/ FOURTEEN /

Ryan opened his eyes and blinked in the unexpected blaze of light, shielding his face with his arm.

After a few seconds, he lowered it and turned his head. He choked back his shock, realising it wasn't Clara returned. It was Dr Fiona Bradley.

Could he have imagined ever being so thankful to see her?

"Hello... erm..." Dr Bradley checked the tablet in her hand. "Ah, Ryan. How are we today?"

We? Why did people ask how 'we' were when they meant to ask how 'you' were? They knew how they were and, in this case, definitely, Ryan couldn't give a shit about her. He was pleased to see his jailor, but he had no interest in her wellness.

"Fine," he said.

He noticed his voice was shaking and tried to gulp the tremble back down. His mouth was dry, though not from thirst.

"You don't sound it," she said. "In fact, I'd go as far as to say you sound afraid. Is that for little old me?"

Ryan shook his head. He didn't trust his voice to not vibrate in time with his fast-beating heart.

"Good. You really don't need to fear me. I'm a pussycat!"

Or Little Red Riding Hood's pseudo-grandma, oh, such big eyes, ears and claws.

"OK."

"Good, good. That's what I like to see. Trust. We need trust in each other, don't we Ryan?"

Trust was a dish served with a warm spoon in cold times. Not one coated in poison. He didn't trust her and was surprised that she thought he might. No, he could see the glint in her eyes. She was playing with him. There was no trust on either side. She was testing his reaction, so he wouldn't give one.

He shrugged.

"Excellent. I'm pleased we've confirmed that."

There was a knock at the door and Pedra entered. She stood next to the doctor in silence and touched the edge of her tablet to Bradley's, making a swiping motion with her finger on the screen.

"Thank you Peddy. Good work."

Pedra nodded and smiled briefly. Her eyes were reddened and her cheeks were flushed slightly, as if she'd been crying.

"Are we OK now, Peddy?"

Pedra nodded, still saying nothing. She reached the door and took the handle, turning it.

"Peddy?"

Pedra turned.

"No more fucking up, OK?"

Pedra nodded again and hurried out, closing the door behind her.

"She's a sweet one, you know Ryan?" Bradley said. "And so good at her job." She sighed. "It's a pity she can be fucking useless sometimes, too."

Ryan doubted the doctor's assistant, if that was her role, was as bad as was made out. Bradley gave the impression of someone with a short fuse, and he alternated between thoughts of trying to ignite it and knowing it wasn't the best idea in the world.

When he didn't say anything, it was Bradley's turn to shrug.

"Well, we're in a talkative mood today, aren't we?"

She laughed and held out the tablet screen for Ryan to see. He had no idea what he was looking at, as it was filled with figures, a three-dimensional revolving image of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man with various spots on the body flashing in red, and a line graph. He assumed it showed his vital statistics. In the corner, in a bold red italic, stood 'C8' with some redacted text beneath it, then his supposed name. Ryan.

"Looking good, aren't you?"

Ryan thought red dots weren't ever good. Red was the colour of danger, not that he needed it to know he wasn't entirely safe there. The wraps around his wrists, the ghostly girl, the prison cell and the darkness were fairly good indications.

So, what did she want this time?

"Do I?" he asked.

"Why yes! Look at those numbers!"

She thrust the tablet in his face again. He could see the figures she referred to, but they were rapidly changing and he had no frame of reference to aid his understanding. With no other choice, he'd take her word for it. His vital statistics looking good (she was speaking medically, rather than physically, surely) was something to be happy about. It meant he was healthy. The topsy turvy hours and lack of sustenance had yet to take their toll.

"Ah," he said. "OK."

He tried to sound pleased. He failed.

"Oh, don't be such a moody mutt. There's some far worse than you. You're one of the lucky ones."

"I am? What's so lucky about being in here? If that's the case, let me go. Give me my memories back. Give me my life back!"

