Captive

Chapter 8

A few minutes later, the door buzzer went off, and Matthews quietly entered the room. The noise came again when he cleared the frame. His friendly demeanor had been replaced with one of concern and pity. Bridget slowly turned her head to look at him, hoping that he had come to deliver good news, but she knew otherwise. He was here to take her to her first session with Dr. Spencer Insert Last Name. She took in the guard's features. His sandy blonde hair was short and well-groomed. His gray eyes were soft and thoughtful. He was taller than Bridget, and it was clear that he was physically active to some degree. His arms did not bulge under his neatly pressed uniform, but he had some definition. If she ran into him in a bar, he was the type of guy she would be too shy to approach on her own. She would probably just smile sheepishly and stare at him from afar. In her current situation, however, she could only appreciate the fact that he was nice to her and tried his best to make her feel normal.

"Well, Bridget Dunn," he announced softly, "it's time. I have to cuff you and walk you to the viewing room. Please stand and go face the corner of the room."

"Do you have to blindfold me this time?" she asked as she stood.

"The doctor doesn't feel that's necessary anymore."

"Why?"

"Because he's met you now. You've seen him face-to-face. There's no more mystery."

She stood and muttered under her breath, "Everything's a mystery." She moved to face the corner of the room where the concrete blocks faded into a vertical seam. She raised her hands over her head as she had earlier that afternoon when she went for her shower. Matthews moved to her and gingerly lowered one arm and then the next into his metal handcuffs. He delicately placed a hand around her arm and led her to the exit, where the buzzer sounded the all clear for them to leave the cell.

The hallway was brightly lit with overhead fluorescent lights. Sadly, she spotted no windows with inviting glances of the outside world. The walls were painted with a happy mint shade of green, which handsomely matched the beige baseboards and chair rail. Inspirational posters and bulletin boards hung between the door frames of other cells. Most of these doors were closed, so she could not see the people imprisoned behind them. Bridget frowned; she hoped to catch a glimpse of someone else's suffering as a means to ease her own. The floors, as she imagined, were industrial tile with swirls that reminded her of the hospital corridors she marched when she was at work. All of a sudden, she remembered her job. She would have to report to the office the next morning in order to check out her car and meet her Monday clients. She felt a glimmer of hope rise in her heart. If her parents would not look for her, coworkers like Jeff and Sonya would definitely be concerned.

Matthews led Bridget down the hall with his hand barely on her arm. He did not squeeze or push, which allowed her to take in the view a little better. Men and women in lab coats smiled as they passed, and none of them bore looks of shame or guilt. Instead, they were an enthusiastic group of people who, deep down, believed they were doing wonderful things for Doctor Spencer. There were other guards, too, and they nodded at Matthews as he led Bridget through the corridor. She could feel eyes on her as they passed, but she remained unsure if they were checking her out or mourning for her as she marched to her doom. Both reasons were unwelcome, nonetheless.

"What happens in the viewing room?" she asked Matthews.

"All I can tell you is that you get to watch a lot of movies." He slowed their pace.

"Movies?"

"Or films, or TV shows. It just depends."

"On?"