"Are you awake yet, Dr. Zithers?" A rough and ill-used voice floated to her sleep muffled ears. "Turn on the light, so the good doctor may see."
"Where…" A blinding light blazed to life like a lightning strike, making her squint into the darkness that marked the circle of her newfound existence. "Where am I?" She finished. Her legs and arms didn't move when she willed them to and her head felt light someone had jack hammered on the back of it. "Why am I tied to this chair?"
"The questions you ask, although very relevant, are not the first questions I would be asking." The voice was harsh like the person behind it had drank and smoked their entire life and had done irretrievable damage to their throat, which they likely had. A puff of smoke went up into the air, the burning tip of a lit cigarette could be seen in the dark, but nothing of the man smoking it. "The question I would be asking is, what are you gong to do to me? Now I know that you're disoriented and confused about what happened, but I can't fill you in on any of that. Since I'm new here, why don't you fill me in on the events leading up to now?"
"Who are you? What have I done wrong to be treated like this?" Jerika tested the twine around her wrists and tried to stretch the bindings on her ankles. "I'm just a doctor…"
"Doctor of what? Psychiatry or a medical doctor?" The cigarette was stamped out on the floor, only to be replaced by another one. A brief flick of a lighter could be seen. "From what I've seen…and it isn't much…I haven't seen any kind of doctoring out of you lately."
"Psychiatry, of course." Jerika's voice sounded steady and sure, but her words felt hollow on her lips. She didn't feel like herself. Her eyes were downcast and her hair was messy around her shoulders. Nothing was organized and even her buttons on her blouse were askew. Feeling a bit peeved and angry, Jerika shouted. "I've worked at this fucking institute for over ten years and I've never once asked for a god damn vacation."
"A vacation? That can be arranged." Jerika heard the person chuckle. A door opened and closed and her interrogator spoke with a second unknown character for a few seconds. The second person left without a word to her. All the while, Jerika worked on stretching the twine binding her legs and hands to the chair. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you." A stream of smoke poured out of the strangers nostrils and into the light, but she couldn't make out any part of the strangers face.
"Do what?" Jerika gritted her teeth and tried to make it look like a gullible smile, but the twine was biting into the tender flesh of her wrists, making sticky trails of blood. "I'm not doing anything."
"I wouldn't struggle so much. I can tell by your face, that the rope is cutting off the circulation to your hands."
"What do you mean?" Jerika let out a heavy sigh.
"That twine is rather unremarkable, yet if tied the way I've tied it…any person trying to loosen it by struggling, only manages to tighten it further. That cuts off the blood to the hands and feet and eventually causes them to fall asleep and sometimes even cut into their skin, which can be quite unpleasant for you and myself when I have to cut the rope off. Besides, there is no knowing when or if I'll check to see if they're loose enough and you may just have struggled your way into cutting the blood supply off completely and I may have to amputate. But of course, you understand…blood poisoning and all."
Jerika stopped moving altogether and almost stopped breathing, but she felt the darkness creeping in and fought to keep her wits about her. "So, what do you want to know?"
"I normally ask the questions around here." The abrasive voice barked.
"Sorry."
"You're forgiven, since you're new to this." The voice said in cool detachment and stomped out the second cigarette butt in the same fashion as the first. "Would you like a drink?"
"I don't drink."
"Not even water? What a pity." The voice carried a trace of mirth and malice. "I'll leave you for a bit to think my offer over and I'll come back later."
"NO!" Jerika shrieked at the door, but it was already swinging shut. It clicked closed with a finality that made her want to weep. "Don't leave me here alone." The huge overhead light clicked off and she was pitched into all consuming darkness. "In the dark…"
A voice over a loudspeaker echoed through the empty stone cell. It was a voice she recognized. "You're not alone, Dr. Zithers. You're just in the dark, but if you want to light up the situation…you must tell us what you want. Do you understand?"
"Dr. Veresoli?" Jerika raised her head, tilting her right ear towards the hum of the loudspeaker. "Is that you Doctor?"
He answered her question with a question. "Do you understand?"
