[Original Novel] Pressure 2: Dark Corners, Part 1

For about thirty seconds immediately after waking up, everything from the dream was crystal clear. Then as usual, it began to recede into the distance until he could make out only the largest, most distinctive details. The same every time, at once maddening and intriguing. And for that blessed moment James couldn't remember who or where he was. In all ways, his favorite part of the day.

Every effort to describe this feeling to his therapist so far had missed some crucial aspect. She was a sweet girl, Olivia. No more than 22 with a thick head of blonde curls that might’ve enticed any other man. Smart, too. But try as she might (and she was earnest in her attempts) she couldn’t understand when James described it to her.

He’d resigned himself to the realization that the English language doesn't yet have a word that captures all of it. The best he could do was to liken it to waking up on the curb, hung over, as memories of what you'd done to wind up there slowly trickle back into your brain. There's a moment of panic where you desperately pray that none of it's real, that you're still dreaming, only for the reality to set in soon after. Lisa. The divorce. The new job. Belusarius.

The one small condolence was that the dreams were beautiful, and never failed to move him. Over the past several months since Lisa left he'd begun experiencing recurring dreams, at first depressive but then increasing in charm and comfort each night to the point where he came to prefer sleep over waking life.

The therapist provided for one hour each week under his benefits package quickly picked up on this and refused to write him prescriptions for sleep aids. “An escape”, she said. “A crutch”. Perhaps. But surely, there are those who need one.

“It's just depression. I've been there, but I didn't turn into a sadsack like Jim. He needs to nut up and get over it.” The voice was unmistakably Rodney's. Eavesdropping from behind the corner James thought back on every past altercation with Rod.

After entertaining an unusually detailed revenge fantasy, he caught hold of himself and was overcome with embarrassment. Rod was right, and it stung. But not half as much as what followed.

“Yeah, I know. I've been his friend since he started work down here. I'm doin' my best to pull him out of this funk but he's not trying to recover. Eventually you gotta cut people like that loose. Sink or swim. Either they snap out of it, or...” silence followed.

Cray didn't intend to take the discussion in such a morbid direction, but there it was. The unvarnished opinion of Cray Martin, the only trustworthy person aboard the Belusarius so far as James was concerned, although suddenly that seemed in doubt. He considered rounding the corner dramatically to confront them, but thought better of it and with a dull sigh James set off for the warden's office.

“Prisoner transfer. This one's special, that's why the detail is so big.” The more of it he took in, the wider his eyes became. “You're seeing this right. Did I say transfer detail? It's practically a parade. His face has been all over the news recently, odds are good he’ll be recognized. So the main consideration here is balancing between what's adequate protection against vigilantes, and avoiding a procession large enough that it'll attract media attention. Now you're gonna ask me why this guy’s such a big deal.”

James looked up from the tablet, still wide eyed and gormless. “Well okay, maybe not you. I can count on you for that. You're not the inquisitive type. But you might be in harm's way on this one, so I'll let you in on a secret. This is the same fucker that gunned down all those mechanics back in June.”

James did vaguely recall the shooting, but in his condition it took awhile to process everything. In the meantime he chewed thoughtfully on a pen and dwelled on last night's dream. The warden didn't need his feedback, it was a one sided exchange from the start, so he let the short balding Iranian continue ranting in slow motion as the imagery came flooding back.

The sun felt supernaturally warm, without burning his skin. A field of sunflowers stretched out before his mind's eye, swaying gently in an imaginary breeze. Everything was conspicuously larger than life.

The world around him was drenched in color too rich to be real, smells were intense and pleasant, and the light seemed to have a substance to it such that he expected some physical sensation to follow as he passed through a sunbeam. And because he expected it, there was.

The field alone was intoxicating, but he'd become desensitized to it recently and begun exploring. The first discovery was a small grassy hill topped with a single weeping willow. Once he'd seen a familiar silhouette reclining beneath it, which vanished the moment he swept the branches aside. Hinting, coyly, at something he dared not wish for.

“Rustler, pretend to listen when I'm talking to you. This is no routine transfer. Aside from the fact that this guy's certifiable, there are going to be family members of the deceased looking to take a shot at him.”

There was no hostility in his tone. Of the three, James was on uniquely good terms with the warden, especially in recent months. If he understood why James was increasingly sedate and incurious as of late he didn't express any concern over it.

The warden was the sort who explained, lectured and corrected, but did not discuss, inquire or argue. The quickest way to his heart was silent obedience. James felt capable of little else, and simply wanted to be done with the scheduled transfer so he could trudge home and sleep. The field of sunflowers returned, dimly, every time he so much as closed his eyes.

By the time he reached solitary confinement his head was back in the game, as the tablet displayed a long list of special procedures that demanded more of him than simply going through the motions. It was oddly refreshing, and James wondered whether he might actually be taking pride in his work. Then the stench hit him.

Smelled like a primate house, easily as much a part of the isolation wing's character as the salmon pink wallpaper. He'd read somewhere that salmon pink was chosen because it had a subliminal calming effect.

Made sense on the face of it, awfully difficult to feel like a badass in a pink cell. Red had the opposite effect, yellow induces hunger, and so on into effects so specific that it made him doubt whether any of it was genuinely scientific.

Special procedure 1 described a process of rotating guards about four times as frequently as normal. There was no explanation offered as to why, just that no single guard should remain close to the cell for longer than one hour, without a ten minute break between shifts. Special procedure 2 required a similar rotation of guards monitoring the prisoner by closed circuit television camera from a remote location, such that observation was continuous and unbroken.

Again, nothing in the way of an explanation for it. That might've bothered someone else. James swiped a finger across the screen, turning the page. “The prisoner is known to vocalize. Do not actively listen or engage the prisoner in a dialogue. During transfer, he is to remain gagged and blindfolded, in addition to wearing the included helmet.” James raised an eyebrow, then glanced around. “Helmet?”

The door was square rather than the usual rectangle, really more of a hatch in appearance. The other side proved to be coated in foam. James soberly wondered whether it was to prevent self-harm, or for acoustic isolation. Or both. It was easy to see how a man could lose his mind in here.

In that respect, the chamber's contents didn't disappoint. It took most of a minute for his eyes to adjust before he spotted the pale, flabby mass huddled in the far corner. It was bleeding, James' first cause for concern, and closer inspection revealed that it was also not merely shirtless but fully nude.

On the nearest wall it became apparent that some sort of elaborate patterned inscription resembling the sonogram of an unborn child had been etched in a dried fluid James suspected was blood, but did not care to confirm by touch.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 2!}