Dr Bradley laid her tablet down slowly on a desk Ryan hadn't noticed before. Had it always been there? No, it couldn't have been, or he'd have seen it. There was a large, extremely wide, curved monitor, a keyboard and an odd looking mouse that housed its ball on the side. To one side, there was a neat pile of files, and beside it was a pen holder that looked to have been decorated by a child. It had fading, untidy writing, with hand drawn hearts and flowers sprouting from the bottom. It contained one pen and one pencil.

On the wall above the desk was a clock. Ryan's heart raced when he saw it. Time! He could have some idea of the time! Was it day? Night? The sudden skip in his chest juddered to a halt when he saw the clock had numbers, but no hands to point at them. It told him nothing.

Nothing except the fact Bradley had a sick sense of humour.

Bradley saw his gaze and looked up at the clock too. When she turned back, she was smiling.

"I could tell you that clock is meant as a representative of Time's stranglehold on Humanity. The lack of hands signifies that I refuse to be constrained by such limitations."

Ryan took her pause as a space for him to fill with a comment. He grunted, a sound that meant nothing other than so what? Get on with it.

"I could say that," she said. "I'd like to say that. But I can't. Do you know what it's for?"

Ryan shrugged.

"No idea," he said.

It wasn't true. He did have an idea, but he didn't want to share it. She'd take pleasure in it.

"Well, it's like that because I want to mess with your heads," she said, grinning. She leant in. "It gives you hope that there's a world out there with time and light and meaning. But there ain't. Not now. Not for you."

Ryan struck out, his hands around her throat, choking the vindictive, manipulative bitch. His grip tightened, and she desperately tried to pull his hands free. The life quickly fled from her eyes and, finally, he let her go. She dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Or, so he wished.

He didn't respond to her taunt. What was the point? She'd like that, and he'd only be pandering to her ego.

"Nice," she said. "Very nice."

"What is?"

"This. Your reaction."

"What about it? I'm not playing."

"And that's what I'm liking. You're being strong willed, which is what I'm trying to gauge. A strong mind and solid build!"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Oh," sighed Bradley. "You had to go spoil it with profanity. I fucking hate profanity. It's so un-fucking-becoming."

"Look, Fiona, get out my face."

The slap to his cheek stung and tears welled in his eyes, but he resisted the urge to cry out.

"Don't ever call me that," she said. "And fuck off back to your cage, boy."

"With pleasure."

"Jarvis!" she called, standing straight.

A man hurried in. He was one of the tall, slender figures Ryan had seen previously. He could see the outermost parts of the person, as they stood with the doctor between them and the bed, and the angle hid their features.

Jarvis didn't speak or move when he entered the room. He stood, awaiting further instructions. When the doctor moved aside, Ryan saw why.

Jarvis had no mouth.

Where there should have been an opening, surrounded by lips and displaying teeth if he ever smiled, was a blank space. Well, not entirely blank. There was a faint pink smudge, as if lips had tried to form but couldn't figure out exactly where they were meant to be.

"It's rude to stare."

It was a male voice, but there were only the three of them in the room. And it had come from the direction of Jarvis.

"Erm... S... sorry?" Ryan stuttered.

"Your nose is too big for your eyes, and it's bending to the left. I don't stare at you, do I?"

Still, Ryan was confused. Yes, the voice definitely from the doctor's assistant, but how? Shouldn't it have been muffled or a mumbled mess?

"Well said, Jivvie," she said, laying her hand on his elongated forearm. "Take no notice of him. He doesn't appreciate your warped beauty."

"Thank you, doc," 'said' Jarvis, though he winced a little at the word warped.

His eyes and cheeks moved as if a mouth had been. But even the jaw was perfectly still, showing that, however the sound was being made, it wasn't coming from that area.

"Can you take him back, please?"

"Of course. Can I cycle him?"

Bradley's expression was thoughtful, as she was considering the request. She shook her head.

"Not this time," she told him. "Its too costly."

Jarvis sighed and nodded.

"That's what I thought. He'd deserve it, though."

"So true. Maybe next time. You can punch him, if you would like to?"

Jarvis's eyes lit up, the closest he could manage to a grin.

Ryan lifted his head and opened his fully present,working mouth to argue. The fist smashing into his face prevented any wordsfrom being heard.

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