David Moody - Dog Blood

But why not?

Why shouldn’t I talk?

No one’s going to know, and what are my options? Do I lie here and starve to death or swallow my pride and cooperate?

No… no way… they almost had me then. That’s exactly what they want me to think. They’re trying to get me to crack under pressure and submit. Why should I? I’m stronger than all of them. I’ll outsmart them and outlast them. I’ll break them, not the other way around. When all of this is done, they’ll be the ones lying broken on the ground, not me. I’ll be standing over them, their blood on my hands.

Except right now I can’t stand up. Right now I can’t move. Right now I can’t do anything without that fucker Mallon’s say-so. For Christ’s sake, I’m lying in a bed of my own filth, and I can hardly think straight. I don’t know what time of day it is, where I am, who’s holding me here… and none of that’s going to change unless someone gives way. They’ve got nothing to lose. Unless Mallon gets some twisted kick out of doing this, if I die it’s just one less of us for them to worry about. But what really happens if I keep refusing to cooperate and fade away to nothing in the endless darkness here? I’ll never see Ellis again. Chances are I won’t find her anyway, but the fact of the matter is I’ll definitely never see her as long as I’m locked up in here.

And I need to eat and drink. The hunger hurts.

Going to do it.

I clear my throat, then stop myself.

More indecision.

Bottom line-what use am I to Ellis like this?

Someone has to give way.

I try to shout, but my voice is hoarse and hardly any sound comes out, just a pathetic, strangled whine. For a second I’m relieved; then I tell myself I have to do it. But now I can’t even build up enough spit in my mouth to make a decent noise. Frustrated, I try again, this time a little louder. I manage something that’s half a word and half a cough and immediately wish I hadn’t. I feel like a traitor, colluding with the enemy. Maybe that’s it? Could this place be run by Chris Ankin’s people? Are they testing my loyalty?

I wait and listen hopefully. Over the dripping of water I can hear distant fighting, the occasional burst of gunfire and shelling, a jet scorching through the sky. But the rest of this building is silent, quieter than ever. Am I on my own here? For all I know this might be the last occupied room in a crumbling ruin. Joseph Mallon might be long gone…

One more shout, this time so loud it feels like it’s ripping the inside of my throat apart.

I lie back on the bed, freezing cold, smelling of piss and feeling pathetic. Am I really stupid, naive, and desperate enough to believe that Mallon’s going to come back and feed me?! I yell again, this time more in frustration than anything else, then stop. Did I just hear something? It’s so quiet and faint that I convince myself I’m imagining it. No, there it is again… the definite sound of approaching footsteps. I feel relief and fear in equal measure.

Joseph Mallon marches into the room, carrying a flashlight. He shines the light into my face.

“Did you say something?”

I’m immediately gagged by my emotions again, too angry and full of hate to respond. He waves the light toward the food on the chair. It’s cold now, but I still want it. The light makes the water look sparkling, clear, and pure. He walks up to the window behind me, looks outside for a second, then turns around and shines the flashlight back at me again.

“I thought I heard you say something?”

Still can’t speak. The words are stuck in my throat, choking me. It’s like the strap across my forehead has slipped down across my windpipe, stopping me from speaking. I want to, but I can’t…

“My mistake,” Mallon sighs. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

He steps back out through the door.

“Don’t…”

My voice stops him. He turns back around to face me. The weak yellow light from the flashlight makes him look old beyond his years and tired, but slowly his expression changes from a scowl to a smile, which becomes a broad grin.

“Good man! I knew you’d do it!”

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t try to get me to talk like I thought he would. He doesn’t try more of his stupid mind games. Instead he just picks up the plastic bottle of water and squirts it into my mouth. It tastes so good… stale and warm but refreshing. I swallow and feel it running down the sides of my throat. Thank God…

The bottle empty, Mallon does the same with the cold soup, ladling several spoonfuls into my mouth. I almost gag on its cold and lumpy, gristly texture, but I force it down, knowing that every mouthful helps replace the nutrients and energy I’ve lost since being held here. As I finish eating he loosens the chains on my wrists slightly. They’re still attached to the bed, but at least now I have some limited freedom of movement. The relief I feel when I finally move my shoulders and arms is indescribable.

“Didn’t hurt, did it?” He grins before he leaves and locks the door.

I OPEN MY EYES again, and this time the narrow room is full of long shadows. Rain is hammering against the window, and the water in the corner is trickling constantly now, no longer just dripping. I tilt my head back as far as it will go and see that the board over the glass has been moved. Mallon must have done it when he was last here. It’s only been shifted slightly, but it’s enough to let dull shards of light slope across the opposite wall, stretching almost halfway from the window over to the lopsided crucifix. I must have been asleep.

Wish I’d never spoken. Feel like a traitor, like I’ve betrayed myself and my kind, like I’m somehow now less of a man because I spoke to Mallon. But if I hadn’t done it I’d probably still be in total darkness with my ankles and wrists bound tight and my stomach still empty. I tell myself that I didn’t give anything away (not that I have anything to tell) and I haven’t compromised anyone but myself. It’s survival of the fittest now, and if I stay stuck here like this I’ll be fucked when the next fight begins. And there will be another fight…

I can hear something happening outside, someone moving on the other side of the door. Suddenly it’s unlocked and thrown open and Mallon barges in, the loud noise startling me. I curse myself for not concentrating and realizing he was close. Can’t afford to let my guard down like that. Lying here I’m vulnerable and exposed. If he decides to turn on me I’m dead.

He puts a fresh bottle of water down on the chair, then locks the door.

“How are you this morning, Danny?”

I won’t answer. He leans over me and looks into my face. Instinctively I try to attack, forgetting the chains that still hold me down. My arms are yanked back down, my already aching shoulders feeling like they’ve been pulled out of their sockets. Mallon, standing a little farther back, is unfazed. Fucker. I want to see fear and hate on his face, but there’s nothing. More games. More fucking games.

“Let’s get some proper light in here so we can see each other,” he says, walking over to the window. He moves the board completely, and for the first time I can properly see every corner of the small rectangular room I’ve been held captive in. It’s grubby and well used, with dirty handprints all over the door like someone’s been hammering to get out. And the walls are pink, for Christ’s sake! Christ knows what this place really is. I know it’s not a prison (there are no bars on the window), but this room is definitely a cell.

Watching me with caution, Mallon crouches down at the side of the bed and reaches underneath it. He’s pulling on the chains, probably tightening them again. He gets up and moves away, and I find that I can now move my left hand with a little more freedom than before. He tosses me the water. I’m just barely able to catch it, open the lid with my teeth, hold it to my lips, and drain it dry. I crush the empty bottle and throw it back at him with a flick of my still-restricted wrist. Smug bastard just smiles.