Mary McDonald - No good deed

Mark straightened as much as he could and looked him in the eye. “I know what you’re going to do. I dreamed it. So, let’s just get it over with.”

Eyes narrowed, Bill stepped right up to Mark and jabbed him in the chest with his finger. “Oh, you do, do you? Tell me about it.”

Mark opened his mouth to recount his dream, but snapped it shut. If he told them, he might change things. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t have the water poured in his face, but then what? This was his chance to prove what he said was true. “I can’t. Not yet. I…I could write it down for you, and put it in an envelope. You could seal it, and when we’re…done, you could read it.” He swallowed and tried to control his trembling. If he survived, he would have his proof.

Bill looked at the other men on the team. One guy shrugged, tore a sheet of paper off his pad, and slid it across the table with a pen. Bill grabbed them. “Fine. Let’s do that.” Pointing towards the eye bolt on the floor, he barked an order to the guards, “ Release that, but stand by.”

Relief at the chance and dread at what was to come, warred within him as he was shoved onto a chair. Closing his eyes again, he pictured everything. When it was clear, he wrote it as a quickly as he could, trying not to leave anything out. He told of the plastic wrap, and how the water had been ice cold. He recounted all the questions asked of him, and even a snide comment made by one of the guards when he’d called Mark a drowned cat. Bill would say how Jim would be sorry he’d missed all the fun. His hand shook as he wrote that part.

Mark wrote of how the water had run out by the time the guard had counted to forty-four and Bill had sent someone for more. He came back with a full pitcher, and Mark recalled the next nineteen seconds. How Jim had burst through the door. He didn’t remember any more of the dream, but hoped that would be sufficient. When he’d finished writing, he had filled the front and back of the yellow paper. An envelope was pushed across the table and Mark folded the sheet and tucked it in. His mouth was so dry, he had trouble forming enough saliva to wet the flap, but managed to seal it.

Bill made a show of taking a piece of duct tape and sticking the envelope to the wall where Mark would be able to see it as he underwent the interrogation.

The guards pulled him to his feet, and dragged him to the spot, stretching him out and strapping him to the board. The scene played out just as he saw it in his dream. Mark heard the rustle of the plastic, but before he could react, a guard ran the clear wrap over his eyes, tightened it around his head, brought it down over his mouth and continued winding until only his nose was uncovered. He gasped for air and the plastic tightened across his open mouth, forcing his lips against his teeth. Already feeling like he was suffocating, Mark tried to turn his head. The cuffs ground into the bones of his wrists and ankles. He struggled, unable to stop himself.

Mark gagged and gasped as the torment progressed. The counting by the guard filtered through his panic, the only thing he had to hold on to. When the count reached nineteen in the second round, the torment would end. One way or another.

His hearing faded and darkness crept into the edges of his vision. Jim leaned over him, his mouth moving, but Mark’s world faded.

Mark’s eyes rolled back. Jim tore at the plastic, his fingers slipping against the wet film. “Goddamn it. Someone help me before he dies.” He hoped he wasn’t too late. Damn traffic.

The guards stooped, one working on the wrap, while the other released the shackles. When they rolled Taylor onto his side, water poured from his nose. Jim pounded on the unconscious man’s back and was rewarded with a weak cough, then a stronger one as more water drained.

Relief swept through Jim as he knelt on one knee. Taylor gagged and choked, then his eyes fluttered open. Thank God. Jim stood, fury rising in him, replacing the relief. Turning towards Bill, he ground out, “What the hell were you doing?”

Bill glared back. “I was interrogating the subject. What does it look like?”

Ignoring him for the moment, Jim addressed the guards and pointed to Taylor still lying dazed and gasping on the floor. “Take him to the infirmary and have him checked out.”

Jim faced the interested expressions of the others in the room and strode to the table. How the hell could these guys just sit here and watch? None had bothered to help make sure Taylor didn’t die. It took every shred of his self-control to speak in a calm voice, “If you would all excuse us. I need to confer with Bill. I’ll let each of you know what is going on as soon as possible.”

Dr. Weiss, the medical expert on the team, looked like he was going to argue, but Jim gave him a hard look. “You have an objection, Doctor?” He, of all people, had the duty to make sure no lasting harm would be done. And yet, here he sat, looking befuddled.

The other man stood and shook his head as he gathered up his papers. “No, but I wanted to let you know about the unusual circumstances before the interrogation began.”

Jim leaned on the table with both hands. “What kind of circumstances?”

“The subject insisted that he knew what was going to happen, and he asked to write it down and put it in a sealed envelope.”

Dr. Weiss pointed to the corner where Mark was now standing on trembling legs. The guards shackled him, and Jim had to bite his tongue to keep from telling them not to do so. Protocol had to be followed. Mark had recovered enough to send a hate-filled glare in Jim’s direction.

“The envelope hasn’t been touched since Bill taped it there. I’m curious and I’m sure the team is as well.” The other two members hesitated at the doorway.

At a tearing sound, Jim looked over his shoulder to see Bill yank an envelope off the wall. Jim straightened and held his hand out. “I’ll take that.”

Bill’s mouth set in thin line, but he gave Jim the envelope. As the senior member, Jim had the authority. He knew it rankled Bill at times, but this was the first time he had seen outright anger. He decided to spare Bill any further embarrassment and nodded to Dr. Weiss. “Thank you for telling me about this. I’ll let you know if it’s pertinent to the investigation.” He waved a dismissal to the others.

Jim would have liked to open it with Taylor present, but that would mean the guards would be privy to the contents as well only he had a feeling that this information should be kept secret. He nodded towards Mark. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

It was the closest he could come to an apology. The anger in Mark’s eyes wavered, and then his shoulders slumped. The guards led him away.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Bill sprawled into a chair, pointing with his chin at the envelope in Jim’s hands. “The guy was a real pistol tonight. Told me to just get it over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“What we were going to do. Claimed he dreamed it last night.” Bill clasped his hands behind his head and grinned.

The hairs on the back of Jim’s neck rose and he paused as he tore the seal. “He said that?”

“Yeah, but he wanted to write it down instead of telling us. I decided to go along with it. Thought maybe he would write something useful while he was at it.”

“Huh. Well, let’s see.” Jim unfolded the paper and smoothed it on top of the table. The handwriting scrawled across the page, but it was still clear enough to read without any problem. Taylor had outlined in stark detail exactly what was going to happen.

Jim read it and slid it over to Bill. “I wasn’t here for most of this, so, I don’t know if he’s right or not. What do you think?”