реальность
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She was so damn real.
I could see her. I could feel her. Her skin touched mine. I could feel the warmth of her. I could smell her, sense her proximity, feel her breath on my skin.
Ever since they tore her away from me - in my thoughts - I've been sitting in my cell, telling myself that she wasn't real. They were giving me drugs that made me hallucinate.
And to prove it to myself, I keep remembering the things that happened on the most awful day of my life:
I remember Kate's phone call, telling me that Audrey was dead. I remember seeing Cheng again, my nemesis. I remember the moment in which I swung the sword, cutting his head off. The blood. His blood. For so many years I had wanted to have his blood on my hands, for a change - in the end I even kept my hands clean.
He died too quickly. He didn't deserve that kind of a death. But back then, I was blinded by rage. Almost like on the day when I went to avenge Renee. Seeing my loved ones die makes me a murderer. I was a homicidal maniac when Renee died, and I was in the same mood when Audrey died.
The only difference was, that when Audrey died, there was nobody to let my rage out on. I killed the guys on that ship. But when Cheng's body lay there, in front of me, the mission was fulfilled. There was nobody else to kill, even though I could have gone on for hours, if not for days.
It took me long to get off that trip. To calm down.
When I exchanged myself for Chloe, I secretly hoped that I could take my anger out on the Russians. Nobody would blame me for defending myself after getting captured.
But the Russians were too good. They knew who I was. They put me in chains and always had three times the number of guards around me than they usually had.
I tried to fight them, in the beginning, but after a few weeks in prison, my anger calmed down.
Everything changed. It was like a sudden realization: I would be locked up forever. Life in prison, and then death in prison. There was nothing that I could do about this.
Heller was about to step down. And with him, my last chance on friends in the U.S. administration was gone. Nobody was about to miss me. Since I don't have any valuable intelligence information, they are not even afraid of me being in the hands of the enemy.
That was when I started to think about death, and the life after death.
Audrey told me that I had given myself up. Was she right?
Probably. I've really given myself up. I let them do whatever they want to do. I can't change it anyway, so why fight it?
When they come to pick me up again, I just stretch out my arms and let them cuff my hands. Let's get it over with.
They lead me back to their interrogation room, make me lie down on the table and strap my limbs to the table.
Then comes the IV.
I hate it. It's painful. That I've given myself up doesn't mean that I don't feel the pain. I do. It's horrible. I would scream if I could breathe well enough, but I can't. At least I can cry. I can't stop it, I can't choke it back.
They leave after a few minutes.
I'm alone in the room.
It doesn't take long for Audrey to appear.
She stands there, a few feet away, but she's slowly coming closer.
Audrey..., I breathe.
Don't talk. It'll only strain you, she answers.
I see that she wants to lay her hand on my shoulder, but something keeps her from doing it. Why isn't she coming over to me? She could help me.
Audrey... pull the IV out... please, I manage to say. I see how she tries to stretch out her hand to help me, and pull the needle out of my arm, but she can't reach me. Something holds her back.
The drugs blurred my vision. I can't even see her clearly - and I can't really say what's holding her back.
I can't see you suffer like this, she cries.
It's okay.
I's not. I'll make them stop.
I freeze. How will she make them stop? How?
I'll talk, she whispers, and then she turns away. Is she really calling for them now?
Audrey... Audrey!
Oh god, am I crazy now? Why is the picture in my head suddenly interacting with the guards? They haven't even asked me a single question yet. What does she want to talk about?
I watch her back. It's all a blur to me. She seems to be talking to someone. Must be another product of my imagination.
Where did this other one suddenly come from? I didn't hear the door being opened up. Well, I can't tell for sure, because I can't really see anything that is more than three yards away.
Suddenly a hand grabs me by my arm.
I turn around.
It's the Chinese Burke.
He removes the IV from my arm. It will take a while until the pain stops, but I'm already feeling better, knowing that the supply of drugs has been stopped for now.
Slowly it's getting easier to breathe.
I feel them loosening the shackles around my legs and my arms- that doesn't change anything. I am way too intoxicated and way too weak right now to use that moment.
Throughout all the confusion, I try to search for Audrey.
Usually, her picture disappears instantly, when there are others in the room.
But I can still see her. She's standing there, with her back turned at me. I only see her long blonde hair. She's talking to someone.
I let them do with me whatever they want. Right now, I only have eyes for her.
She turns around for a last time, and then she walks away, together with the other one.
I hate it that she leaves. It makes me feel alone instantly.
Somebody heaves me off the table and then they drag me back to my cell.
Every other day I'm getting crazy more and more. I'm losing it.
I know that I'm starting to mix up reality and my illusions.
She can't be here, no she can't.
I saw Heller cry. I saw her coffin. Mark was there, crying for her. Even I did the same.
They wouldn't make such a mistake. They can't be wrong.
No, she's not here.
Sitting in my cell, I wonder why the torture has already stopped for today. Audrey told me she would talk. Then it stopped.
I have a look at my left arm. There is a little bloody spot, of where they put the IV in.
I can't believe what's happening.
I can't believe why they stopped already for today.
There is only one possible explanation in my mind, but this can't be the right one.
I'm losing it. I must be losing it.
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