[Bad Feelings]
Two weeks, and everything was fine. Two weeks and it seemed like her feelings of dread were unfounded. Two weeks with two weeks to go and everything seemed right on track.
Then everything went to hell.
As she sat in the cell she'd been put in, her hair only slightly dirtier than her skin, she shivered once. A slight breeze filtered in from the open, but barred, window high above her and she looked around. There was still no one there to watch over her. Of course, with most of the prison underground, she supposed there was no need to guard her constantly. There was nowhere for her to go.
After three days and two nights in that cell, they'd come and removed her slacks and blouse. Her shoes had been taken from her immediately and she'd held out a small hope that certain indignities wouldn't be visited on her. That night was much colder and she'd sat in the corner with her arms wrapped around her legs. Cold she could deal with, even small humiliations. It was the larger threats she wasn't looking forward to.
When the questions came, she answered as best she could with answers that ranged from "acquisitions specialist for the Smithsonian Museum" to small trivia designed to test her knowledge on the art she'd been sent to supposedly acquire.
It didn't matter what she claimed, though. In the end, they called her a spy and the beatings began. Not too bad at first, more of what she'd received in Somalia. When that didn't work, when she fell to the ground, they held her up and continued. The questions never changed, and neither did her answers. Somewhere in the haze, when she lost track of time, she remembered what she'd been told about being dispensable and she knew she was seeing it in action.
It had now been five days since her last scheduled check in.
________________________________
The man made his way up to the seventh floor, smiling and flirting along the corridors as he did so. Auggie Anderson had female friends everywhere it seemed. When he got to Clayton Webb's secretary, however, the smile dropped and he informed her that he needed to see the man inside the office immediately, then stepped forward without waiting to be introduced.
"Deputy Director Webb?" He tilted his head slightly and then shut the door behind him before moving across the room. "Of course you are. The soap. Annie's changed over the last few months-" His voice trailed off and he became serious again as soon as he stopped across from Webb's desk. "We need to talk."
Then everything went to hell.
As she sat in the cell she'd been put in, her hair only slightly dirtier than her skin, she shivered once. A slight breeze filtered in from the open, but barred, window high above her and she looked around. There was still no one there to watch over her. Of course, with most of the prison underground, she supposed there was no need to guard her constantly. There was nowhere for her to go.
After three days and two nights in that cell, they'd come and removed her slacks and blouse. Her shoes had been taken from her immediately and she'd held out a small hope that certain indignities wouldn't be visited on her. That night was much colder and she'd sat in the corner with her arms wrapped around her legs. Cold she could deal with, even small humiliations. It was the larger threats she wasn't looking forward to.
When the questions came, she answered as best she could with answers that ranged from "acquisitions specialist for the Smithsonian Museum" to small trivia designed to test her knowledge on the art she'd been sent to supposedly acquire.
It didn't matter what she claimed, though. In the end, they called her a spy and the beatings began. Not too bad at first, more of what she'd received in Somalia. When that didn't work, when she fell to the ground, they held her up and continued. The questions never changed, and neither did her answers. Somewhere in the haze, when she lost track of time, she remembered what she'd been told about being dispensable and she knew she was seeing it in action.
It had now been five days since her last scheduled check in.
________________________________
The man made his way up to the seventh floor, smiling and flirting along the corridors as he did so. Auggie Anderson had female friends everywhere it seemed. When he got to Clayton Webb's secretary, however, the smile dropped and he informed her that he needed to see the man inside the office immediately, then stepped forward without waiting to be introduced.
"Deputy Director Webb?" He tilted his head slightly and then shut the door behind him before moving across the room. "Of course you are. The soap. Annie's changed over the last few months-" His voice trailed off and he became serious again as soon as he stopped across from Webb's desk. "We need to talk."