The Escape

Chapter 8

‘Where did he go?’

The other man’s voice is silent. I can hear my heart beat rise slightly. The cardiac machine hooked up to me mirrors my mounting tension.

‘There is no way of knowing. Perhaps your suspicions are true, maybe he is much sought after. Who would kidnap him anyway? It’s not as if he has any connections outside of the compound. No records of family calls, relations, friends. He received no letters throughout the duration of his stay. Evidence from his personal diary mentions nothing of family. His history is a blank slate.’

‘So he just crash landed from Mars and fell out of the sky, is that it?’

‘That’s not it. Please, I’m trying to think of who could have gained access to this room. There are obvious entry points. The door isn’t damaged. Whoever had entered the room obviously had a set of keys. The window is intact. No traces of interference.’

‘Want my opinion?’

The other man hesitates.

‘Yes, yes I do.’

‘I don’t think we have any idea who this person is because someone or some group of people don’t want us to know.’

‘Really? Why do you suggest that?’

‘His files are clear. Everything preceding his incarceration reads like a typical mid-20s administrative assistant working in a mediocre temp post in the city. It makes no sense. He went to school, got his degree, got his job. He had no reason to do what he did. There’s no motives, no definitive leads. I can’t make anything of it.’

‘So basically it was out of the blue. No motive, nothing.’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Great. Looks as if we have an easy job on our hands. Coffee?’

‘Love one. Think our friend over here would like one? Looks as if he could use it.’

I feel their eyes on me. Stay calm, don’t move. I can hear the machine speed up. I listen as their footsteps exit the room. The door closes behind them. The keys fiddle with the lock. I grip the sheets trying to remain still hoping the room is clear. Lifting the lip of the sheets from my face I can see the room is empty. I have to get out of here. I still know little of my past and from the sounds of it so do the investigators. ‘What do they want with me?’ I wonder, pulling the sheets off the bed. The moment I swing my feet to face the floor I shiver. Each muscle convulses in an effort to generate some heat. My upper arms ache throbbing with each beat of my heart.

Just as I set my feet on the floor the handle begins to jerk. My blood runs cold. I duck underneath the covers wrapping the edges of the sheet around me. The keys turn in the lock. Shutting my eyes I can hear the door swing open. ‘Hope they don’t notice,’ I think, listening to their footsteps as they enter the room.

‘Poor bastard,’ one of the men says.

‘I know. Hate to be where he is. Probably doesn’t even know what day of the week it is, let alone what month.’

‘Least he had a better Christmas than you.’

‘Would you stop? Don’t remind me. Can we just focus on our man here and how he escaped? I don’t think my wife’s cooking has anything to do with our investigation.’

‘Lighten up. It’s not as if he’s going anywhere. Look at him. He’s practically a doorstop. Probably hasn’t a clue where he is or how he got here. What do you reckon it would be like being him? Lying there, not having an idea about where he went to school, who his mother was, what happened to him.’