CELL

/ NINETEEN /

"I don't know."

He drew his head back as her hand was raised a second time, hard enough to slam it against the wall behind him. He swore and blinked away the pain. Bradley lowered her hand, its mission carried out by the building itself on her behalf.

"I really don't," he said, his voice strained.

"Then why would you mention her?"

"She... I..."

What did he say? The girl was an impossibility, yet she was real. They must know her. Oh, was she Bradley's daughter?

He started again.

"I don't know who she is. It's weird. She's weird."

"In what way?"

"I don't know. She came out of nowhere. Talking to me in that forever fucking darkness. She was just... weird!"

"Go on," Bradley folded her arms, obviously feigning patience.

"She kept telling me it's not safe. I broke out to try and find her."

"And to find a way out, of course."

"No! Well... well, yes. But it was her. She went from just speaking to me to screaming at me. Then she was everywhere!" He looked away from her, staring instead at the floor. "I must have just been dreaming."

"Well, you must have been, mustn't you?" asked Bradley. "A random girl is wandering between your little houses, chatting away when you know that's not allowed. Then she goes from just talking to screaming? And you think we wouldn't be aware? You think we wouldn't do anything about it?"

Ryan nodded. Of course they would. Muppet.

"So, what was her name again?"

"Clara. Her name was Clara."

"Do you know any Claras then? Does she remind you of anyone?"

"Well, no. I mean, I don't know."

"Why is that, do you think?"

"Because you stole my fucking memories!"

He strained forward, letting the chest band take his weight, yelling at her. Jarvis and Kravitz appeared and pushed him back by his shoulders.

"Let him go, it's fine. I shouldn't have goaded him like that."

The twins moved and Bradley took their place. She was close enough for him to smell her perfume and feel her breath.

"I apologise, Ryan." Her voice was soothing, and the apology sounded sincere. "My bad. I like to play, and I get carried away. Ask Peddy, here. Except don't. You don't speak to her. Not ever. But forget all that. I just want to help you. In doing so, you can help us, too."

"How? I don't even know what I'm doing here."

"I know, and I'm sorry. It's necessary, I'm afraid."

Ryan sighed. She wasn't going to tell him anything.

"Look," she said. "How about we start again, eh? Draw a line and move on with a fresh start. How does that sound?"

"I'd like that," he said. What other choice did he have? Until an opening presented itself again, he'd have to play along. Until some information was revealed, he'd have to be the dutiful prisoner. Keep calm and carry on like a good boy.

"Good," Bradley said, beaming. "Excellent, in fact. Then, that's what we're going to do."

"Thank you."

"No, Ryan, dear. Thank you." She clapped her hands excitedly. "Do you know how we do that here?"

"No, how?"

"Pick a number between one and ten."

Huh?

"Sorry?"

"Pick a number between one and ten. It's that simple."

A number was in his head instantly, as was a terrible image he'd forgotten about.

"Six," he said.

"Oh, perfect." Bradley raised her hand. In it, she held a surgeon's scalpel. "Clean up on aisle six!"

Ryan saw the blade, but didn't know how to respond. It was too unexpected. Too surreal. Then it didn't matter.

As casually as she had dropped the tablet, she drew the knife across his throat.

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