CELL

/ THIRTY SIX /

Ryan started to search the Records Room once more.

This time, however, he wasn't searching for information, he was looking for another exit. There might not be one, but he knew he couldn't go back out the same way he'd entered. Pedra would be standing there with either taser or gun in hand. He'd be shocked or shot, and would wake up back in his cell, still himself and absolutely not himself. There would be no further chance of escape. It had to be now.

He ran between the rows of cabinets. His attention wasn't on them but, rather, the ceiling, walls and floor. There had to be an exit. Another opening he could utilise. If this room really was used for the keeping of the records, it would need to be kept at a consistent temperature and humidity, which potentially meant ducting. Why they hadn't scanned all the paperwork to keep it digital was an odd decision in a time of massive cloud storage capacities and multi-level encryptions. The information would surely be much safer than left on paper in a file in a room. Too many accidents could happen, and this only reiterated the falseness of it all. It wasn't practical!

He was across the room quickly, without finding a way out other than the entrance. There seemed to be no available option, and he could feel his frustration and, yes, fear growing. He was trapped. They would be with him at any moment. What could he...?

"It's no safe!"

Oh, fuck.

Ryan ignored the voice. It was probably his imagination, anyway. It sounded external, rather than inside his head, but that changed nothing. She was not real. She couldn't be.

"You've already had this conversation, silly. What does it matter?"

He hadn't spoken out loud, had he? No. He didn't do that. There were people who had no inner monologue or dialogue, so wouldn't have conversations in their minds. He did, he knew, but this wasn't one. This was someone else, not a disembodied voice floating around inside his head.

He wanted to ignore her. He felt he needed to. He couldn't, however. What if she really was Clara? His daughter? Regardless of the fact it would mean she was a captive of Bradley, too, she would be able to tell him things about himself. About them. Their life together.

"Clara?"

He kept his gaze low, not wanting to look around and see her. She could have been real, and she might not have been. Both made him uneasy.

"You didn't answer me."

"What do you mean?"

"What does it matter if I'm real or not?"

"Of course, it matters. This whole place is full of... madness. It's all just completely crazy, and you..."

"What about me?"

"You... you can't be real. Not after that, when you... you were everywhere."

"That was such fun, wasn't it? You were so funny!"

"Fun? It was fucking crazy!"

"You use those words like you know what they mean. Crazy. Madness. Reality. Crazy, crazy, crazy!"

Even if she was his daughter, which she couldn't be, he refused to be dragged into her games.

"I know exactly what they mean. Now, enough of this nonsense. Go away."

"But Daddy," she said, and the way she said it reached deep inside his heart and squeezed it tightly, "You don't mean that."

If she hadn't called him 'Daddy,' he might have been able to resist her. As it was, he looked up and around, desperate to see her. She'd spoken in a way that he remembered! Clara, his real daughter, had exactly the same inflections and tone that lathered the name with puppy dog eyes and cute smiles. She had to be real...