For Love or Country

by Jesse Jordan

  I can't get the voices out of my head. I don't know where they're coming from, but they won't stop. Jenny's questioning today was extra hard, and I tried my best to not get shocked again, but still, the stick came out. It's not a Taser, but I don't think it's a cattle prod either. Maybe it's something custom made, but I know that every time Jenny brings it out, I'm starting to flinch.

  But then she puts it away, and she's so nice. Yesterday, she actually brought me some pieces of actual chocolate, and we sat in the sunny room on the east side of the prison, just eating them and watching the sky. She told me about her college life in California, not asking me anything but just talking, sharing herself with me.

  “You know Simon, you're a smart man,” she told me after we finished the last of the chocolate bar. “I can understand perhaps why you wouldn't want to work with the authorities here, but a man of your talents could be quite well rewarded in China. And I know your background, you would pick up Chinese quite quickly.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, and Jenny laughs.

  “Simon, you may fool the guards, but I pulled the same game when I got to a certain level of English in America. Pretending you don't know what the people around you are saying in order to listen to their real opinions on you. Like I said, you're a smart man.”

  Today though, she wasn't so nice, asking me questions. Never ending questions, as soon as I answer one she asked another, about anything and everything. When I didn't answer correctly or if I was too slow, the stick came out, and I was punished.

  Now, my body aches, my eyes feel like they've been dipped in rubbing alcohol before being jammed back in my sockets, and my stomach rolls as I try to keep down the food they gave me. I had sixty seconds to eat today, with Jenny holding the stopwatch in her left hand and the stick in her right. When I was finished, she pulled the bowl away, and for every grain of rice left in the bowl, it was another second of application of the stick. And if I threw up, that rice counted too.

  I can't throw up, there's no way I can let my body reject these nutrients. I'm still losing weight, and can feel my ribs clearly against my skin when I run my hand along my side, and looking down, I'm not sure I'm actually looking at my body any more. I need every precious calorie, regardless of what it's doing to me right now.

  But I can't get these voices to stop. They're with me all the time in my cell, whispering, whispering. I can't even recognize what they're saying, but they just don't stop. They won't let me rest, whispering even as I fall asleep.

  I have to find some way to get them to stop.

  “Put your arms over your head.”

  I know better than to ask why, Jenny has commanded me to not ask any questions today. I've already been corrected three times today when I asked questions. I can't do that any more, it hurts too much. Instead, I raise my arms up over my head, and wince as the cuffs are latched in and my arms are raised up. I'm already stripped to my waist, my flight suit sleeves tied around my waist to keep me from being fully exposed.

  “Now... who do you serve?” Jenny asks, her eyebrow raised. “Who is your Mistress?”

  I know what she wants me to say. It'd be so easy, to just say that she's the one who controls me. That I'd do anything she wants, that I belong to her.

  But I can't. Instead, I swallow, and stand tall. “I serve the people of the United States of America. Simon Lancaster, Lieutenant, United States Army.”

  Jenny nods, and the man behind me, I'm not allowed to turn and see who it is, swings his whip, where it cracks against my back again. I can't move this time, and I struggle to stay on my feet.

  “Let's try that again,” Jenny says, stroking my cheek. “Simon, my dear, lovely Simon, you keep getting confused. You're not in the Army, you serve me. You always have. I'm just helping you remember. Don't you realize Simon how much it hurts me when you are mistaken like this? Please, please baby, stop being naughty. Remember and come back to me.”

  Her words are so silky, so easy to listen to. She cares about me, she says so. My mouth opens, and I lean into her touch, wanting to feel it more. “Ashley....”

  “Who?” Jenny asks, snapping me back to reality. I've never said her name before in questioning, and I close my mouth. “I said... who?”

  “Simon Lancaster, Lieutenant, United States Army.....”

  The whip cracks again, and this time, I can't help it, the cuffs yank against my wrists, the pain going down my arms to my shoulders, and I struggle to get back to my feet again. “Simon..... Lancaster..... Lieutenant.....”

