The Betrayal of Ka (The Transprophetics: Book One)

37. Brainwaves

Bjorn felt the sturdy grip of the man holding him in place. The bag that was slipped over his head was dusty and smelled of burnt oil. The vice-like grip on the back of his neck tightened as the van accelerated. Bjorn wanted to scream but was too scared to even form the sounds needed.

Wherever they went had been relatively close by. Bjorn's feet barely touched the ground as they walked him into a building and forced him up a flight of stairs. Not a word had been said in the few minutes since he was snatched out of the park. He was roughly pushed into a chair and could hear tape being ripped from the roll.

His legs were taped to the legs of the chair, and his arms taped behind the back of the chair. The adhesive, pulling tightly at his skin, hurt. The minutes seemed to tick by. He could hear whispers nearby but couldn't understand the language that was being spoken. Then there was silence. He couldn't tell if anyone was in the room or not. Bjorn tried not to cry, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't sure how long he had been taped to the chair when he heard the sounds of the men's voices again.

The light was dim in the room when they pulled the bag from his head. Four men, one of them significantly older than the others, stood regarding at him. They stared for a minute, not moving, not saying a word. They just peered at him with cold, uncaring eyes. Tighter and tighter, the fear gripped Bjorn, making him wonder if he would ever see his mom and Dylan again.

"What do you want?" begged Bjorn when he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

The older man sneered at him. Bjorn hated this man from the moment he'd seen him. He reminded Bjorn of some of the homeless men that would panhandle and hassle the kids on the busy street near his home. He looked gaunt, and his greasy hair clung to his head.

Another of the men began to chuckle. "Do you realize that we have members of three exploratory missions here in one room, and we've got a potential Transprophetic right here in front of us? What are the odds?"

Bjorn looked around, hoping to find something that would give him some clue as to what was going on. The room was obviously some type of industrial building. The ceiling was high, and the few old sodium lights that still worked barely lit the room. There were empty shelves along one wall, a stack of rusted 55-gallon drums, and doors on each end of the room. In front of the chair, where he was tied, stood a small table with a single rose and a large, unsheathed survival-type knife.

"As the senior member, Dr. Tarea, do you want the honors?" asked one of the younger men.

"Tempting for sure. I'd love to see what this little boy is made of," replied Dr. Tarea, "but I'd also like to see if you young guys have any new tricks up your sleeve, Commander Fahey."

The Commander gestured to another of the group, "Dr. Nadina, please, proceed."

Dr. Nadina took a step towards Bjorn, slapping him hard across the face. "Do you want me to hurt you little boy?" he asked.

Bjorn began to cry. "No, no, please don't hurt me."

"I'm going to carve your fingernails off of your thumbs if you don't do exactly as I tell you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I'll do anything." The tears streamed down Bjorn's face like a river.

"Lift the rose," commanded Dr. Nadina.

Bjorn looked at the man, wondering what he meant. "I can't. I'm taped to this chair."

"Just lift it with your mind, or I'll cut your ears off and feed them to you," threatened Dr. Nadina.

Bjorn looked at the man, his tears stopped flowing, and his fear replaced with curiosity and indignation. Could this guy be that stupid? "Untape me, and I'll dance around with the rose," Bjorn offered coldly.