Drawn by my mom’s screams, people step out of their trailers as I’m escorted down the steps. My parents follow at my heels, and my dad reaches for my arm, but one of the security detail butts him in the chest with the end of his rifle. My dad falls, his head and shoulder slamming against the hard ground. He groans, bringing his hand up to cover his face.
No. No. No.
I try to pull away from the detail, but one of them twists my arm to keep me in place.
“Ali!” my mom cries out, and rushes to my dad and takes his hand in hers. He turns to his side; there’s blood on his face. “You’re monsters!” my mom screams. “Get your hands off my daughter!”
“Dad! Mom!” I scream as the Director’s men drag me away. My chest tightens. My knees begin to buckle, but one of the men yanks me back up. I strain my neck and see some people trying to help my parents.
Then I see Ayesha. She runs down the block, calling my name. I haven’t seen her since we got separated. Does she know about Soheil yet? Has no one told her? My heart thrums in my ears, and my mind moves too fast for me to think straight. All I know is that I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Not because of me.
“Go back!” I shout, fighting tears. “It’s okay.” Ayesha’s father grabs her and pulls her back. She screams and struggles against him. Her dad holds on to her. Good.
Others yell down the block at the men dragging me away. The minders come out of their trailer and try to usher people back to their homes. But the clamoring grows louder as people start yelling at the minders as well. As we turn toward the Midway, a squad of guards rushes past me toward my block.
“What are they going to do?” I ask in a raspy whisper. Everything is a blur around me, and I keep my eyes on the ground so I don’t get dizzy.
One of them looks at me but doesn’t say a word.
“Where are you taking me?” I continue.
They ignore my questions. I’m invisible.
My body goes limp. One of the Director’s henchmen holds me up, half dragging me forward. As we get farther from my block, the din dies down. People watch as the security team pulls me down the Midway. There are some murmurs, but the sound grows quieter the closer I get to the admin building, until all I hear are the scratchy sounds of my shoes scraping lines in the dirt as I’m led forward. The breathing of the security detail is loud in my ears, harsh and open-mouthed. No. That’s not their breathing; it’s mine. I shake my head, trying to focus, but my mind wanders back to Noor, Asmaa, Bilqis. When the guards hauled them down the Midway, they never came back.
We all know there’s a holding cell at Mobius, but I have no idea where it is. The security detail walks me into the admin building through a dimly lit hallway, passing the Director’s empty office, and through a door I’ve never seen. Behind the door is a small windowless foyer, and down the hall are four doors with small rectangular windows about five feet up from the ground. The security detail deliver me to an Exclusion Guard in front of the first door and then turn on their heels and stomp away.
I’m standing in the hall, wiping my forehead with a shaky hand, my knees so wobbly I’m amazed I’m still upright. The guard waits. I notice his angular jaw juts out as he clenches his teeth. It’s the only part of his body that moves. His freakish stillness has a kind of mesmerizing quality to it.
The outside door to the building slams. No more echoing footsteps. It seems the security detail has departed.
The guard puts a bottle of water in my hands.
He opens the door to the cell. I walk in. The door closes with a loud thud. There’s a single cot to the side. It has a striped mattress with a thin, nearly see-through cotton sheet thrown over it; an Army-green cotton blanket is folded under the single pillow at the head. A small metal sink and toilet stand in the corner. A prison in a prison.
I sit on the bed and grip the water bottle in my hands like it’s a life preserver and I’m drowning. But it’s only a piece of plastic that can’t hold me afloat. I look out the little window in the door and see the back of the guard’s head. I walk back to the bed and lie down with my face to the wall and pull my knees up into my chest.
Breathe. I scan the bare walls, not quite knowing where to let my eyes rest. My head pounds, and every muscle in my body feels stretched too far. I walk over to the small sink and run my hands under the water to wash away the ever-present dirt on my fingers, tiny muddy rivulets carrying this place down the drain. I keep the water on until it runs clear. I take some tissue to blow my nose and wipe my face. I shiver. It’s hot outside, but in here, I’m freezing.