  “Still so far to go,” Jenny says sorrowfully. “Still, Simon, you'll be mine again. You will be mine.”

  When it's over, I hear a now familiar voice beside me, lifting me up before helping me back to my cell. “You really pissed them off today, man.”

  “Yeah, I seem to be good at that,” I groan, leaning against Cade as we walk. “Think I'll still have my blanket?”

  “I don't know. They did tell me to take your pillow, sorry about that.” We turn the corner, and there's only a little further to go. “You know, Mistress will be a lot more forgiving if you just tell her what she wants to hear.”

  “I'm not her pet,” I rasp, dragging each five hundred pound foot along. A few more steps. “I'm not a pet.”

  “Do you know the pleasures she can show you?” Cade asks, his voice full of wonder. “Do you know what they've taught her how to do?”

  “I don't care. She's not Ashley.”

  Cade stops, and helps me into my cell. A guard locks the door, and Cade sits outside the bars, thinking for a second. “You mean Ashley Carlyle? Wow, I haven't thought of her in years. You two still dating?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “She's in BOLC now.”

  “She as beautiful as I remember? She was quite the knockout back then.”

  I look at Cade, who has a wistful look on his face. Sure, he screwed up, but he's trying to be a good guy, I can see that. “Still beautiful.”

  Cade hums, then shakes his head. “That's gotta be hard, man. Okay, well I'm going to go find some food for you, Mistress can't be that angry at you if you've still got your blanket in there. Lay on your stomach to let those marks on your back air out, I'll bring you what I can.”

  Cade leaves, and minutes later, the whispers start again. I bury my head in my arms, but they still won't stop, and I can't help it, the tears start. I'm weak, I'm just so weak.....

  Ashley

  “What's the situation, Dad?” I ask, desperate and impatient. We're sitting in the kitchen breakfast nook, I'm spending the weekend at the house again, it provides at least a little bit of comfort when I need it. I haven't had a lot of comfort over the past few months.

  My first letter didn't get through, it's been nearly a month since I wrote it, and every day, I'm growing. My belly is swelling, and I've already started to do pregnancy workouts. Not that I'm taking it lazy, I'm going to have the healthiest damn baby the world's ever seen. Instead of running, I'm using the elliptical trainer at the fitness center or swimming, swimming is supposed to be really good for pregnant women since it takes stress off your joints.

  But that doesn't mean that I'm feeling good. Every day, Dad's prediction has proven more and more true. Whether it's the run up to the NFL playoffs, or what movies are making waves in theaters, Simon's barely getting mentioned. Even the pundits who were using the Simon's capture to bang the war drums have moved on, going back to the standard sniping back and forth across the aisle, both parties saying that their opponents are sending the country to hell in a handbasket. I'm nearly at the end of my rope.

  “We're still getting stalled, Ashley. I need you to try again. This one... this one I'm going to personally make sure gets into the right hands in Korea.”

  I gulp, nodding. “Dad... I'm over halfway through my pregnancy now. He's been there for over three months. What's the hold up?”

  “I wish I had a different answer for you, Ashley. I really wish I did,” Dad says. “I'm doing my best, honey.”

&nb
sp; “I know you are Dad. It's just... I miss him,” I reply, trying not to cry. I've cried so much recently, I feel like I should own stock in Kleenex. “I need him back. He has to see his child be born.”

  “I know, Ashley,” Dad says, reaching across the table. “I want him back too. He was... he is going to be a great son-in-law.”

  My breath catches, and I see that Dad's been reading my mind again. I nod, then I can't help it, I start crying, and Dad comes around the table to hug me closely. “I... I think he wanted to ask me, too,” I whisper. “We kind of beat around the bush with it right before he left for Korea. He asked me to move in with him to family housing, and I was sure that once I got over there, he was going to ask me to marry him.”

  “He'll get his chance, sweetheart,” Dad whispers. “He'll get his chance.”

