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THE POLAR METHOD WASN’T meant for torture. Not meant for torture. Daniel knew that. He knew better. Why hadn’t they stopped freezing Tom? What was going on with Andy? But Rachel kept her mouth shut. Gustavson wanted her to ask. He wanted under her skin. Stupid man had to have been bullied as a kid. He was ruthless in delivering torment.
Gustavson chuckled, pulling Rachel from her volley between Andy and Tom. “Do you know you haven’t looked his way once?” He tapped on the glass to Josh’s cubicle.
Of course she hadn’t looked at Josh. He was fine. She smirked at Gustavson and shrugged. He’d take it as “so?” Not that she cared. What could he do to Josh? Splash more water on him?
Satisfaction glowed from the little man’s face, taking Brenda aback. He had the personality of a man who would only be satisfied if the woman he raped died afterward. He’d done something to Josh that she’d missed.
Rachel forced her gaze past Gustavson’s glove on the glass. Josh wasn’t hanging from the wall. He bobbed beside it. The water level had risen up to his chest. He hadn’t woken up yet which could mean he’d been drugged or he was dead. The only thing keeping his head above water were the shackles holding him to the wall.
Once his head sank below the water, he’d have to wake up, or he wouldn’t be able to.
Rachel had nothing to offer Gustavson. He hadn’t asked her anything or even asked if she cared. Daniel had to be running the experiment and he would be noting her reactions. He’d catch the eye flicker, the dilation of the pupil, the speed of her pulse at the base of her neck. He’d know that her lips and mouth were dry which was a sign of fear.
Daniel would know those things and he’d tell Gustavson. But Gustavson hadn’t left the room for a consultation. His ears lacked any transmission devices and nothing was hooked to his belt or his shirt to talk into.
Gustavson didn’t give a damn what she thought. Only Daniel did. And if she gave the response they wanted, then maybe the men would be released or at least given a respite.
But what did they want?
Gustavson flipped three buttons on the panel. Andy’s squirming slowed and stopped. Tom’s hair stopped moving in the cold blast. The water in the ceiling of Josh’s cubicle slowed to a trickle and then barely a drip.
Rachel bit the inside of her cheek. She’d done it. Whatever “it” was. But Gustavson reached for another button. He looked at her, the grin on his face wide and child-like. The contrast slapped her in the face.
The window furthest to her left lit up.
A man straddled a wooden stool, facing away from her. He leaned forward, painstakingly to reach for something on the floor. Bright red ribbons of blood slashed across his back. He pivoted on his seat and stared her direction, one eye swollen closed. His nose seeped blood. Other gashes and wounds speckled the front of him.
He forced himself to stand and move, dragging the stool behind him across the cement floor. When he reached the window, he leaned on the wall, the blood on his skin in sharp relief to the olive color of his skin.
He raised a piece of paper and slapped it on the glass.
Bold, black words reached for Rachel: My name is Daniel Bastian. I need help. Do whatever they want. RΨP.
Rachel’s gasp echoed back at her.
Gustavson’s voice hissed in her ear. “Now do I have your attention?”