"Yes." She croaked. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, when she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. She wished she had that drink now. "I understand that you want information, but I don't know what kind of information."
"We want to know about Fisher." The person wouldn't admit to being Dr. Veresoli for some unexplained reason, yet she knew that voice to be his. He had been the one to train her at the hospital…her mentor. "Where are the notes you were supposed to take?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Jerika rested her chin on her chest and closed her eyes, not being able to penetrate the utter darkness that enveloped her. "I don't know any Sam Fisher. Is he a friend of yours?" She was simply stalling for time and they knew it. Jerika tried to breath deeply and evenly, so she wouldn't hyperventilate. "Is he a patient here, or something?"
"You're being tedious, Dr. I would have expected better than that from you."
"I was thinking the same of you." She looked in the direction of where she thought the men in white coats would be standing, behind a wall of protective glass. She couldn't see them, but she was sure they could see her. "I could use that drink now."
"We could use some information now, but our guest has consented to fetch you a glass of water. While we wait, why don't you tell me where your journals are?"
She shook her head. Remembering that she was in complete darkness she had to answer verbally. "I don't have any journals. I didn't keep any of Fisher."
"That's strange. A minute ago you didn't know anything about a man named Fisher and now you admit that you don't have any journals on him. What also is strange, is that you didn't write anything down during the entire time Fisher was here, since I know you're a devoted note taker in every aspect of your life and very organized…..I wonder what happened to your fastidious nature?"
The door to her cell opened and someone came in. A gnarled and dry hand took hold of hers and after a moment of examining her bindings in the dark, sliced through the twine with a razor sharp pocket knife, that grazed coolly against her skin. The hand was back in a flash and a glass of ice water was thrust into her upturned palm. She drank the water greedily and went to hand the glass back.
"Eat the ice." That same strange voice from before instructed her. "You'll thank me later."
She crunched the ice between her teeth and chewed slowly. The Person who handed her the glass smelled distinctly of old cigarette smoke and something she had recognized from her childhood, yet couldn't put a finger on. Jerika was free of the chair, but she wasn't free of her cell and in the dark, she didn't dare to walk around. The stranger was still in the room. Although she couldn't see her hand in front of her face, she could feel the presence of a second person skulking not too far away. She wondered why this person chose to stay in the absolute dark with her, instead of leaving for the room she knew held some light.
"Can you see me?" She squeaked, when a hand fell on her shoulder. "You can."
"We see a lot of things, Dr. What we don't see it your reasons for letting Fisher escape." That voice held more danger than a room full of razors, yet Jerika could not detect any anger in the tone. Just a quality of seriousness and an inflection of boredom, gave her ample reason to be afraid. "Start from the beginning and tell us what we want to know. Why did you come o work at the institute?"
Jerika cleared her throat and the hand was lifted from her shoulder. She felt like a huge weight had been lifted. "I came here to be a psychiatrist to these poor people. They were suffering and incurable, but I wanted to help. I thought I could ease their existence."
"Go on."
"After working here for a few years, I was contacted by…"
"We don't need names here. You were contacted. What next?"
She told them all of what she could remember, up until the part where Sam Fisher came into her life. Jerika had been reprogrammed to interrogate spies for the organization. She wasn't sure what organization, or who they worked for, but she was forced to do their bidding. After the initial shock of what she was doing to these poor people wore off, she became numb to their pleas and efficient at her job. Quite cold and calculating, she had gotten information from every man or woman they had given her. Sometimes it was easy and sometimes it had been hard, but she knew her business and her austere attitude towards the harsh realities of her profession got her many promotions. How else would she have gotten the position she was in now? Running a whole hospital full of loonies was no easy task. She took to the job like ants to sugar and the organization had deemed her the best. Of course her humanity still held and she would not use force or torture as a means of getting what she wanted. Nothing so base as bringing physical pain to people, would suit her. She had been recognized as a adder in her field. Sharp and quick minded, she struck at a person's psyche with precision blows.
"And Fisher? What was different about him? I'm sure you met some pretty impressive men in your life." The loudspeaker squawked.