  I sniff, and for a few minutes, I let my emotions loose. In class, I'm getting tired of the sympathetic looks from everyone. Captain Bali has tried to keep things level, but as class has progressed and my pregnancy has become public knowledge, the sympathy has gotten to nearly paralyzing levels. I couldn't help it when I snapped at Jeri, a girl from a ROTC school, after she stopped and held the door for me like I was some sort of invalid. I know she was just trying to be nice, but it's too damn much sometimes, and I just need to let it loose a little bit.

  Dad understands, and holds me while I let the tears burn my eyes and soak into his shirt, after which I feel better. Wiping at my nose, I pull back and try to smile. “Thanks, Dad. Hey, do you want to see something?”

  “Sure. Can your mother see it too?”

  “Uh-huh. Have Mom come in, we're done with the high security part of my visit,” I say, grabbing a tissue and blowing my nose. “It's good news.”

  While Dad is out of the kitchen I grab my backpack and pull out the envelope I have inside, opening it just as Dad and Mom come back in. “Here, I had these done yesterday at the clinic,” I say, taking out the shiny photographs. “Say hello to your grandchildren.”

  Mom stops, shocked. “Grandchildren?”

  I nod, handing over the 3-D composite images. “The doctors thought that it was twins my last checkup, but they weren't totally sure, their heartbeats are so close together. But the ultrasound today confirmed it. Twins.”

  Mom and Dad both look over the images, trying to hold back the happy tears. Finally, Mom clears her throat and looks up. “Do you know about if they're boys or girls?”

  “No, they said most likely that'll be next month. I'm hoping for one each, although as long as they're healthy I'm a happy mother,” I tell her, taking the photos back. I reach into the envelope and pull out a SD card, handing it over. “Here, I copied it onto my laptop, so this one's for you.”

  Dad takes the card and holds it carefully, like it's made of Swarovski crystal instead of plastic and copper, looking at it in wonder. “Ashley.... my God.....”

  “I know, Dad. Trust me, I know.”

  After dinner and dessert (hey, I'm not just eating for two but for three now, a little whipped cream isn't going to hurt me), I sit down in Dad's study. Behind his desk, in his large old fashioned leather office chair, I chew on my lip slowly, trying to figure out what to say.

  There's a gentle knock on the door, and Dad comes in, dressed in his pajamas. “Hey honey, it's nearly midnight. Shouldn't you get some sleep?”

  “I will, Dad. I just... I need to know what to say. I feel like I could write him a whole novel about the past three months. The little things like how classes are going, what Fort Lee is like, even my day to day thoughts,” I say, tapping on the small tablet. I know I don't have a lot of space. I point to the pile of balled up pieces of paper in the wastebasket, sighing. “As you can see, I'm having editing problems.”

  Dad looks at the basket, nodding. “What did you say last time? Or I guess, maybe more importantly, if you were going to sum up everything you want to remind Simon about in less than a hundred words, what would you say? This is going to hurt Ashley, but remember. He's in a North Korean cell, I guarantee you that he's being psychologically and maybe physically tortured as well. He's lonely, he's confused, and he needs to be reminded of what the hell he's supposed to be trying to get home for. He needs your strength, Ashley. Remind him that you're here, and that you are ready for him when he gets home.”

  I tap at my lip, thinking, then nod. “Okay Dad, I think I know what I need to write. I'll need to borrow your printer, though.”

  “What for?” Dad asks. “It'd be better if you handwrote everything.”

  “Yes, but this isn't about the letter. I know exactly what to send to Simon that'll remind him of why he needs to get home. First though, the letter.” I pull the tablet back in front of me, and start to write.

  Simon

  Waking up, I stretch in the space given to me by my cell and look around. The ground outside is starting to frost over, and I'm expecting that tonight's going to be colder, the sky overhead is already gray and flat. Shivering, I pull my blanket tighter around me, and huddle in the middle of the room, where it's warmest, the least amount of my body is touching the floor.

  I still haven't earned my pillow back, let alone something to call a bed. Scraps of cardboard, a little bit of rice straw, something, it's all I want right now. Anything to keep me from having to roll constantly all night in order to prevent my body waking up numb and half frozen.

