True Deceptions (True Lies)

by Veronica Forand

  A black beetle crawled across the floor and over one of the women’s feet. The woman either didn’t notice it, or didn’t care. Cassie stepped back, away from the path of the bug and stopped short of leaning on the dirty wall. One by one, the guards forced the women into showers and scrubbed them until their skin became red and sore.

  When Cassie stepped under the spray, she shivered at the cold water. Someone sprayed a bottle of something gross toward her. She shut her eyes against the onslaught. The taste of melted cardboard dripped into her mouth. Her stomach rebelled at the nasty taste. She tried to rinse it out in the shower water, but the water was worse than the soap. A guard held a large brush on the end of a long handle and began to scrub her skin. When the brush scraped her injured knee, Cassie gasped and tried to cover it. The guard smacked her other leg with the back of the brush until she stood straight again.

  After the torture of the shower, they moved to an examination room, still dripping wet. The scrape on Cassie’s leg stung. She limped across the floor and waited. A chill shot through her. Her limbs trembled, and she lifted her hand to her mouth to keep from being sick. The stone wedged in her throat still made it hard to breathe. Did anyone speak English? If they did, they refused to acknowledge her.

  A woman in a lab coat arrived, her hands already gloved. One prisoner went before Cassie. The woman searched between the prisoner’s legs, in every possible crevice and when the nude prisoner cried and tried to push the guard’s hands away, she received a slap across her cheek to stop her protests. The guard did not change gloves between prisoners. Bile rose up from Cassie’s knotted stomach, knowing whatever disease the first woman had would be hand delivered to her. She prayed the woman was healthy. Whoever went last would fare the worst.

  Another woman in a lab coat, older and carrying an iPad, rushed into the room and started to argue with the first. The older woman must have won the argument. She took over the exams with a calmer demeanor… and a box of gloves to change into between each patient.

  As fingers pushed into her most vulnerable places, Cassie tried to shut out the humiliation. The cavity search, however, cracked her composure and darkened her soul. She bit her tongue until the coppery taste of her own blood rid her mouth of the lingering nastiness of the soap.

  All the prisoners were directed into the shower again to clean up after the examination. As they walked by the new lab coated woman, she spoke softly to each prisoner. She nodded to Cassie. Her lips were pressed shut, but there was empathy in her eyes. And for a moment, Cassie felt some of her tension dissipate. Someone in the prison seemed compassionate. It would have to be enough for now. The woman not only protected them from cruelly indifferent contamination, but she gave them another consideration as well. Warm water. It sprayed over them, uncramped tense muscles and took away a bit of the fear, even though the water still smelled, and the soap was still nasty.

  Cassie received a blue dress to wear. The material scratched her sensitive, scoured skin, but it was better than the shame of being naked in a room of strangers. The guards led her down another gray hallway and through three sets of locked doors. No other prisoners followed.

  She noticed everything around her. The cracks in the wall with white sodium deposits leeching through. The water stains on the gray cement floor. The women dressed in the blue prison garb, who sat quietly in their cells, some with a cellmate, other times alone. Their heads lifted when she walked by, and they stared at her, an obvious foreigner. A few called out to her in a foreign and unsettling wail. She didn’t know if she was being cursed or prayed for.

  The guard stopped at a small, empty cell at the far end of a hallway. When she motioned for her to enter, Cassie froze. This was jail, in a foreign country where she didn’t speak the language, didn’t understand the culture, didn’t know what her options included, if she even had options. The guard patted her arm to coax her in. Once Cassie crossed the threshold, the guard slammed the door. The echo thudded through her chest and knocked out any remaining emotion.

  The cell contained a bed with a beige blanket and a navy blue pillow. The pillow was stained white. From tears? From something more insidious? A toilet and small sink sat in the corner, rusty and cracked. She sat on the bed, numb, staring through the bars into the hall. There was no cell across from hers, only a gray wall with no window. She heard shuffling in the next cell, but otherwise the only noises were hollow and industrial sounds from another part of the building.

