White Walls

Chapter 2:

Luke could very faintly feel his feet dragging across the floor and a bear-like grip just under his armpits. His heels dug into the ground, trying to resist the attack and save Luke's body on their own, even if no other part of his being would join in. Luke's head and arms fell limply and swayed freely with every sharp movement. He fell in and out of consciousness, eyes forcing themselves open for no longer than a second – not long enough for his brain to register his location or the reason for him being there – to then only close again and switch off. It was a constant battle between the survival instinct that brought him round, making him as heavy as possible to move and the syringe that sedated him and gave him no control over himself.

In the brief moment that he was again conscious, he registered the slamming of a door before the liquid rushing around inside him dragged him back under. Images flashed ferociously before Luke's closed eyes. Images and thoughts that were not an indication of consciousness but rather images and subconscious thoughts that would, and could only appear, when unconscious. Things that Luke would often think of once, and then push them away to the back of his mind never to be thought of again.

Beds draped in silk sheets. The blonde secretary. Luke's wife, Claire. People he'd fired. Lies he'd told. Self-doubts. Each image and thought flashed before him, clear and then unclear, each rising in intensity, all blinding his closed eyes and mind. Luke was unconscious but scared. It was his irrational mind throwing out everything his rational mind had locked in for so long. It was his rational mind that gave him control. It was his irrational mind that kept the darkest secrets that he would take to his grave. But now that Luke was no longer in control, his rational mind had no defense. His darkest fears were being splattered across his mind, over-flowing like a bottle holding too much water.

Again, Luke's eyes forced themselves open, deciding they'd had enough of what they were seeing in his mind. But no sooner than they had opened, a blow so fierce and cruel encountered his temple, sending him spiraling into darkness once again.

When at last, Luke finally came around fully, he found himself again blinded – this time by pure white walls. He thought at first that he might not have gained consciousness, but in fact, the blow that he still felt the effects of, could have ended his life, and that this is was the white light so many spoke of. Luke somehow knew, however, that he was fully alive. His heart raced and punched in his chest. His senses were all working as they should, albeit a little slower than usual. No, he was definitely alive.

He examined his surroundings, with the same scrutiny he would do if he were looking for a slight mistake that one of his staff had made. But there was nothing to scrutinize. White walls. That was all it was. White walls. No seats, no shelves, no windows, no door. Even the ceiling and floor were the exact same white. Just white walls, creating a perfect square.

He sat down with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chin. He sat like a small, scared little child, trying to make himself as small as he could, and as hard to attack as possible. The smaller I make myself, the harder it will be for anyone to grab me or get a solid hit, he thought.

It was only when he wrapped his arms around his knees that he noticed he was no longer wearing his suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and there were scratches covering his arms and torn holes in his shirt. Luke's face also felt sticky, and he concluded that it was a mixture of sweat and blood. He had no idea what had happened to him, and he had no idea where he was.

He started to think of Stacy, his secretary, and Claire, his wife. For the first time in his life, he felt guilt and shame. Guilt at what he'd made both girls believe. Ashamed of himself that he had been so sly.

"They don't deserve it." He muttered to himself.

Burning tears threatened to fall from his eyes. "Pull yourself together, Adams. You're not weak. Use your intelligence. Analyse the situation and find a way out." Wiping away the tears, Luke looked around.

There was no door – just walls. How then, did he get in here? He paced around, ears glued to the walls and arms outstretched, trying to feel for any bump in the wall – a chink in the armor. Luke did the same with the floor and examined every inch of ceiling, to find the same results. Nothing. There was nothing he could have gotten into, and there was nothing that could get him out. Maybe that the fact he couldn't get out was a good thing. Maybe he would not like what he would find when he got out and would, therefore, be safer in the room. Maybe the people who brought him here were good, and actually had Luke's best interests at heart. Maybe you're just clutching at straws, Luke the voice of reason suggested.

Luke gave up. He threw himself on the floor and returned to the small child position with his back against the wall.

Suddenly, the most ear-splitting, pain fuelled scream filled his ears. The pain was reflected in the person's screams and Luke thought that it must be somewhere near him, in another room maybe. Luke was becoming increasingly scared and tried to control the panic threatening to overwhelm him. He dug his head into his hands and gritted his teeth, urging for the screaming woman to stop, and bracing himself for what he thought was the inevitable. He was next.