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     “Who are you? And why am I in quarantine?” Maryann asked, furrowing her eyebrows. She had never seen this strange man before. He had long cut on his forehead and a swollen nose. She eyed the old man, his looks making her nervous. He was tall and thin with a patch of gray hair, and she couldn’t figure out why he had no shirt on.
     What is he planning to do to me?
     She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms and tapped her foot. She had trained for this, but she never expected she would actually get caught and be put quarantine.
     The old man rolled his eyes and massaged his temples.
     “Why am I being held here?” she asked, glancing around the room, taking in her surrounding if come time to escape. She didn’t like the fact there was only one door and no windows, giving her only one exit point. The problem, what was beyond the door? More men? She had no way of knowing. She can’t remember how she got in the room. They must have knocked me out and brought her in, it explains the pump knot on my forehead.
     “Your not being held here,” old old man said, without looking up, continuing to massage his temples.
     “Then I’m free to go?”
     “Yes… I mean no.”
     “So you are holding me against my will?”
     “Yes… I mean no.”
     “Then why can’t I leave?”
     “Because it is to dangerous out there.”
     “So I’m free to go, but I can’t leave. Explain to me how that makes any sense.”
     The old man dropped his head and covered his face with his hands. “God, please help.”
     “God only helps those who aren’t holding people against their will.”
     The old man shook his head and ran a hand over his face and sighed. “If you go out there you will die.”
     Maryann chewed her bottom lip, crinkling her eyebrows, studying the old man. He was up to something. Why would his shirt be off? Only one reason she could think of, and she’ll be damned if the man thinks he’s going take her body. She may be young and firm, but she didn’t give her body out freely. Hell no. The only one man ever had that luxury and that was Mr. James Bond. They had been lovers once, but their lives together as spy’s was sustainable. They would often be a half a world apart for months at a time. After several years they agreed to go their separate ways. He was the only man she ever loved.
     “What are you planning to do to me?”
     He rolled his eyes. “Maryann darling, nothing.”
     “Then why is your shirt off?”
     He look at his chest, as if seeing for the first time his shirt was missing. She could goosebumps on his chest and arms. He must be cold, she thought. But it serves him right, thinking he can keep me here against my will and have his way with me.
     “Answer me,” she said.
     He ignored her, planting his face in his hands. (this is where five minute timer beeped)
     “If you touch me I’ll kill you.”
     He lifted his head and looked at her, the crows feet around his eyes looking like deep canyons. “This is the last time I’m going to say this, I’m not going to do anything to you.”
     She eyed him. Suspicious of his attentions, wondering who he was working for. She had to get to the bottom of it and coax it out of him. If she could figure who he was working for, then she’ll know who was keeping her hostage, and then figure what she needed to do to escape. She was already getting on the old man's nerves, perhaps if she keep pushing him he will blurt it out.
     “Who are you working for?” she asked, paying particular attention to his actions, James had once told that body language was the key to reading people. “Always pay attention to a person body language, not even the best of lairs can keep from their body language from giving up the truth,” James Bond once told her, while working a case to together in India, chasing a famous art dealer switching great works of art with forgeries. Not even the world's great art experts had known until they broke the case. It was in India when they first fell for each other. They had been on a beach, and the moon had been at its brightest. They had gotten in an argument over something silly and she had stormed off, infuriated at his cockiness. “Chauvinist pig,” she had said, and turned around to tell him what she thought of him, but he was there, soaking up her presence like a sponge. His lips inches away from hers. His breath hot and exotic. “Je t'aime, je t'aime mais avec un amour qui ne mourra pas Jusqu'à ce que le soleil refroidisse Et les étoiles vieillissent, (I love thee, I love but thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.)” he had said in french. Biting in her bottom lip she looked into his eyes. “Shakespeare.” and that night had been the best night of her life. But that life was was over now, blown away with the winds of time.
     Concentrate. Forget him, you have more pressing issues at the moment. She forced the thought away. There would be time for daydreaming once she figured out how to get out of her. She focused her attention back on the old man, determined to push him far enough to blurt out who he was working for, but to far that he would lose his temper and beat her. This was a delegate game she was playing. It was like walking on a glass floor, cracking beneath the weight of her feet.
     “Tell me who are you working for,” she said, eyeing him.
     Again he planted his hands in his hands, and said, “god please help me.”
     “Are you a chicken. Afraid if your boss finds out, he’ll beat you?”
     “Maryann please. This isn’t what you think it is.”
     “I don’t believe you.”
     “Well then I don’t what to tell you.”
     “Tell me who you are working for.”
     “No one,” he said.
     “Bullshit. Don’t play coy with me. I may be young and pretty, but I'm not stupid.”
     He scrunched his eyebrows. “Young?” and then shook his head. “I not working with anyone.”
     “Tell me who you are working for,” she screamed.
     He jumped up and stuck a finger to his lips. “Quit they may hear you.”
     “Tell me goddammit or I’ll scream,” she screamed.
     She saw his eyes narrow, the veins in his neck bulged as he clench his fist, clamping his mouth together.
     “Tell me you old bastard who are you working for,” she screamed as loud as she could, her voice a high pitch and scratchy.
     “I’m working for James Bond, now shush,” he exploded, and spun around and pressed his ear to the door.
     Maryann gasped. Shocked into silence. Could it be true. Could it be that here beloved James was keeping her captive?
     “No,” she whispered, as all the energy and strength left her body. No longer willing to fight. If Bond was against here what was the point in living? The Russian’s must have converted him to work for them. Her mouth twisted into a frown. A swarm swirled in her stomach, creeping up her chest, making it hard to breath. She had never felt such pain. Such heartache. Such betrayal. As hard she fought to control her emotions water crept into her eyes, spilling over the eyelids, leaving wet trails on her cheeks.
     “Good. I don’t hear anything out there,” the old man said, and spun around. His eyes fell on her face and his shoulders slumped.      “Please don’t cry.”
     Easy for him to say. He didn’t have the only person he ever loved break his heart and keep him captive against his will. She didn’t want to live anymore. Escaping the room was no longer important. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die. She stood up from the chair and swayed, her head dizzy. The old man reached out to help her.
     “Leave me alone,” she said, pushing his arms away. Walked to the corner and slid to her knees, weeping. “Why James. Why. I loved you?” she fell to her side and curled up into a fetal position and wept. “Why?” she sobbed, and the world begin to spin, blackness creeping into the corners of her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts blurry, and darkness creeping over and blanketing her memories. She stopped crying as the memories faded with the winds of time.
     “Are you OK?” the old man said, hovering above her.
     Maryann opened her eyes, surprised she was laying in the floor. She blinked, clearing her thoughts, gathering her bearings.
     “Are you OK?”
     She blinked and pushed herself off the floor to her knees.
     “Hey, are you OK?”
     She looked up at the old man and furrowed her eyebrows. “Who are you?”
     The old man slapped his head and rolled his eyes.

