the grainy monitor screen.
A man came out, said something in Arabic, took the medical bag and signaled me to follow.
My feet automatically moved, though my mind was numb. Be it fear, curiosity, or the doctor in me forcing me to comply because someone was suffering and needed my help—I'm not exactly sure what prompted me forward.
I followed the man into the dim room, looking over my shoulder when the door closed behind me, and thus noticed the first armed guard stood beside it. I turned back and assessed my surroundings. The glass on the window had been painted black. Like a scene from some copper movie, a single light bulb illuminated the room, hanging over a simple table with three chairs. The man with the medical bag moved toward the prisoner sitting on a cot against the wall, explaining something to him.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
The prisoner was young, but he wasn't American.
Another guard stepped out of the shadows and approached the cot. My escort? He glanced at me, or actually through me, as though we had never met.
The man put the med bag on the floor, said one last thing, then walked away. He didn't even acknowledge me when he passed by and exited the room, leaving me alone with the prisoner and his two guards.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fourteen
I stood there, waiting for an indication that I could proceed. Tense moments passed, but not a word, not a signal, nothing.
The prisoner, who couldn't be older than twenty-four, sat on his low Army-style cot with his back against the wall, staring at me like I was spawned from the bowels of hell. My armed escort, or guard in this case, looked at me blandly, as if he was regarding a plant. I didn't even bother to glance around at the door guard. I didn't have to. I could feel his eyes boring into my back.
Lowering my gaze, I moved forward, slowly approaching until I came upon the medical bag resting at the base of the bed. Not wanting to bend over, I got on my knees and opened it, shocked at how comprehensive it was. It was like a souped-up Paramedic kit and then some, complete with prescription medications not normally allotted to EMTs such as antibiotics.
After disinfecting my hands with a sterilizing foam, I slipped on a pair of latex gloves and shuffled closer, dragging the heavy bag with me.
The prisoner continued to glower.
I wished the cot wasn't so damn low.
Should I kneel on the floor, stand and lean, or sit next to him on the mattress?
I debated the safest course of action, considering the hostile looks the prisoner was giving me. Being on the floor left me open to being kicked, but leaning over the prisoner was just as dangerous. Fuck, it was all dangerous. Sitting next to him didn't guarantee my safety either. However, at least on the cot, we would be on an equal level. Hopefully, if he did decide to attack, he wouldn't grab me and snap my neck before I could get away.
Avoiding direct eye contact as I was ordered, I moved onto the thin mattress, riding the edge and keeping as much distance between us as I could and still be able to examine him properly. Automatically, I could see he was feverish, his pallid skin clammy looking, his cheeks rosy. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his dark eyes were glazed. Abrasions covered his forehead, and his forearm had a makeshift bandage of sorts, like a handkerchief tied over a wound.
I reached for his injured arm, but he leaned away and muttered something that, despite the language barrier, was obviously meant to warn me off. He then gave a response that obviously pissed off my escort, because my escort suddenly kicked the cot, jarring both me and the prisoner.
Rattled, I wasn't sure how to proceed. My captor had told me not to press the treatment issue, but the guy was undoubtedly suffering. I really wished I could talk to him. Maybe he was in a great deal of pain and didn't want me touching his injured arm? Or maybe he didn't know my intent and was scared of me?
Maybe the other man didn't
A man came out, said something in Arabic, took the medical bag and signaled me to follow.
My feet automatically moved, though my mind was numb. Be it fear, curiosity, or the doctor in me forcing me to comply because someone was suffering and needed my help—I'm not exactly sure what prompted me forward.
I followed the man into the dim room, looking over my shoulder when the door closed behind me, and thus noticed the first armed guard stood beside it. I turned back and assessed my surroundings. The glass on the window had been painted black. Like a scene from some copper movie, a single light bulb illuminated the room, hanging over a simple table with three chairs. The man with the medical bag moved toward the prisoner sitting on a cot against the wall, explaining something to him.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
The prisoner was young, but he wasn't American.
Another guard stepped out of the shadows and approached the cot. My escort? He glanced at me, or actually through me, as though we had never met.
The man put the med bag on the floor, said one last thing, then walked away. He didn't even acknowledge me when he passed by and exited the room, leaving me alone with the prisoner and his two guards.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fourteen
I stood there, waiting for an indication that I could proceed. Tense moments passed, but not a word, not a signal, nothing.
The prisoner, who couldn't be older than twenty-four, sat on his low Army-style cot with his back against the wall, staring at me like I was spawned from the bowels of hell. My armed escort, or guard in this case, looked at me blandly, as if he was regarding a plant. I didn't even bother to glance around at the door guard. I didn't have to. I could feel his eyes boring into my back.
Lowering my gaze, I moved forward, slowly approaching until I came upon the medical bag resting at the base of the bed. Not wanting to bend over, I got on my knees and opened it, shocked at how comprehensive it was. It was like a souped-up Paramedic kit and then some, complete with prescription medications not normally allotted to EMTs such as antibiotics.
After disinfecting my hands with a sterilizing foam, I slipped on a pair of latex gloves and shuffled closer, dragging the heavy bag with me.
The prisoner continued to glower.
I wished the cot wasn't so damn low.
Should I kneel on the floor, stand and lean, or sit next to him on the mattress?
I debated the safest course of action, considering the hostile looks the prisoner was giving me. Being on the floor left me open to being kicked, but leaning over the prisoner was just as dangerous. Fuck, it was all dangerous. Sitting next to him didn't guarantee my safety either. However, at least on the cot, we would be on an equal level. Hopefully, if he did decide to attack, he wouldn't grab me and snap my neck before I could get away.
Avoiding direct eye contact as I was ordered, I moved onto the thin mattress, riding the edge and keeping as much distance between us as I could and still be able to examine him properly. Automatically, I could see he was feverish, his pallid skin clammy looking, his cheeks rosy. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his dark eyes were glazed. Abrasions covered his forehead, and his forearm had a makeshift bandage of sorts, like a handkerchief tied over a wound.
I reached for his injured arm, but he leaned away and muttered something that, despite the language barrier, was obviously meant to warn me off. He then gave a response that obviously pissed off my escort, because my escort suddenly kicked the cot, jarring both me and the prisoner.
Rattled, I wasn't sure how to proceed. My captor had told me not to press the treatment issue, but the guy was undoubtedly suffering. I really wished I could talk to him. Maybe he was in a great deal of pain and didn't want me touching his injured arm? Or maybe he didn't know my intent and was scared of me?
Maybe the other man didn't
Similar Books
