Torture is mentioned in this chapter. Nothing graphic
Lucas wiped a hand across his face and shook his head. "Harry, I… we dated… I loved her, I still love her. How can she not be real, you're not making any sense. I don't know want what game this is, Harry. But it's going to stop, now." Lucas snapped out angrily. "Maya is in trouble, and I need you to help me get her out of it."
"Lucas, you were tortured extensively while you were in prison," Harry said, ignoring Lucas' outburst. "Your interrogators would have uncovered John Bateman. They would have used that knowledge to keep you loyal to them. They would have released you much sooner if they had that kind of hold over you, if they knew what kind of man John Bateman was."
Lucas rubbed his forehead as the pain throbbing in his temples intensified.
"Think, Lucas," Harry appealed, reaching across the table to imprison one of Lucas' wrists in a vice like grip. "There was no Maya Lahan at Leeds University."
"But I searched her on the database. You've just confirmed what I found." Lucas replied in growing frustration.
"Who did you know whose birthday is on 29th September?" Harry asked earnestly, his grip loosening on Lucas' wrist. "It was her, not this Maya that you dated at University. She was your first serious girlfriend. You told me about her, Lucas. You drifted apart when she started her residency at Bart's. Come on, man, think! They kept the information the same, to reduce any flags it may throw up in your subconscious. They just changed her location, changed her name to the one you had been told to recognise."
Lucas wrenched his wrist from Harry's grip and dug the heel of both palms against his eyes, his fingers digging into his scalp.
"They? Who are they, Harry?" Lucas replied, anguish lacing his tone. "I don't know who you mean." He pulled his hands away from his face.
Before him Harry had placed a photograph that had been in the suitcase that Edwards had given to Lucas on the bridge. Lucas reached out a trembling hand to drag it closer. It was a photograph of him and Maya, but it wasn't Maya in the picture. The woman smiling up at him was tall and slender, her dark brown skin colour contrasting with his pale white. Long black hair cascaded down her back, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
"This is the original," Harry said. "The ones in the suitcase Edwards gave to you were photo shopped. They were very well done," Harry conceded. "This one," Harry tapped the photograph, "is still on the University of Leeds photography club's website. I expect the others they used were just as easy to find."
"Christine Owino," Lucas stated, recalling his first true love. He'd enjoyed University, free from his parents rules. Forging his own place in the world. Christine taught him how to love, and to be loved. They were both inexperienced sexually and they had learned together how to reach the heights of pleasure. He smiled as he brushed a gentle thumb over her image. "She had seven brothers …," he trailed off as pain stabbed at his temples again. The pain slicing through his brain like white hot knives. He squeezed his eyes shut, as he fought to control the agony. "Christ!" He clutched his head as images flashed through his mind, tearing and fragmenting. Sliding away like smoke, before solidifying into terrifying reality . He didn't see or hear Harry stand up and call out his name in alarm.
"What is your name?" The question is in English, but with a heavy Russian accent.
"Lucas North."
Pain slices through him. His muscles cramping painfully as electricity courses through his body. He can feel his heart thumping too fast in his chest. He can even hear it over his screams.
The pain stops as suddenly as it started. He slumps in the chair he is tied down in. He can't help but tug at the wrist restraints, desperate to be free, uncaring that he bruises and tears the flesh. The leather strap across his chest restricts his breathing as he tries to gulp in air, his heart still beating too fast.
"Who is this?"
A hand grabs his hair and yanks his head up. A photograph of a young woman is thrust into view. Lucas tries to shake his head, but the grip on his hair is too tight.
"I don't know," he answers honestly. His voice hoarse.
His head is released, but is brutally punched in the stomach. He can't double over because of the chest strap and it bites into him, making breathing even harder.
"Her name is Maya. Maya Lahan." he is informed. "You love her very much. You were at University together."
Lucas can't recall ever meeting anyone of that name, certainly not at uni.
"What is your name?"
"Lucas..."
A fist to his jaw. His teeth tearing into the inside of his cheek. The taste of blood.
"Your name is John. John Bateman. Why do you persist with this Lucas North lie? What is your name?"
"Luc..."
Electricity surges through him again. He shakes in uncontrolled agony.
"John!" He manages to scream out. The electricity stops.
"What is your name?
"John."
"John who?"
"Bateman. John Bateman," he hoarsely whispers out.
"Good." The voice sounds pleased. A gentle hand pats his sweat-slick shoulder. A moment later a tin mug his pressed to his lips. He drinks greedily. The cold water soothes his burning throat.
"Who is this?" The photograph again.
"What is your name?"
"Where did you meet Vaughn Edwards?"
"Where did you plant the bomb?"
"Who is this?"
"You lied to Harry."
"Your murdered Lucas North."
"Where did you bury him?"
"What is your name?"
"Bateman. My name is John Bateman."
Lucas flinched as a hand touched his shoulder.
"Bateman. John Bateman," he repeated louder, desperate to avoid any more pain.
"Lucas. It's Harry. You're in London. I need you to snap out of it."
The voice sounded like Harry's.
"I'm right here. Next to you."
Lucas opened eyes he hadn't realised were shut. The dark concrete walls of the Russian interrogation cell gave way to a large bright warehouse, it's plasterboard walls stained and peeling, tall windows covered in dust and cobwebs. Lucas realised he was sat on the floor in a corner, his back pressed against the wall. His arms were tightly wrapped round his knees. He turned his head to the left and saw Harry sat beside him, his hand still gently wrapped around Lucas' shoulder.
"Harry?"
"Welcome back," Harry replied. Although he smiled, concern coloured his words.