2

     George had sworn to himself and God he would protect Maryann to his dying breath, but being locked up in a garden shed with Maryann was testing his patience and the very sanity he cherished. It was a never ending roller coaster ride. Every twenty to thirty minutes Maryann changed personalities. One minute she was a loving housewife walking around sweeping the floor, and the next minute she was spy being held against her will, and the next she was a little girl, and so on and so on. There were no rhyme or reason to the things she changed into, at least none he could find. It had been a long night and it was only two o’clock in the morning and the sun wouldn’t rise for another four or five hours.
     “What a nightmare,” he mumbled, running a finger through his hair, watching Maryann sleep, thinking about the others. Wondering if they made it to safety. Hopefully they made it out of this god forsaken town. He sighed, knowing just outside shed were creatures of the night. Pacing, waiting, snarling and licking their teeth, cursed with an unsustainable hunger. Time was running thin. The ever pressing weight of darkness was getting heavier and harder to resist. At times George wanted to give up, knowing he had no answers or weapons to fight off the creatures. It would be easier to give up, but he had made a promise. Maryann had to survive. It was the only thing that was keeping him alive. She may be old in her late nineties, but life was life.
     “I will not let them take you,” he whispered, watching her chest rise and fall. A small smile stamped her face, oblivious to the harsh realities surrounding her. She’s like a child, he thought as he sat the propane lantern on a milk crate. He sat down, leaning his back against the wall, crossing his arms. He was tired. His body ached, pushed to the max. He fought sleep. Stay awake, he told himself, shaking his head. I need to stand up. But he didn't. His eyes grew heavy. His head bobbing up and down. Don’t go to sleep you old fool… you have to… his head dropped, and he slept.
     He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes and saw Maryann's wrinkled face inches from his.
“Who are you?”

Note:
     This is my third attempt at the freewrite challenge, and today I just couldn't stop. I marked where the bell had rung after five minutes. It for this reason (I just couldn't stop) that draws me toward this challenge, eventually you'll find a story by using prompts. I can only Imagine the stories I'll dig up as I continue taking this challenge.

     If you read the whole story, wow! Thanks. I really mean it THANKS! I hope you enjoyed it.

     Today was like digging up dinosaur bones in my backyard, and after three days of digging I found a bone, and I keep on digging and wow would you know it, I dug up a complete skeleton of a dinosaur. Today I present, is only the first draft. I plan on going through the editing stages to complete the dinosaur and bring it back to life. The way I look at stories, the 1st draft is the skeleton, 2nd draft I'll add the organs and vessels, 3rd I add the muscles and tendons, and 4th or sometimes the 5th draft I cover my dinosaur with skin and bring it to life. So, in other words, I'm sorry for the sloppy structure and tone, please understand this is the first draft. I made no editing attempts at all, except to correct misspelled words.

I want to thank @mariannewest for creating this challenge

Follow. Upvote. Resteem.
@shanedustin

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