  I pull my blanket over my head, trying to make a little cocoon of insulation, and force myself to shiver, even if I don't really have the energy to do so. I'm so tired, I'm not sleeping still as much as passing out, and even with the increased rations that Mistress Jenny is giving me, I don't have any energy.

  Mistress Jenny... I know I shouldn't be thinking of her that way, but I can't help it. I know she's supposed to be the enemy, but I've been here so long, how can she be the enemy? She's the one who got me some real meat last week, she's the one who gives me my showers that let me warm up some as well as scrub my skin at least somewhat clean. She does so much for me, and all she asks for is one little thing. To give myself to her.

  But... I know what that means. She's joked about it, but I don't think they're jokes. She wants me to say things, things that I know will make some people angry... but where are those people, so far away that sometimes I can't recall their names right off the top of my head? Where are the people, when Mistress Jenny is right here? She says that she cares for me, that she wants me even. She says once I'm a good boy again, that she'll make sure I'm fed and made stronger, and then she'll show me things....

  A ghost of something whispers in my brain, red hair I think, but it's so hard to remember any more, it'd just be so easy...

  I hear footsteps outside my cell, and try to pull my blanket back from over my head, they don't like it when I'm totally covered up, but before I can, I hear the boots stop. “Simon Lancaster.... a letter. You have ten minutes before Major Song Dai-yu gets here.”

  There's a sliding sound as something rasps on the floor, and then the boots run off before I can get my blanket off. I blink, looking in the gray morning light at the tiny envelope that's sitting next to my knee. I rip it open, and two pieces of paper are inside. I take them out, unfolding them, the handwriting piercing the fog that's been in my brain even before I read the words.

  My precious Simon,

  I'm writing this to remind you that you are not alone. I'm here, in America, and I've been doing everything I can to get you home. You need to do whatever you can to survive, to get out. I need you to stay strong, my love. I love you, Simon. And your children will love you too. Yes, I'm pregnant, with your twin children. You must survive, and get out of there. Our babies need their father.

  I love you

  Ashley

  I re-read the small piece of paper again, then look at the other page. It's a photograph that's been printed on regular paper, but I know what it is, a sonogram. The two heads, the tiny hands and feet. Ashley!

  I want to re-read the letter, and I do it quickly, each loo
p and swirl of her handwriting searing into my mind and clearing away the cobwebs that Major 'Jenny' Song has filled my head with. I don't have time to read it a third time, I can't dare keep the paper in my cell, and even though it hurts me to take it away I tear it all into chunks, swallowing the last of it just as I hear Song's (how in the hell did I start thinking of her as Jenny or even Mistress Jenny?) high heels clicking on the concrete.

  Thinking quickly, I huddle under my blanket, putting an eager look on my face as she comes into sight. “Good morning, Simon. You look happy to see me.”

  “Yes, Miss Jenny,” I say, hating every word. I'm smiling on my face, but inside I am laughing. Your pathetic attempts at brainwashing me almost worked, Major 'Jenny' Song. Almost.

  Major Song though doesn't understand my smile, she thinks that I'm actually happy to see her. Instead she gets a half triumphant, half pleased look on her face, and squats down. “Really? And why is that?”

  I bite my lip, playing coy. It's not that hard, I was a player for so long, and it's not that hard to imitate what I saw girls try to pull on me when they were saying yes... but not yet. It works like a charm on Major Song, who smiles. “Come on, Simon. No punishment, just tell me why please.”

  “I... I was thinking about you this morning. It was... nice,” I shyly say, half turning away. “I was thinking about how I'd like to make you happy.”

  Major Song's smile broadens, and I can see the gleam of triumph in her eyes. “Really? Well, I think that deserves a little bit of a reward. How would you like to have breakfast with me this morning?”

  “Yes Miss Jenny,” I reply, putting just a little bit of twang into my voice. It's an old trick I did as a player which tended to loosen up panties quite nicely. It works on Major Song too, whose smile becomes just a little more genuine. “Can I... can I serve you at breakfast?”

  “I think that is a wonderful idea. And if you happen to sneak an extra bite of food, I won't be too concerned. Come, first your morning toilet and washing, then breakfast.”