No. Not down there.
I can’t move, but when Zaman’s hands clasp my shoulders, and as he forces me to my knees, I start to panic. “I’ll go. Just…don’t push me over the edge!”
Rung by rung, I descend, wheezing, dizzy, terrified I’ll lose my grip and fall to my death. I don’t want to die. Even here. Trapped, afraid…I don’t want to die. Tears burn my eyes, and when my feet touch bottom, Faruk orders me to let go of the ladder, and it slithers up the side, just out of my reach. All I can see is the very top of Faruk’s head. I must be at least twenty feet down, and the walls are smooth, dark concrete. No hand-holds. No way to climb.
Hyperventilating, I brace my arm on the side of what might have been a well at one point, and then see the bucket next to me. An empty, dirty water bottle. The bloody handprint barely visible in the semi-darkness. The scratches on the wall. Lines. Hashes. Someone counting days. At least…shit. At least a hundred of them. Oh God. He keeps people down here.
“If you refuse to help Mateen,” Faruk calls from high above, “you will be moved here. At night, the scorpions come out. The particular species we have in this part of the desert are not deadly, but their venom is quite painful.”
“P-please,” I sob, reaching for the bottom of the ladder like my life depends on it. Because I’m afraid it does. “Let me up. I’ll…do whatever you want. I’ll make the drug. I’ll take care of Mateen.”
Digging my short nails into my palms to stop myself from screaming, I wait for the sweet relief of breaking skin. But it doesn’t come. I’m shaking too badly. Too weak. Too afraid.
And then the heavy rope ladder hits the top of my head. When I reach the last rung, I collapse on the rocky ground, sucking air in through my teeth and peering up at the clear, blue sky.
Zaman orders me to get up, and I push to my hands and knees, then to my feet, but still trapped in the throes of my panic attack, the world spins around me, until an arm wraps around my waist and I sink against a man who smells like incense and mint.
“Breathe,” he says quietly.
The man from last night. The one Faruk ordered to erase my identity.
“Isaad!” Faruk snaps. “Step away from the woman. Now. Go back to your work.”
“Do not give him reason to throw you into the hole,” Isaad whispers before letting me go and hurrying around a corner to the far side of the compound.
Faruk heads back to the house, and I force myself to move, one foot in front of the other, following him until he stops in front of a room painted bright yellow.
Inside, a lab table lines one wall, complete with medical texts, notebooks, pens, and a copy of my research paper. On the other side of the room, a small bed is made up with bright blue sheets covered with soccer balls, an IV pole bolted to the headboard.
As he skims his hand over the lab bench, he looks almost proud. “This is where you will do your work. Some of the items you require are already in the refrigerator. The rest will arrive tomorrow. After midday prayers, Lisette will bring Mateen to you for a transfusion. I expect a report at the end of each day with your progress. Do you understand?”
He looms over me, his pale gray eyes cold, and I nod. “Yes…sir.”
When he leaves, I sink down onto the little bed, drop my head into my hands, and let myself cry.
The tentative knock on the door startles me, and I swipe at my cheeks before I turn to see Lisette with Mateen standing at her side, his hand clutched in hers.
“You are Josephine?” she asks softly, her accent subtly different from her husband’s, more musical.
“Y-yes.” I meet her wary gaze. “Everyone calls me Joey.”
“Lisette. This is my son, Mateen.” She urges the boy forward, and he offers me a shy smile.
As horrible as my situation is, this child had no part in what’s happened to me, and his feverish cheeks and pale skin tug at my heart. Dropping to my knees, I rest my hands on my thighs. “Hi, Mateen. I’m Dr. Joey. Do you speak English?”
He doesn’t answer, but Lisette nods. “His father wants him to be fluent.”
With a wobbly smile, I point to the portable video game system in his hand. “What games do you have on there? I used to be pretty good at Pokemon.”
Mateen looks at me like I’m a relic from another time. “FIFA 19. Pokemon is for babies.”
“Well, I played it a very long time ago. How about I make you a deal? I’ll examine you and give you a blood transfusion so you’ll feel a little better, and you can show me how to play FIFA 19. I need to learn a grown-up game if I’m going to be helping a grown-up young man like you.”
“Okay.” Mateen lets me lead him over to the bed and ease the video game out of his hands, and I swallow hard. I’m a doctor, and this is my patient. As scared as I am, as hopeless as my situation feels, I can help this boy. I can’t cure him, but I should at least be able to stop the disease from getting worse. I just hope I can buy myself enough time to figure a way out of here before Faruk realizes a cure will never come.
“Lisette? When did Mateen first start to show symptoms?” My voice trembles, and I look over my shoulder at Lisette as I pluck a stethoscope from the lab bench.
Watery brown eyes meet mine, then dart to the ceiling in the far corner of the room for a split second before she answers. “Around his first birthday.”
