From: cheryl492@aol.com Message-Id: <9307122255.tn07455@aol.com> Date: Mon, 12 Jul 93 22:55:39 EDT Subject: Prisoner Just a quick note - Wasn't planning on posting this, but Beth Hlabse insisted that I do. As always, I'd appreciate comments! Cheryl Bellucci cheryl492@aol.com ---------------------------------------------------------- Prisoner Cheryl A. Bellucci I've leaped. At least I think I have. It's dark, I can't see anything. And I can't move, no wait, maybe just a little. I'm sitting down, my hands are behind me, tied together, back up against a flat surface. My feet are tied at the ankles. I can move my legs, but not very far. Is that a wall just beyond my feet? And on either side of me? Maybe I'm in a closet somewhere. I try opening my eyes wide, and my eyelashes brush against something. I must be blindfolded. I open my mouth to speak, but gagging reflexes respond to the wad of material in my mouth bound by another strip of material. Calm down, breathe slower. It's warm in here, but there's plenty of oxygen in the air. The choking sensation stops, and I concentrate on breathing through my nose. I strain to hear voices, sounds, anything, but nothing pierces through the darkness, except for my own breathing, and the sounds my feet and hands make as I "explore" the tight confines just beyond my body. It is warm in this place, I'm starting to sweat. Occasionally I forget about the gag and have to fight to keep from choking on the rag in my mouth. My hands are getting numb, I try flexing my fingers to keep the circulation going. Too late for my feet, my toes are already asleep. Who am I? What did I do to get "myself" into this predicament? And who put me here? Time passes, I'm sure, but how much time? How long has it been since I've leaped in here? Minutes? Hours? Days? Where's Al? He should be here by now. Is something wrong? So many questions dancing around in my head, but no one to ask. Slowly, I am aware of "It". "It" starts as a mild nagging in the back of my head, like an annoying little headache. As more and more time passes, "It" gets larger, not so much an annoyance now, but a very real presence. Involuntarily, my heart beats faster, and I must concentrate very hard to slow it down, but as more time goes by, "It" starts taking over, exploding my heartbeat and making it harder to breathe without choking. Suddenly, "It" attacks. I can see "It" just as plain as if I were outside on a bright sunny day. "It" rises in front of me, big, huge, bathed in terrifying colors. "It" covers me, choking me, and I fight to back away from "It", but there is nowhere to run, even if I wasn't bound. Pounding in my head matches my thundering heartbeat, and "It" won't allow me to breathe. I kick out, but that doesn't stop "It"s assault. I can feel the ropes cut at my ankles even through numbness. "Sam!" Al's voice rings through the darkness, slicing through "It" and causing "It" to shrink away, but I am still gagging. "Sam." He repeats my name again, a little lower and slower this time. "Calm down, concentrate on your breathing. It's okay, Sam, you're just having a panic attack. C'mon buddy, you're going to be okay. Slower, breathe deeper. That's right." Al's soothing voice chases whatever remnants of "It" away. My heartbeat returns to a more normal pace, and although my head hurts, the pounding ceases. I can finally breathe without choking. My body is drenched in sweat. "Okay, Sam. Good. Sorry about my late arrival, kid, but Ziggy decided to pull a monthly self-maintenance this morning, and she's been shutting down different functions since. When we found out just what shape this guy was in, I couldn't get to the Imaging Chamber until that stubborn computer you created 'reconnected' herself, as she put it. How you doing, now, better?" I try to nod and realize my body is one big ache. "Don't move, kid, relax. That's it, just lean your head back against the wall. This leap was a real puzzler for a while Sam. We couldn't figure out why you're here." I almost smile at the tone and composure of Al's voice. Usually Al rambles and trips over colorful phrases, sometimes racing to the end of sentences, always using his hands for emphasis. But now it seems he's concentrating on keeping an even, steady pace to the words he speaks to me, almost like someone telling a bedtime story. "Then we checked on what happens to this guy a little while from the time you're here. Which, by the way," Al interrupts his own story, "is November 12th, 1966. Your name is Fred Janowitz, and you're a wealthy businessman. You've been kidnapped and held for a very healthy ransom. But you don't really have to worry about that, the kidnappers get caught, and the police rescue Fred unharmed, in about..." I hear the familiar chirps and squawks of the handlink, "uh, an hour or so. Well, as I was saying, we weren't really sure what it was you were supposed to do." Listening to Al's voice, I get sleepy. Although it is already dark around me, I close my eyes. Instead of sleep, "It" begins another assault on my muffled senses. I can still hear Al, but "It" creeps up behind me, seeping through the wall. I jolt forward to escape. "Sam!" Al shouts at me once more. "You have to keep listening to me!" Once again, "It" shrinks from Al's counterattack. "Sam, I know you can't say anything. Just listen to me. And stay awake. That's very important." Al's voice returns to its previous cadence. "This Fred, he never really recovered from being stuck in this, this," Al pauses, "place. He loses his business, and eventually commits suicide." I can fully understand what happens to Fred, and I wonder how I will fare once I have leaped. "So, Verbena's talking to Fred right now. He's really upset, but she's good, I think she can work him through it." Al is suddenly quiet, and I cock my head to hear if I've missed the sounds of the imaging chamber door. "No, I'm still here, kid. You know, when Fred was stuck here, he didn't have anyone to talk to him. I'm not going anywhere, Sam, I'm staying here and talking until you leap. You're gonna get really tired of hearing me." I slightly shake my head. 'No, Al', I think, 'I won't get tired, just keep talking.' As Al speaks, I feel my body relaxing again. Al talks about the Project, about how we started, occasionally asking me a yes or no question and pausing until I respond to him in some way. Time passes again, but it is not the null, empty void I was lost in before Al showed up. Suddenly the handlink chirps again, and I jump. "It's okay, kid. Good news. The cops are on their way up. You should be out of here soon." For a second or two, my dark world is silent again. "You know, Sam, I never really figured out how to repay you for everything you did to help me. Just a simple 'Thank you' never seemed to be enough." 'Al,' I am thinking, wishing I could speak these words outloud, 'if ever you have thanked me, these last minutes were proof.' As I hear sounds just outside the prison I am in, the icy fingers of a leap run up and down my spine. I welcome their cool intrusion, they signal an end to this frightening experience. The blue brightness explodes through the darkness, and as my body is wrenched into the nothingness between leaps, the last thing I hear is Al's voice. "See you on the other side, kid."