The Prisoner Project

FOURTY ONE

"Sometimes your heart needs more time and pain to accept what your mind already knows."

FOURTY ONE

THE HEAT WAS EXCRUCIATING. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead and chest before settling in the dents of my collarbone. Hank had uncuffed me momentarily so I could take off the sweater I had been wearing. He was being fairly reasonable considering the circumstances and I believed it was because he had now personally witnessed the gravity of my grief.

"Is he already in there?" I queried, unable to put up a fight anymore. The words that Hank had whispered to me had taken me over the edge. Banshee was going to be uncuffed.

There was nothing else anyone could have said to me in this moment that would've brought a reaction out of me.

I was completely drained.

Hank didn't respond to me, only jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Go in and wait."

I sighed, readjusting the straps of my tank top. Gosh, has it always been this hot? I wasn't sure if the heat I was feeling was coming from within me or from the tense atmosphere. My hands trembled against the door handle and when I pushed it open, I nearly sagged in relief because it was empty.

Slowly but surely, I begrudgingly sat down on the chair and placed my handcuffed hands on the table. How ironic was it that I had become the person on the other side? I was the prisoner. I nearly scoffed. The cuffs had begun to leave bruises on my skin and I tried to focus my thoughts on the pain of it all. Anything to take my mind of what was yet to come.

I began to mentally draft the monologue I was going to present to Banshee. I memorised the script, and was determined to put on my best performance. Even if he hurt me, mocked me or broke me afterwards, I would die happily knowing that I had given my best show of my life.

This fact didn't stop me from being utterly terrified though. Banshee inherently provoked fear in me. He had me wrapped around his finger.

I glanced up to check the time and gasped. The walls of the room had been stripped bare. There was no clock, no security cameras and no window pane between me and the empty chair before me. It was as though they had packed up their props and stored it away for another time.

After all, the show was over. There was no longer a Prisoner Project to perform for. All that remained was the treacherous journey to my demise. My protection and safety had become mythical creatures.

I sagged against the chair.

I sat in that room for hours, waiting and waiting for something to happen. I glanced back at the door I had come from and felt uneasy. What was going on? I pushed back the chair and made to leave the room but something told me that I wouldn't be able to leave. This long wait wasn't coincidental. Without needing to check, I knew the door was locked. It no longer served as an escape for me. It stood like one-way ticket designed keep me in place.

The absence of the clock made everything move a little slower. A minute felt like thirty, and thirty like sixty. Why were they making me wait? I had no idea. I picked at my nails, ridding them of any polish that had coated them earlier in the day. I wanted to stand up and pace but I didn't know when those other metal doors would slide open and Banshee would reveal himself. I wanted to be ready.