  Her knee hurt and her body shuddered from a chill that emanated from the inside and spread through her until jerky tremors shook her limbs. She curled into a fetal position and allowed her tears to fall.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For what seemed like a day and a night, Cassie sat in solitary confinement. No one spoke to her or acknowledged her existence. Guards dropped off food she didn’t recognize and warm glasses of water. The water tasted salty, as though they’d taken it from a dirty fish tank, but it was better than the water from her sink.

  Her skin itched constantly. The only thing to observe in the cell was the comings and goings of the bugs crawling around the floor and walls. They didn’t bother her, and she didn’t bother them. If one crossed her imaginary boundary, she flicked it away, but refused to kill it.

  When she woke from a long, uncomfortable sleep, a middle-aged man, dressed in black, was standing outside of her cell, staring at her through the open door. She’d only seen female guards since arriving behind the walls of the prison. The man leered at her. His dark, narrowed eyes examined her body head to toe. She shifted back in the bed to the corner of the cot. Her stomach, sick from the food they’d given her, contorted into a punch-in-the-gut type cramp. She wanted to escape, but that was impossible.

  He left the door open and walked toward her, his posture becoming straighter, his pace quicker.

  “Stay away from me. Please.” She raised her hands to hold him off, but he moved them aside with ease.

  “Help. Please. Help,” she called to the empty hallway as, she struggled to push him away.

  “Stop! Please!” Her cries became hysterical, frantic.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair. For a moment, he stood still, fingers caressing the long strands as though they were made of silk. Then he pulled her toward him. The position was awkward and vulnerable. A chill slithered over her body when his mouth descended on hers, forcing his way inside and destroying her hope for an easy way out of this hell. The violation caused her normal demeanor to snap.

  Grabbing his hair and pulling, she attempted to free herself. He tightened his grip on her shoulders and shoved her back on the bed. Ripping at her neckline, he exposed her breasts. Humiliation and terror clouded her thoughts. She struggled to get away, but he had her pinned under him.

  His hand went to push up her dress, but she evaded him by shifting her hips side to side. He pulled her hair again until her scalp burned. She couldn’t be raped. She refused. Rage replaced fear. She kicked off the wall with every ounce of her strength. They both fell to the concrete floor, Cassie landing on top of him.

  Hostile words launched at her from snarling lips. With solid punches to her gut, he knocked the wind from her lungs. Her stomach ached, and she felt dizzy. He lifted her up and shoved her into the wall.

  Her shoulder struck the concrete, but she remained standing, despite the agony pervading her beat-up body. Rushing toward escape, she flung the door open wider and almost made it. He kicked her leg out from under her. Her forehead scraped against the bars as she fell to the ground. Her chin hit the floor first, with only the slightest bracing by her hands to soften the blow. Pain radiated across her jaw, her cheeks, and her ears. She ignored her injuries and pushed up to continue fighting.

  She mule-kicked her legs behind her, hitting something several times. With effort, she managed to stand…and then she let loose with a ferocity she’d never felt before. After twisting around to face her attacker, she punched his face, using her long arms and her combat training. Rage and fear
combined into an adrenaline-filled rush. Her growing fury guided her movements, inflicting on her attacker as much pain as she could unleash.

  Her fist hit him in the nose. She felt the bone snap and heard his cries while blood sprayed across his face and onto the nearest wall. When he grasped his face with his hands, she kicked him in the balls, holding nothing back and forcing him onto the bed. Then she flew through the cell door and slammed it behind her. Her attacker bellowed like a wounded rabbit, but couldn’t follow. But he still threatened her. Locked on the other side of the bars, he pulled a gun from his waist and pointed it toward her.

  She ran to the other end of the hall past the cries of the other prisoners and crouched down by the door. Out of breath and shaking, she remained in a tight ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. She didn’t cry and refused to whimper, but her body trembled, and a chill fell over her like a fog on a cold autumn night. As she took a few deep breaths, she vowed to never place herself in a position of weakness again.

