Interrogation

The woman slumped soundlessly in the hard wooden chair, a stupefied expression on her face. Her mouth hung slightly open, her eyes were unfocused and her bruised skin displayed the evidence of a rough beating. She seemed totally unaware of her surroundings and there was no reaction when the heavy wooden door creaked open and a tall, slightly built man stepped into the damp, stone cell. He sat smoothly in the chair opposite her, only just recently vacated by another.

"Karin? Are you awake?" he asked gently, his voice soft with concern. The woman's head rose, a dark fire smouldering in her eyes. "Bastards," she hissed. The man looked unsurprised, understanding and compassion flickering over his honest face. "They said you wouldn't talk. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. I had hoped you would see sense, Karin," he said sadly.

For a moment there was no reply, then Karin started in a low voice that lacked conviction, "Hoped? You hoped it wouldn't come to this? You brought it to this, Pieter. Not I, you. You betrayed us." A fleeting emotion passed on Pieter's face, before he relaxed with a sigh. "I was doing the right thing, Karin. I am not the traitor. You are, you and the others." He cocked his head to one side. "Are you ready now to tell where they are? I can get it from you, Karin, willing or not."

"You too, Pieter? Reduced to beating women?" She managed to sound scornful. A glimmer of a smile, albeit a bitter one, appeared on Pieter's face and in answer he peeled off his gloves and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "Not exactly," he said, pleased by the surprised widening of Karin's eyes. "But you can't..." she trailed off, eyes darting to a thin scar visible along Pieter's forehead. A bleak look crossed his face. "I couldn't. But I was cured. Isn't it ironic that those who maimed me, healed me.?" He expected no answer and Karin gave none.

Pieter knelt before her, gently pressing warm fingertips to either side of her head. "You can't do this, Pieter, not to me. Anyone else but me," Karin said urgently, real worry flickering in her eyes. "Karin, I've been taught. I can do it to anyone. Don't you see? You could learn how to do it properly, too. Just tell us what we want to know." He had paused, his face alight with hope and sincerity. The other's head shook slightly. "Don't, Pieter, don't. You'll get hurt."

Pieter's eyes had blanked at her movement. "I won't. I can get into anyone's mind safely. Even yours, Karin," he stated and reset his still gentle hold. Karin's eyelids slowly dropped. "You shouldn't be warning me anyway, even if it were true. Wouldn't it be better if I was hurt? Then the others would be safe." Pieter's tone was almost accusing but only silence greeted his remarks. The man, with a half-shrug, settled himself into readiness.

"You don't know what you're doing. My mind is like your's, Pieter, not like other peoples," Karin's distressed words, a last plea, came to him distantly and he answered as such. "A mind is a mind. It may be organised or ramshackle - and the latter is harder to search. You see, it's a preconceived notion, Karin. If you organise your memories like a filing cabinet, then I will have access to them in that form. And I know you, love. You're a filing sort of person." A gentle smile crossed Pieter's face and he delicately entered her mind.

It was much the same as sinking gently into a gel-like pool, deliciously cool and welcoming.