay with him. "Come on. Do you really need this? You don't belong here. You didn't go through all the trouble to end up like this? Here? Don't you deserve better?"

She didn't answer, and he watched her a little longer before he lifted his arm, slowly, to make sure she would notice.

"If that's what you want," he said with a disappointed expression, and was about to inflict new pain on her when she stopped him.

"Alright."

He looked at her, frowning, maybe not sure what she had said. Her voice had been brittle, she had barely heard it herself, weak, a mere croaking. "Alright," she repeated, making an effort to clear her throat, swallowing with some trouble. "Alright," she breathed, mouthed, closing her eyes again.

Assuming she was about to faint, he let go off her and turned away. A moment later, she felt a water bottle being brought to her lips. Almost caring he held her head while he poured the liquid over her dry lips and into her mouth. Of course he cares. He wouldn't want her to pass out when she was just about to start talking.

But the bottle was gone again a moment later, and she licked her lips, opening her eyes and meeting his.

She mumbled something he couldn't possibly understand, causing him to lean closer.

"Thank you," she croaked, and the way he quickly removed his hand from the back of her head and blinked told her he was uncomfortable. It was probably the last thing he had expected her to say.

"You wanted to tell me something," he tried to pass it over but she had no such intention.

"It's different, isn't it?" she slurred her speech, causing him to respond the way she wanted him to."What?" he asked. She didn't care if it was out of curiosity or because he wondered if she was delirious.

"I bet it's harder to torture a woman," she whispered, studying his features.

He stared back at her, trying not to let her words affect him, maybe realizing his mistake. But it was too late. She could see it in his eyes and hurried to push him further.

"Does she know what you do for a living?"

It was a risk, nothing but a guess. But taken aback, he quickly glanced down at his hand. As if to check if there was something giving him away, a ring he might have forgotten to take off. There wasn't, of course, but his reaction had been clear enough and looking up again he clenched his teeth at the realization that he had just confirmed he was usually wearing one. Married or engaged then.

"Are you gonna tell her when you get home tonight?" Nina continued, knowing she could very well make things worse for herself. But what did she have to lose? "What you've done today? You think you can look at her, touch her without remembering?" she kept going, not sure how long her voice would bear, taking a moment though to hint a smile. "You think it's gonna be the same?"

Another mere guess. She didn't have to be the first woman he was torturing. But it still was the exception rather than standard and there was a good chance this was new to him.

His stare intensified and she wasn't sure if he was going to hit her or stagger back. If it was the latter, she might have gotten to him and maybe he would step down. If he was going to hit her though, she could only hope she had pissed him off properly and that he would send her into unconsciousness quickly. Mainly because she wasn't keen on taking more pain than she had to, but also because it would mean that he had lost his temper. And that would most likely get him relieved and replaced by someone else. Either way, it would buy her some time. Not much but it might just be worth the trouble.

"What's her name?" she asked, knowing it was crossing the last line there was, bringing his personal life into this room, into his work. And if she had been a guy, he would never have let it happen. So this really was new to him. Still waiting for his reaction, she wondered if that was gonna comfort either one of them.