hands. But the lack of circulation and the passive injuries weren’t enough. They’d smack her around a little too. And she’d say the same thing, over and over, until they left. Sometimes it took hours, sometimes it took minutes. They did it maybe half a dozen times before giving up.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have nothing to tell you. Let me be.
After that they didn’t push it. The damage had been done. Her arms had been bent at an almost unbearable angle behind her back as they stared down at her, demanding answers. She rubbed her wrists raw every time they cuffed her. Felt the blood run down her fingertips and drip onto the floor. She could do nothing but run her wrists under the water in the sink when they were finished.
They moved on, used other techniques. Some were tolerable but most were unpleasant. Caroline bore them the best she could. She’d get a pistol whipping now and then. Whipping wasn’t even the best word for it, because they would hold back from hitting her too hard. They never went too far, only occasionally reminding her that if they so desired, they could knock her unconscious or even kill her in a second.
The psychological games were even worse than the violence. Laughter in the hallways. Lights on and off for shits and giggles. Snippets of conversation, of shared vulgar jokes between crude and unrefined men. A reminder that human contact was a privilege, not a right. Aside from that, the guards left her alone until the morning two of them came for her again. It might not have been morning. She wasn’t sure. This place made her lose track of time.
They dragged her down the hall by her handcuffs. When she stumbled a couple of times they didn’t bother stopping. She didn’t recognize them and they hadn’t bothered introducing themselves. The agents she’d seen on the first day had yet to reappear. Too bad she was still stuck with Fischer.
Sad that she was disappointed at seeing unfamiliar faces. Not that it mattered; many of them looked the same. Middle aged white guys, rather nondescript except they all appeared to be giant douchecocks. Santos must have instituted some new affirmative action program for assholes. And fuck it all, she was starting to crave those little bits and pieces of contact she was granted, even when they were designed to tear her down.
They continued to drag her along until she regained her balance. They came to a door at the end of the hall, removed her cuffs, and shoved her inside.
“You get five minutes with him and then we come back,” one of them said.
A bright, almost blinding light came on. Caroline noticed a camera in the corner. No matter where you went in this place, you were being watched. A utilitarian office table and two silver chairs sat in the center of the room. One of them was occupied by a man she hadn’t expected to see.
“Bob,” she said.
The once proud Speaker of the House had lost about fifty pounds, which was about twenty pounds more than he could really stand to lose. His eyes were yellow and sunken. His clothes hung off him. Though his hands were clasped together and resting on the table, Caroline could see them shaking. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she was frightfully afraid to hear his answers.
Bob smiled wanly. “Hello, Caroline.”
She sat down across from him at the table and swept her fingers across his still tightly clenched hands. He had a number tattooed on his left arm like her. “Bob, what happened to you?”
“Nothing bad, mind you, I’ve been sick since I’ve been here. They’ve been nursing me back to health.”
A load of sweet, steaming bullshit to start their conversation. Caroline held her tongue. There was no such thing as a safe topic in this place, but she had to ask him. She needed to know. “Where’s Adeline?”
His eyes glazed over. “She’s dead.”
“What happened?”
“She got herself in some trouble, and she paid the price.”
Her voice was warning. “Bob.”
“She turned traitor,” he said. “She sold out. And they killed her for it. Goddamn bitch.”
Caroline’s stomach turned. Was he serious? She couldn’t tell. “You think she got what she deserved?”
“Goddamn right she did. Fucking turncoat.”
She’d heard him curse before but never like this, never against his own wife. “If you feel that way, why are you here?”
“I’m here to help you, pumpkin.”
She cocked her head. “Excuse