The Wars That We Fight

Chapter Ten

(Author's note: Wow, ten chapters already! Can you believe it? We can't. We really hope you're still enjoying what you're seeing here, and whether you are or you aren't, we'd love to hear your comments. If Simone founded the NNE, does that make her a terrorist, or just a victim of bad luck? Would you want Mr. Ribbel to be your father? As always, if you're enjoying our writing, we'd love it if you'd show your appreciation by voting. Thanks again for your support!

- E and A)

Gregory pressed his back to the cool and rough surface of the cell wall. There were two strangers sitting in the opposite corner, about half a metre apart. One, with an overgrown beard and a face melting with sweat, despite the frigid temperature throughout the facility, had lifted his eyes from the floor to the cell door to behold the newcomer as well as he could in the darkness. The other did not stir. The shadows of the corner concealed the figure mostly, leaving Gregory to imagine its features.

He sat on a what was either a bench or a bed. He couldn't be certain. It was sometime around lunch by now, and Gregory waited in silence for the guards to come around with meals, avoiding the curious gaze of the bearded man, and trying to keep his mind entertained to stop himself from wondering if he should have let them take his father.

But lunch did not come.

Gregory's eyes began adjusting to the light enough that he could discern shapes in the dark corners of the cell better. The second figure was thin, not skeletal, but certainly not healthy. The overall appearance was reinforced by his particularly sharp cheekbones, and protruding knees. His eyes were half-closed.

Evening came around, daylight melting out of the small, dusty window at the end of the hallway, which Gregory could only just see through the bars if he tilted his head at a forty-five degree angle. His stomach churning with dissatisfaction was one of the few audible sounds in the entire hallway of prisoners, and he was more uncomfortable than embarrassed, the hungry eyes of the man with the beard still watching him. He smiled ever so slightly, perhaps amused that Gregory's digestive system still had the nerve to protest. Somewhere down the hall, a low, grainy vibration—a hoarse throat humming a discordant tune—distracted Gregory from the biting acid in his stomach.

"That means dinner's comin'. He always starts hummin' just before they serve it out. Must be some kind a internal clock," The bearded man said at last, just above a whisper. "Always the same song, too. I think he lost it after he spending a year in solitary."

The corner of a loaf of bread, about as big as Gregory's fist, was handed to him through a hole in the door.

"Is that all?" He asked.

The bearded man nodded.

"Here," Gregory held it out to the thin, silent shadow.

At last he looked up, his face hard and empty. Then he looked back down at his feet again. After a moment, there was a very soft, barely audible, yet hysterical laugh, and Gregory was not certain if it was the bearded man or the shadow. He waited, uncertain, with his outstretched hand clutching a greasy crust of bread.

***

"Don't be alarmed, and please stay," Simone said.

Audra looked at the exit, then at the guard stationed in one corner of the room.

Simone continued, "Give me time to explain. I am not a terrorist. I told you that I've been forsaken by many, and it's true. With the first punch thrown by one of my supporters, the NNE lost a lot of credibility. It was the last thing I wanted. I told the person who had done it exactly how I felt, but the problem was deeper than I thought. The rallies just got worse and worse, and I was telling people all the time that we needed to be a peaceful bunch, but I was the one they locked up first. Do you believe me?"

Audra thought back to Anita.

"Yes."

Simone nodded, "Then listen while I tell you the more important story I've been waiting to tell all this time. Shall I begin?"

Audra nodded.