The Sound of Death

04

I swung my foot at the steel door, blinded by the darkness. 

"Open the goddamn door."

My voice was barely audible, drained and unmotivated. Entirely different from how I wanted to put it. An hour ago, there had been an illogical sliver of hope in the slit of lightly dense darkness that I assumed was the door. But now, darkness usurped it. Either way, there was not a whisper of movement from the receiving end. I was not surprised at the lack of response from my captivators. 

I vaguely remembered being tossed into this dark hallow. Like trash. Yes, that was exactly how those armed-to-the-teeth guards had held me as I tried to attack Dexter. When the door banged close, my parting eyes and then everything had gone blank. I couldn't remember how long I had been unconscious, but when I woke up I found myself alone, cold and hungry.

Ever since then, my mind kept spiraling over the incident at the interrogation room. I was unable to comprehend the reason for such an accusation. But above all, the vacant space residing like a stagnant halo on my brain, a chip that had lost all its memories, that was what troubled me.

"Anyone there?" I tried again, grateful at the tinge of clarity that shadowed my otherwise raspy voice. After a couple moments, I said, "We could talk it out, you know. Perhaps...a truce?"
There was no reply.

I sighed through my nostrils, the mist that clouded my face made me realize the sudden decrement of the temperature. Perhaps it had been this way since the beginning, chilling. Only now, I could discern between small things. The drenched clothes didn't improve my situation.
Sucking a deep breath and forcing my lids shut, I slid to the floor. A second hadn't passed when my eyes flew open with the hiss that escaped my mouth. Pain shot through my right thigh. My fingers were cold to the point of hurting against the burning, slightly bumpy area that bore the aftermath of Dexter's gun. I found nothing to nurse my wounded arm, and consequently allowed it to heal by itself. I pulled my knees to my chest, tender as possible, and rested my burning forehead on them.

Tears burnt beneath my closed lids, and I hugged myself tighter. I felt helpless, like a worm caught on the dead-end hook. Either way, I was going to die. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. To see me weak. If I didn't know better, I would think those piercing blue eyes were watching me, monitoring every insipid breath and movement, trying to find a clue. Perhaps, a loophole.
I cursed under my breath.

Where did I come from? Why can't I remember anything? Who were those two women? The innumerable questions rendered my brain fuzzy and suffocating, but it wasn't the reason why I wanted to do crazy things to myself. Like plug out my eye sockets or rip off my fingernails or pull out each strand of my hair strands. Actions that would cause so much pain that the thought of an empty brain would fade away. I couldn't think straight, much less answer the questions that bombarded my drifting conscience. 

"A truce sounds beguiling, regardless of our stead of luxury," said a deep voice in the gloom of my misery.

I opened my eyes, alert, and pushed myself behind till my back made hard contact with the cold steel walls. My heartbeat escalated, and I wondered if he could hear the rapid beating as I did.
"Who-who's there?" My head whipped sideways but I was welcomed with nothing but the never-ending darkness. 

There was no reply. 

As time passed, I doubted my conscience for hallucinations. And after what felt like eons of restless waiting, I concluded that my mind had taken the first step in the journey to insanity. 

"I." The voice was like velvet, rolling through my spine like a deathly caress.

I stood up, ignoring the ache ringing through my thigh.