Come home
Again, dark. If I carried this chapter on much longer, it would be an M.
11/5/98
The silence was starting to get to Adam now. No one had come in since Josif... He didn't really want to think about that. How long had that been? A day? Two? He couldn't look at his bruises to tell. There wasn't enough light . No one had taken him out to a bathroom either. He'd been stripped to a T-shirt and boxers anyway, and they'd dried out quickly enough. He was past noticing the smell.
He was currently trying to remember the names of all the boys who'd played rugby with him when he'd been in upper sixth. He'd spent ages trying to remember the who the hooker had been, before realising it had been him. He was surprised he'd forgotten, given the teasing he'd endured for it, presumably like every hooker before and since. What was currently evading him was the name of the fly half. He couldn't remember for the life of him if it had been Robert Matthews or Matthew Roberts.
The door creaked open. Adam recoiled from the sudden light. Five shadows, talking amongst themselves. Someone else had turned up. A new interrogator? Bad.
"This is your last chance, Adam Carter." That was Shouter's voice. "Your last chance to talk without significant pain." Adam stared at him deadpan. That was just talk. Shouter sighed. "Brace his head, but leave his mouth." Something to hold his head still. This was about to get a lot more technical than generalised beating. It had dental torture written all over it. An ache started under Adam's molars. Hands grabbed his shoulder. He bit one of the wrists, hard. Its owner shouted a curse. A fist impacted the side of Adam's head. A face came in to his field of vision. Johnny. Johnny Delmare. Adam stared hard at him, he had to recognise him. There was nothing in Johnny's eyes. He was good at his job.
The brace itself was not intensely painful, but Adam's mouth was dry, he was cold with dread. Shouter stepped forwards, nodding to someone standing off to Adam's left. A red light started to blink in the dark. A camcorder. They were going to record this. The sick bastards, they were going to record this. Adam's chest was rising and falling rapidly. His palms were wet.
"One more chance, Adam Carter." Shouter growled, waving what looked like a DIY drill in front of Adam's face. "I think you know what I will do. I can see that you are afraid. All you have to do is give me names. I will give you food, water, let you move around, wash yourself. But you must give me names. If you do not, you will suffer so much." Adam stayed silent, eyes stinging, mouth dry, gasping for air through gritted teeth, knowing what it would cost him. Shouter sighed. "Bind his mouth."