Date unknown
Location unknowable … yet
The door opened, allowing engine noise and the cold air to rush into the room. The sounds had become familiar but yet unseen. Pierce’s captors kept his eyes covered the entire time. Forced to sleep in a chair, he felt exhausted, as though he’d been exerting himself physically. Perhaps he was simply emotionally expended. Either way, he was neither in the mood nor strong enough to offer any resistance.
His hands were freed periodically, but only while under supervision and always while blindfolded. No one would speak to him, which also took a severe toll on his nerves. The food had been cold but good, and certainly not requiring any utensils that might be turned into a weapon. Although unsure, Pierce was convinced that there were three men who would come at a time.
It was one of the two meal times, which now were becoming routine. Two meals a day was likely better than he should have expected, and in reality provided more than he normally ate.
Pierce sat in his chair, blind and restrained, wondering if today any his questions would be answered.
As before, his hands were freed, but the blindfold was not removed, and he was led to a table where simple food waited.
This time, two pair of shoes left the room, leaving one person behind to watch him eat. Pierce felt around the plate. It was metal, though not thick or very heavy. And it was sharp around the edge, perhaps because it was a cheaply made item. Sounds in the room indicated that the remaining man was sitting down behind him, on a bed or bench he himself had not yet been permitted to sleep on, and lighting a cigar or perhaps a cigarette. The man who led his capture? It was possible. The smoke made its way to him, and it smelled something like pipe tobacco. The American? Americans smoked cheroots, which often used sweeter tobaccos. Yes, it was the American. Had he been taller or more muscular than Pierce? Yes. He kept that in front of his mind.
He had to try something. His body would never take another day of sleep deprivation and immobility. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, weakly. “I can’t - can’t eat. Not yet.”
The man sighed and stood up, the furniture creaking as he lifted his weight off of it.
Pierce swept his hand across the plate, freeing it of food, grasped it with one hand and pulled on his blindfold with the other. He swung out the metal and struck at the man approaching him. It wasn’t enough of a blow to knock him down, and in fact, he seemed to duck at the right moment. But the unexpected maneuver was effective. Pierce threw all of his weight against the man, landing on top of him, pinning him to the floor. He jammed the sharp edged plate against the man’s neck and ordered him to keep quiet.
Cold blue eyes glared at him. The man Pierce had subdued was indeed taller and broader in the chest as he remembered, but hadn’t expected the assault. First, he lifted his chin as if to pull his whole throat out from under the plate. The man’s skin was exposed instead, and it revealed something normally hidden by the high collar of his sweater. The edge of the plate sat on top of a long, ugly scar that stretched from ear to ear.
Pierce took a second to observe his surroundings. The room was tiny, sparse but clean. The blue-eyed man began to struggle, but Pierce put more weight on the plate. While it might cut his own hands, it was worth it to keep the man still. No one else was there.
“Where am I?” Pierce whispered.
The blue eyes kept staring and nothing was answered.
“What in God’s name do you want?”
The door opened, and the returning men were astonished to see their prisoner crouched on top of their colleague. An alarm went up. Pierce took his weight off the metal plate, resigned to the fact that he couldn’t fight all of them.
To his surprise, everyone who pulled him off the blue-eyed man seemed amused rather than angry. Even the man himself wasn’t entirely upset; if anything, he was embarrassed. Pierce was held by his arms and the man took the plate out of his hands with some disgust.
“Can’t leave you alone, can we sir?” One of the others joked.
“Funny,” he replied, tossing the plate down on the table, collected up the cheroot that lay where it fell on the floor, and pulled his collar higher to hide the scar.
Without warning one of the comrades back-handed Pierce, knocking the Professor to the ground. The others were still joking as they picked Pierce up.
The blue-eyed man wasn’t laughing and the glare he gave his colleagues was a far worse threat than he’d given Pierce. “Help him up. Never do that again.”
“Aye, sir, Mr. Turner,” one ventured to say with a slight laugh. When Turner failed to laugh with them, they became immediately silent and one assisted Pierce back onto his feet. Any remaining sense of amusement vanished as a fourth man entered the room. Pierce didn’t recognize him, not entirely, though there was something memorable about him. Ignoring the question of familiarity, Pierce was feeling foolhardy enough to not give up on gaining some sort of answers.
“Why am I here? Where am I?”
The fourth man said nothing, but stood examining Pierce. His distaste was obvious.
“What do you want from me?”
Walking slowly, confidently, over to Pierce, he leaned in and whispered one sentence.
It was in Hindi, Pierce was sure. But what was said, he didn’t know. He didn’t speak Hindi anymore. That was a long time ago and the vocabulary had vanished in disuse.
“Give Professor Pierce something to help him sleep. He looks terrible. We’ll need him to start work soon. Every man earns his keep here, isn’t that right, Tom?”
Turner did not look happy at all but signaled for the others to take action, and stood by as they forced Pierce to drink a concoction that tasted like whiskey and something revolting mixed together. Pierce had heard of it, what it would taste like, how it was mixed with other distillates to help administer it. Laudanum.
In half an hour he was asleep, sedated and exhausted. They allowed him to sleep on the small bed. Turner watched over him, guarded him, clearly unhappy with the situation but determined that all should go exactly as designed. There was a greater good, he kept saying to himself. As he had justified all he had done for the Union during the war - there was a greater good.