| Story |
 
|
(Page 2 of 2) Deliverance by Nils Durban
 (1 rating)
|
Then I want you to leave me to it."
"Of course, of course."
Once within, Appelgard took charge of the necessary bureaucracy and it was not long before they were being led through the maze-like innards of the building. Poul realised that it was essentially nothing more than a cell block.
"Tell me," he questioned their guide, "why are these people still locked up?"
"None of the doors are locked," the man replied simply, "but no one leaves their room. Internment is all that they have known for so long that they find it impossible to face the outside world, or even to accept that they are free. It is a well documented mental condition."
Poul grimaced, his stomach tightening, as they came to a halt before one of the many steel doors.
"In here?"
"Yes."
Poul turned to Appelgard, "wait for me, please?" Appelgard nodded his assent and Poul pushed open the door and entered the cell.
* *
At first he could make out very little in the dimness of the tiny room but, as his eyes adjusted, Poul recognised the shape of a small cot against the far wall and a figure huddled upon it.
He crossed the room quietly, not wanting to cause any alarm.
"Excuse me," he whispered, "are you awake?"
He waited, but there was no response. He knelt down at the side of the cot and listened quietly. The sound of breathing was faintly audible.
He stole himself to reach out and gently lay his hand on the upper arm of the wretched individual, feeling beneath his fingers very little of substance. No flesh or muscle could he detect, merely the unnervingly jagged bone of the shoulder joint. He very carefully shook the figure but, again, there was no response.
Once more he waited, unsure of how to proceed. What he did know was that he could not leave the room without being certain one way or the other.
He leaned forwards and with both hands gently rolled the prone figure onto its back. The head, however, remained facing the wall, necessitating him to turn it to face his own.
The glassy eyed stare that met his eyes held no emotion or sense of recognition. He had now become accustomed to the dim light within the cell but, as he gazed upon the gaunt and hollow visage before him, he could find very little commonality between its features and those he held in his heart, and it was only by close scrutiny that he could even assure himself of their femininity.
He needed to be sure. He reached down and carefully pulled up her right trouser leg, feeling within. The cold plastic of a prosthetic met his touch. He gasped and then clutched her head in both his hands, attempting to force her vacant gaze to lock onto his own.
"Karina," he wept, "Karina, it's me. It's Poul. I know you remember me!"
She moved for the first time then, but only to roll over to face the wall once more.
He was about to pull her back over again, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Appelgard, his vision blurred by tears.
"Enough for now, Poul," he whispered, "at least you know."
Poul looked down at her once more, curled up now in a foetal position.
"I'll be back tomorrow, my love. I promise"
| |