  The door unlocked and soon a bunch of guards, both male and female, surrounded her. They pulled her to her feet and forced her down the next corridor. She struggled against them. One grabbed her hair and tried to restrain her movements, but her arms shot out to strike anything nearby. Her height and arm length worked in her favor as she left a path of injured people behind her. The petite woman who had pulled her hair received a bloody mouth after coming into contact with one of Cassie’s fists. She then kicked a male security guard in the knee so hard he fell to the floor. She fought everyone who came near her. No more sitting passively and allowing anyone to harm her ever again. It took several guards to wrestle her to the ground. They cuffed her hands behind her back, yet she still tried to fight. When they had her seated in a chair near the front of the building, a large man with a sober expression and a face covered in pockmarks squeezed her chin and stared into her eyes. Blood trickled from her cheek onto her lap.

  “Stop,” he insisted. English. Finally.

  “Let me go. I didn’t do anything wrong.” She felt no pain, but could feel her jaw clenching and her eyebrows narrowing.

  His face remained impassive. “Stop,” he repeated.

  He didn’t know English. No one did.

  The kind woman in the lab coat she’d seen before yelled something at the male guards, who had linked Cassie’s handcuffs to her chair. The son of a bitch who had attacked her appeared in the room, escorted by two men. He was bloody and limping. Good. She prayed he received a harsh punishment for everything he’d put her through.

  When the men left the room, hollering at each other, two females in black stood on each side of Cassie, with guns drawn. Anger and fear swallowed up her normally optimistic outlook and provided her with all the justification in the world to hit and punch and scream. The woman touched her scraped and bloody chin, but Cassie tried to pull away from this nightmare. It was too late to be friends. No one protected her. The only person she could rely on was herself. When the woman moved to examine under her uniform, Cassie fought her off, spitting in her face and growling. Peacefulness made her vulnerable. She wanted to live, to survive. She wanted to fight.

  A large needle pricked her arm, a painful reminder that she had no control. Her fight evaporated within seconds.

  She awoke in a cleaner cell, with an armed guard outside her door. Her head hurt. Her chest felt tight and her stomach ached as though a car had driven over it. She felt a bandage on her chin. The rest of her injuries were covered in an ointment reeking of Bengay and garlic. She lumbered to the sink and rinsed off her hands. Then she spit out whatever taste was leftover from the animal who had attacked her.

  A black cloud lingered around her. She was alone in a prison where no one spoke her language. She’d been in a fight against a team of guards, and she’d survived.

  She’d never been in a fight before, except in her training classes for this mission. And even in those, no one truly wanted to harm her. As an only child, she’d grown up fairly protected. The surf had battered her down at times, but the sea held no animosity toward her. The man who had attacked her, however, spewed hatred and a dirty lust. She wasn’t sure if it was because she looked American, was a woman, or was a foreigner in a strange land. He’d wanted her to fear him, wanted to hurt her. She’d hungered to hurt him back. The pain she’d inflicted on him made her feel strong. Stronger than she’d ever felt.

  She stood up and paced the floor. The movement hurt, but she wouldn’t sit and wait in fear. She was tired of being afraid, of living in a protective cocoon of sunshine and moonbeams. Simon had told her in so many words and actions that she was incompetent. And here she was in the middle of hell. She continued walking seven steps in one direction and seven steps the other way.

  I can survive if I just make it another step. And another. Something will happen soon. Some idea will come to me, and I’ll get free.

  Time stopped. She strode back and forth in an unending march, her thoughts focused on how she could escape. After what felt like hours, the doors down the hall opened. She peered through the bars to see who had arrived. Strolling toward her cell was a modern day hero, dressed in black pants and a billowy white cotton shirt. Dane. But he was too late. When his eyes focused on her, he seemed to struggle to maintain his faint smile. Probably disturbed by the sight of her bandage, and the swelling, and the cuts on her face.

  Next to him was an armed escort and a red-headed woman in a black suit.

  “Miss Watson. I’m Eileen Smith from the U.S. State Department. We’ve secured your release.” She stepped into the cell and reached out to clasp Cassie’s hands, but Cassie backed away. She didn’t want to touch anyone.

