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I stir awake as I fell a cold barrel push against my forehead. My heart starts racing as my mind plays out scenarios. Sweat itches every part of my body, dripping casually in the worst places. My hands are tied behind me roped a little higher up the wrists, the muscle of my arms daggered by the contours of the wooden chair. Sweat drips over my right eyelid, from under my blindfold, and tickles down my cheek. I cry, "Pleguh, plgees, i-fa kaf kae if-" I exhale loud and hard. It's difficult to sit still because I feel like i'm being pinned down and trapped. The barrel pushes my head back further. The movement causes my shoulder blades to press into the chair making me even more miserable. The person placed the tip on my temple, pressing hard at the bone. What's going on? I don't want to be here. I just want to die. Any where but here. God, please kill me. I wriggle and whine against my confines. Not two seconds pass before I'm bashed in the neck. I gag, pain and liquid fill my throat.

"Don't cry." A soft male's voice says. Something digs harshly into my eyebrow, picking out some skin, and the blind fold is removed. I close my eyes tightly mostly to avoid the light. He dabs at my face quickly. "Look, come, open your eyes." He says impatiently.

I slowly peek open my eyes. Sure enough, a blindingly white light is above me. If I didn't have a headache before, I certainly had one now. I scrunch my eyes and carry my head back in discomfort. As my eyes become less blurry the man moves to the left of me and I see the outline of a tall, fairly tall man. An expensive looking black suite comes into focus. Gelled, black hair neatly parted to the left, a few strands astray. He carries his hands in his pockets.

I turn my head to the left. He looks on edge as he lifts one hand to the back of my head and slowly undoes the tie around my mouth. I lick my lips.

"How did you find this place?" A smooth deep voice asks. The man in the black suite starts walking towards me and I can finally make out his face. He has a skinny nose and wide nostrils. The eyebrows start close to the corner of his eyes and arch in an exaggerated 'n' shape. He removes his glasses when he stands a foot away from me. He squints his bluish green eyes. "Who told you to come here?" He pushes his glasses back on.

I shake my head no. I don't even know where I am. Who I am. "I- uhm, where," I pause. What happened to me?

The man beside me says, "They used too much naproxen." Glasses man shakes his head and sighs softly.

"Where am I? Who are you . . ., exactly?" I ask nervously. Am I in trouble? They both frown. The guy next to me looks a bit relieved though. Then a flash of guilt, and nothing. He comes behind me and unties the rope on my hands. I snap my arms forward and massage my shoulders.

"My name is Anderson Coleman." The man in the suite informs. "Call me Cole or Mr. Cole. Well, get up now." I slowly rise to my feet and feel a puddle of sweat on my pants. I move my feet casually attempting to get them unstuck.

I finally look around. It is big, empty, and the walls are white. The ceiling has tons of lights. I hear a cranking sounds when the wall climbs up like a garage opening. I see Mr. Cole put something in his pocket. "Follow me." And starts walking.

We walk outside into a large den. A waiting room of some sort, red cushioned chairs line the tan walls. The two men lead me through a door next to the reception's desk? We move through a couple more rooms until we reach a hallways with room numbers on it. We finally stop moving. Anderson takes out a key and twists it into door number 23.

As soon as I see the green pastel I remember everything.

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