Chapter 40:
Solitary

The next time Jack opened his eyes, he was on the floor of a different room, wearing rags too threadbare to hang himself with. The place was stark and empty, with flat, smooth walls in perfectly inert grey. The only noticeable details were a hole in the floor for waste, a small dish attached to one wall that was constantly full of water, and a deep slot beside it just wide enough to fit a hand inside.

This was Jack’s new world.

Stuff came out of the slot every now and again that turned out to be food. It was a curious smelling pile of lukewarm chunks that may have been meat, vegetable or neither. It came in different colors, but always tasted the same.

His first attempts at eating ended in vomiting, but it wasn’t a problem with the food. Jack had been fed intravenously for so long that his stomach wasn’t yet up to the task, but he kept at it, and by the fourth meal he kept some down. Things improved from there.

He suspected the food was dispensed on a timed interval, but he had no way to know for sure. Regardless, he used bits of each meal to mark the walls so he could have at least an idea of how much time had passed.

Otherwise, there was a perplexing sameness to his days. No one ever came to check on him, and he never heard anything outside. The cell was his own personal purgatory, and after scouring every last millimeter of it, he decided there could be no escape. He couldn’t even figure out how they got him in.

His body was a damn wreck. The time spent hanging from the ceiling had taken its toll, leaving him weak, emaciated, and covered from head to toe in deep, discolored bruises. His shoulders were especially sore from holding his weight, and it took some time before he could raise his arms without severe discomfort. A strong breeze could have blown him over, and restoring his health became a top priority.

Each ‘day’, he woke up, exercised as much as he could, then rested and ate. After his meal, he exercised to his limit again, then broke for his second meal, and returned for one last exercise session, this time only stopping when he collapsed. He was always so exhausted by then that sleep came easily.

The interrogator’s torture had altered Jack’s relationship with pain, and he found himself working straight through exhaustion and muscle fatigue, right up to the point when he literally couldn’t move anymore. As time passed, that point stretched further and further out, until he could work himself virtually non-stop.

In truth, he wasn’t just used to the pain; he craved it. Trapped in that grey box, it was the only thing he had left, and he never let it far out of his grasp. It was the last thing grounding him to reality.

His life went on like this through one-hundred and thirty seven meals, each day the same as the one before it, and then it changed. He passed out as usual in a pool of his own sweat, but when he awoke, he wasn’t alone.

The other man was huddled in a ball against the wall, shivering even though the room was stuffy and warm. He was dressed in rags like Jack’s, and was both badly bruised and malnutritioned. His gaunt physique reminded Jack of old pictures showing Jewish prisoners in German concentration camps.

The man had his knees drawn up and his head buried in them. He was sobbing, and Jack couldn’t get a look at his face.

Jack was so surprised, he didn’t know what to do. He felt like his space had been invaded and he had a powerful urge to attack, followed quickly by a sense of self-disgust that left him confused, and ultimately silent.

So Jack went about his daily business and tried to pretend nothing had changed. He stretched until he felt good and limber, then dropped to the floor and did push-ups. After working up a good sweat, he stood, spread his feet and lowered himself into a horse stance, then stood there until his quads felt like they might catch fire.

Meanwhile, the other man sat on his side of the room. He never looked up or pulled his face away from his knees. He did nothing but sob for hours on end.

Then lunch time came. The slot in the wall produced a pile of multi-colored food chunks, which Jack attacked voraciously. He stuffed his cheeks full like a chipmunk, and was piling more food in when he stopped himself. He decided to be more than just an animal in a cage.

He grabbed a handful of food-bits and carried them over to the other prisoner. “Hey,” he said. It didn’t come out easily. He hadn’t spoken in so long he could hardly remember how.

The other man didn’t respond.

“Hey, you should eat,” Jack said. His words were hurried and sloppy. He sounded like a caveman. “Gotta keep yer strength up.”

The other man finally looked up with yellow discolored eyes, and a face just as gaunt and wasted as his body.

Jack held out the food. “Gotta eat. Need strength to fight ‘em.”

The yellow-eyed man reached out with a shaking hand, took the food and returned to hiding behind his knees. It was a first step, and Jack returned to his own side of the cell, mindful not to push too hard.

He exercised until dinner came, then again portioned out food and brought it to the other man, who took it and went back to hiding behind his knees.

Jack finished his own food fast and skipped that evening’s exercise regimen. He tried to sleep with one eye open but didn’t get much rest, only managing to sleep for short bursts before waking in fits of heart-thumping paranoia. It was hard to be sure, but he didn’t think the other guy slept much either.

The next day, he went about his morning exercises as usual until lunch rolled around, and then made another attempt at diplomacy. He gathered up a handful of food and delivered it to the huddled-up man, and said, “Heya, food time.”

The other grunted and took it.

“You speak English?”

The man’s eyes were full of fear and confusion. He stared at Jack for a long time while he nibbled at the food like a rat. “A little,” he finally said.

“Hey. That’s great. Really great. I’m Jack. What’s your name?”

The other glanced around like he thought someone else might be listening. “Kai,” he said. “My name’s Kai.”

“Please to meetcha, Kai.”

Jack had known a fellow named Kai who was from Finland. He looked at this new Kai, and he honestly couldn’t figure out what ethnicity the guy might be. He had the most forgettable face Jack had ever seen. “Are you from Finland?” he asked.

“Yeah. Puhutko suomea?”

“What? Um… I don’t speak Finnish.”

“Oh.”

Silence, and Jack was kind of glad for it. He didn’t remember conversations being such a damn struggle. “So… How’d you get here?”

Kai shook his head. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s right, right. Okay. Sorry. But you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well… ummm,” Jack droned, “I uhhh… I’m just gonna go back to doin’ what I was doin’. Stay cool, right? Right.”

Jack didn’t used to repeat himself so much before his incarceration. He’d have to work on that.

He went back to his exercise, and attacked it with a renewed vigor. It’d been months since he last saw another human being, and he never imagined how important other people were to him. Better still, he’d made some headway this time. The sense of accomplishment was more filling than a home cooked meal.

When dinner rolled around, Kai met him at the dispenser and they both ate like ravenous animals. The feeding frenzy might have lacked culture, but it was better than being alone. Anything short of torture was better than being alone, and over the following weeks, things improved.