Fake News Part 3 I Meet My Torturer

I tried to secure a copy of Trump’s tax returns, but now the tables had been turned on me.

I was being held against my will in a decaying jail cell somewhere near Lake Ontario and wasn’t sure if I were being held hostage or waiting to be executed.

It seemed a fitting consummation of my less than stellar career as a kamikaze attack journalist.

A door opened behind me and two men in balaclavas walked in.

One was short and stocky, the other muscular, having the build of a boxer. I wasn’t sure if these were the same men I met—I wasn’t even sure if I distinctly saw their faces or would be able to recognize them again if I did.

“Sit down,” the muscular man commanded, pointing to what looked like a decrepit dentist's chair.

I obeyed, and the other man fastened iron bands to hold my wrists to the arm rests and then used another set of manacles to clamp my ankles to the chair legs

They left and another man walked through the door—a tall man with a dignified bearing, who also concealed his face behind a black balaclava.

“I trust you are feeling better, Mr. Knightly. The effects of the drug will wear off completely in a few hours and you’ll feel like your old self again, unfortunately.”

He uttered the last word with disdain.

I tried to mask my fear with a show of bravado.

“I hope you’re aware of the severe penalties in this country for kidnapping and forcible confinement.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of the consequences of actions, both yours and mine, Mr. Knightly. But why be unpleasant? May I call you by your first name? It’s more friendly-like.”

My anger flared. “I’m no friend of yours, and as for names, call me whatever you want, but let me go, you piece of shit.”

My back arched involuntarily and a hot, searing pain shot up my spine.

“Now, now, Cole—you must get control of your impulses, or you’ll be receiving many more shocks like this. I don’t want to torture you, so much as reform you, but if you are uncooperative, you will be disciplined.”

“Who are you?” I gasped. “Why are you doing this?”

“As I said, Cole, I’m a friend. I’ve had my eye on you for some time and it grieved me to see such a waste of human potential. You’re in a unique position to be an influencer in this society and yet you choose to squander your talents pandering to sensationalism and scandal. You’ve hurt a lot of people along the way, and it has to stop. Well, this is the time. This is your wake-up call. Now, your re-education can begin.”

I strained with all my force against the manacles but it was in vain. I was powerless.

I had fallen into the clutches of a madman who was intent on using torture to brainwash me.

I felt two overwhelming emotions—a profound disgust at my own stupidity and a strong determination to resist—but beyond that, I realized, at the same time, I was totally helpless.

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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