  Dane placed his hand on her shoulder and spoke in a calm voice, but pulled his hand off her when she shot him a glare of revulsion. “It’s all right. You’re going home.”

  Home? Where was that?

  Ms. Smith returned to the corridor.

  Dane pointed to the door. “Let’s go.”

  No one spoke as they walked away from hell. The guards opened secure doors, and then led them into the courtyard in front of the white building. A U.S. soldier opened the back door to a tan Humvee.

  Once everyone was inside, Ms. Smith handed her a new passport. “Do you need any medical attention?”

  “No.” She couldn’t handle more poking and prodding.

  The woman nodded. “Mr. O’Brien has offered to escort you back to the States. You can stay at one of the rooms in the embassy until your flight.”

  The States? Her American passport. She’d forgotten. The British government had no jurisdiction over her. Would they allow her to walk away from the assignment and return to California? Maybe they didn’t want her back. This could be her way out of the limbo MI6 had placed her in.

  Dane sat quietly for the first half of the long ride, then he attempted to counter all the violence Cassie had experienced. She ignored him at first, but he spoke so gently.

  “You’re safe with me. No one can hurt you now,” he whispered.

  It was enough. For the first time in days, she took a deep breath.

  When they arrived at the embassy, he led her to a small apartment. She remained on the couch, listening to him make plans for them to fly to the United States. Perhaps she could stay there with him, hidden away from her enemies and her memories and Simon. Where the heck was Simon? She’d placed all her trust in him, and he never came.

  She’d believed he cared about her. What a stupid childish fairy tale. Fairy tales didn’t exist. Her mother’s cancer existed, rape and torture existed, but happy-ever-afters didn’t.

  “Do you need anything?” Dane approached her, looking concerned but not touching her.

  “No, thanks. I’m all right.”

  “Why don’t you go into the bedroom and lie down.”

  She nodded.

  Sleep would be wonderful. She wandered toward the bedroom, but the knock on the front door stalled her movement. Could someone be here to return her to the prison?
She clasped the doorframe and placed her hand over her stomach. An empty feeling roiled through her.

  Dane peered through the peephole. “Don’t worry. It’s Simon. Do you want to see him?”

  Where had he been when she needed him?

  She shook her head. He’d make everything worse. His presence in her life tended to upheave all her beliefs and expectations. He’d remind her that she was the one who’d screwed up, and he’d be right. She wanted to go back to California, live by the beach, and never set foot near Simon Dunn again.

  “Open the damn door, Dane,” Simon yelled. He wasn’t calm. He wasn’t peaceful. He was violence and anger. Part of her wanted to see him and yell and scream and fight him. The other part couldn’t deal with him.

  She walked into the bedroom and locked the door in case Dane let him in, or he crashed through the wall. She entered the bathroom and locked that door, too. Running water to fill her bath muffled the argument taking place in the living room. Simon had to have gained entry into the apartment because Dane probably wouldn’t holler, “bastard,” “asshole,” or “son of a bitch,” and he didn’t have an English accent. Simon, however, swore like a man from the worst sections of London. Where Dane was light and comforting, Simon was dark and unstable.

  She slid into the tub. The bruises on her face and torso still hurt, but the warm water would help her aching muscles. With soap and a washcloth, she tried to scrub off the grime and the memories, but everything was still too raw. She wrapped her arms around her chest and took some deep breaths. Her lungs couldn’t take in much air. The large imaginary stone remained lodged in her throat and never released her from the feeling of suffocation. Would she ever be able to breathe without exerting herself?

  Shutting her eyes, she tried to will herself to the bungalow of her youth, a place where she’d lived and laughed with her mother. They’d sit on the couch every Sunday afternoon, watching romantic comedies and eating popcorn. In the evenings, her mother would take her to the beach to say good night to the sun. The colors of the sunsets on the Pacific coast glowed as brightly as her mother’s love. She wrapped herself in those thoughts and colors until she fell asleep chest deep in the warm water.