Feedback

“Hello Jason,” he said, smiling as Lily cut the engine on the bike. “I told you I’d be in touch.”

Chapter 09: Kindness

“Give me your hand,” a voice said from the darkness.

Lee turned, looking around his cramped prison. He could see a dark silhouette in the adjacent cell. Terrified, he scuttled to the opposite corner, cradling his injured hand, nursing himself through the pain. He couldn’t speak, all that passed from his lips was a whimper.

Over the following hour, the prisoner in the next cell kept calling for him, pleading with him to come over to the bars, but Lee couldn’t move. His mind was still reeling with shock.

Moonlight fought its way through the bars set into the window. Broken glass lay on the cold concrete floor, mixed in with loose straw and clumps of dried mud.

Again, a hand reached out for him through the bars of the adjacent cell. Lee pushed his back up hard against the cold, iron bars of the far cell, desperate to stay away. His reaction was instinctive, unthinking, born of the desire to protect his wounded hand. Fingers grabbed at him through the darkness.

“It’s OK. I can help,” the stranger said softly. “Let me see your hand.”

The voice was American. In the haze of agony he felt following the torture, he hadn’t realized that before, but like the young boy, this prisoner was speaking English.

Lee felt his head spinning. There was too much to take in, too much to process. Time seemed to compress, blurring reality, and he struggled to comprehend where he was and what was happening to him. He wanted to run. An impulsive desire swept over him, a longing to flee from danger. The outstretched, dirty arm of the other prisoner intruded into what little sanctuary he had.

Lee’s cell was no more than four feet wide, but was at least ten feet long, stretching to the back of the barracks above.

Lee pushed his back against the bars of the far cell, trying to get as far away as he could from the hand reaching out for him. Terror swept through him. In the darkness, there could have been more hands reaching for him, dozens of them grabbing him from behind. That thought shook him.

“Please,” he pleaded. “Leave me alone.”

He cowered, struggling with his throbbing right hand. Blood oozed from beneath the soaked rag pressed hard up against the raw stumps on his hand.

“What have those bastards done to you?” the voice asked.

Lee felt his heart jump. This had to be one of the Navy SEALs.

He tried to speak, but his trembling lips wouldn’t respond. His cheeks quivered. Tears rolled from his eyes.

“Let me look at your hand. I can help.”

Help. The concept was foreign to Lee, sounding as though it were spoken in strange, inhospitable language rather than English. With what he’d gone through, Lee couldn’t imagine what it meant for one human to help another. A knot formed in his throat. Help? What help could he be?

“Trust me,” the man said. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Look at the floor. You’re still bleeding. We have to stop the bleeding.”

Lee could barely make out the man’s pale features in the half light. Mud and grime covered his face. His hair was matted and tangled, wild like the trees of the windswept coast. His drab olive clothing was torn and dirty. His boots were scuffed and worn.

Lee kicked against the concrete floor, his socks sliding on the straw as he pushed himself over toward the stranger. What could the American do? How could he help? It didn’t matter. Lee needed help, any kind of help. Just to hear a kind voice filled him with a glimmer of hope.

The man moved to the front of the cell, where the moonlight fell on the bars that separated them. He was squatting. It was only then Lee realized the cell was no more than three feet in height.

“Show me your hand.”

Lee shook his head. He dared not release his grip on the bloody rag covering his hand.

“I’m a medic. I can help.”

In the dim light, Lee could make out a needle and thread held in the man’s right hand.

“You’re lucky. They worked over Andrews too, but they took all of his fingers, even the thumbs. I managed to get a sewing kit from one of the guards, but there was nothing I could do. He’d lost too much blood.”

“He’s …” Lee asked, the word sticking in his throat.

In the darkness, the stranger nodded, his lips pulled taut with anguish.

Lee dragged himself up against the bars, wriggling against them with his shoulders, pushing along the ground with his feet. His left hand was still fiercely protective of his right hand and he felt he couldn’t let go.

“Keep the pressure on,” the medic said, with both hands reaching through the bars. He held the needle between his teeth as he spoke, saying. “I’m going to peel the bandage back slowly and close up your wounds one by one.”

Lee nodded, watching as the Navy SEAL pried the bloody cloth back just enough to reveal the bloody stump where once his little finger had been.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “But I’m going to need to close off the severed veins. I’m so sorry, but this is going to hurt.”