The After

Chapter 5

A buzzing was all Spencer could hear as he came to. His neck ached from his head hanging limply, chin on his chest. His memories swam in fragments. Spencer groaned as he tried to wrench his eyes open. Have I been on an all night bender? Is this a hangover? The darkness in his vision remained which confused him. My eyes are open, right? Spencer tried again but was still surrounded by black. He tried to move his arms but found his wrists to be secured behind him. He tested his bonds- plastic brushed against his skin. Flexi-cuffs. Pieces of memory joined together as Spencer concentrated hard. I was drugged at the airport... An acute sense of fear and alarm pricked at his senses. He could feel bodies pressed either side of him. He was seated upright and he seemed to be moving, as indicated by the jostling that occurred periodically. Spencer's jaw ached, which initially he was unable to work out how, then it dawned on him why by the sensation of folds of wadded material pressing against the corners of his mouth and pressing on his tongue where it was seated behind his teeth. The material stretched around his face, digging tightly into the flesh of his cheeks and was knotted at the back of his head.

The vehicle screeched to a halt, sending the incapacitated Spencer hurtling forward between the front seats. He grunted as his covered face collided with what he could only assume was the centre console. A pair of hands on each arm wrenched him backwards into a seated position. A warm trickling sensation crept over Spencer's lips and down his chin. A gust of wind took Spencer by surprise as a door opened. The same hands were tugging at his right arm. Trying to understand what they were wanting him to do, Spencer shuffled across the leather seat until one leg was hanging out of the door. He shivered as the wind whistled around his lanky form. With a hand wrapped tightly around his upper arm guiding him forward, Spencer was encouraged to walk. His legs felt like jelly, undoubtedly from whatever drug they had given him. Benzodiazepines... Luckily the walk was short. He was forced down into a wooden chair. He grunted as his back collided with the spokes on the back of the chair. The darkness was suddenly ripped away and his vision was assaulted by light. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away.

"Apologies for your current predicament, Dr Whitfield. I hope you can understand how important it is that not even you know where we are," came the heavily accented voice of the man sat at the opposite side of a large wooden desk. Spencer lifted his head and glared at the other man. The man was easily in his early fifties, his hair taking on more of a silver appearance which was slicked back with a crude amount of product. Spencer took in and memorised all of his features. He was clean shaven with green eyes. A large Black Widow spider tattoo adorned the side of his neck. Hands held Spencer back in the chair by his shoulders as he tried to free himself. His curses were lost into the fabric in his mouth. A hand tugged the gag out of Spencer's mouth, allowing it to fall around his neck.

"What the fuck?!" yelled Spencer. He could taste that familiar metallic sensation of blood in his mouth. His nose throbbed.

"It's protocol, Dr Whitfield. I'm Mr Renholdt. You will refer to me as such. You are here because you want to help us with our mission." Spencer's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, I want to help, but seriously? Is this appropriate?" He tugged at his bonds to prove a point.

"Of course. I understand your disposition but it's necessary for the protection of us all. You will not leave this building. If for any reason you have to, you will be cuffed, gagged and blindfolded just as you were." Spencer's mouth bobbed, "It appears there was a mishap outside as your nose is bleeding."

"Yeah, your asshole driver slammed his brakes on and these two fuckwits couldn't even be arsed to fasten my seatbelt so my face met the centre console." Spencer indicated to the two men who still tightly gripped his shoulders. A familiar pain blossomed in his skull, causing him to gasp and curl in on himself.

"Dr Whitfield? Are you alright?"

"Epilepsy... Seizure..." Spencer managed to press out, eyes squeezed shut in pain. He felt himself go limp as his body slid from the chair and the ground rose to meet him.

Spencer blinked several times as his eyes tried to readjust to his surroundings. He was lying on his side, his cheek flush to the cold concrete floor. His wrists came free, allowing him to slowly sit himself up. He tore the gag back out of his mouth, allowing the soggy material to hang around his neck once more. His head swam. Mr Renholdt was crouched next to him with a flick knife in one hand, and the remnants of the flexi-cuffs in the other.

"Apologies, Dr Whitfield. We put the gag back in to stop you from biting your tongue."

"Sure." Spencer grasped his head in both hands and brought his long legs up to his chest. Mr Renholdt came to his feet.

"Please show Dr Whitfield to his room. He needs to rest for a while." Hands on both arms dragged Spencer up to his feet. With his head bowed, he stumbled along sluggishly and compliantly. Fuck you, epilepsy...