I walk back to the cot, zombie-like, and fall down onto the pillow.
The logic of sleep pulls at me, but all my edges are too sharp. I feel like my skin is coated with crushed glass, ready to shred me to smithereens if I dare close my eyes and drop my guard. My guard. The guard. The Director’s men. Did they go back to my trailer? Does the Director have my parents? Stay strong. Stay strong? Breathe? How? I barely have the strength to sit up. And, God, how I wish I could stop having to remind myself to breathe. I wish I could imagine anything besides the blood on my dad’s face. I wish my mom could have one minute of ease and peace, and now I’ve taken it all away. There is no wishing anymore, though. No imagining and no pretending. The stars have all gone out. Only darkness remains.
The door to my cell clangs open. I have no idea what time it is or if I slept or how long I slept or even if it is day or night. Jake steps through the doorway and rushes to my bedside. “Layla. Are you okay?” His voice is low, with tension in it. A taut wire.
I nod and sit up, trying to rub the weariness from my eyes. My entire body aches. “Jake,” I whisper. “What’s happening? Are my parents okay?”
He looks into my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Layla. We only have a minute. The Director wants you in his office.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and covers my hand with his. “Listen, I’m so sorry to have to ask, but I need you to go along with this. I can’t get you out right now. It’s chaos out there. And no one is sure what’s going to happen. Be brave. Can you do that?”
My mouth opens. Jake’s words are still in my ears, but they don’t make any sense. Stay here? Go along? Be brave? I don’t know what to say. I nod once. Do I really have any other choice?
“I’m sorry. I have to go,” he says, pulling his hand away from mine. He stands up.
Footsteps outside. “I’ll take her,” a voice says. Jake steps aside so I can see the door. It’s Fred.
Jake nods and hurries out. He never told me if my parents are okay.
I stand up from the hard bed. Fred walks over and hands me a banana. “The Director says he wants to see you at six a.m. sharp. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to wash up, okay? Layla, I know you’re scared. But you’re not alone.” He smiles at me in a halfhearted way. Everything feels hollow right now. Words. Gestures. Thoughts.
He steps out, and the door slams behind him.
I devour the banana. Apparently, my body is hungry even if I’m not paying attention to it. I wash up and coax myself to pee, silently thanking Fred for standing with his back to the small observation window that looks into my cell.
The door opens again. “We need to go,” he says. He leads me down the narrow hall. As we step into admin, the door momentarily hides our faces from the camera in the corner, and he whispers, “Be brave.”
The same words Jake said to me. But how am I supposed to be brave when I’m terrified?
He opens the door to the Director’s office. The early-morning sun brightens the room. The Director stares out the window. “Thank you, soldier. You can leave now,” he says without turning around. Fred hesitates for a split second, then exits.
There is no one else in the room. We are alone. A solitary inquisition.
“Have a seat, Miss Amin.” The Director continues to stare out the window, speaking with his back to me.
I sit and wait. And wait. The Director doesn’t turn toward me. The room is silent except for his loud breathing and his occasional guttural throat clearing. He taps on the window. The silence feels loaded. I’m pretty certain it is meant to intimidate me—and it’s working. I want to scream or cry out, end the silence, but I don’t want to give the Director the satisfaction.
I grip the arms of the chair. The sweat from my hands makes them slippery, but I hold on like my life depends on it. I close my eyes, try to breathe through the dread. I inhale and focus on my own breath traveling through my body before exhaling. I feel its resonance in my bones. I mute the Director’s breathing and tapping until it disappears.
Inside me, it is still. And through the silence, I hear voices: You’re not alone. David. Jake. Ayesha. My mom. My dad. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. You’re not alone.
I listen. And from the dark quiet that scares me, I discover that love lives in the deepest silence.
The Director is still at the window, pretending to survey the camp. He plans to keep me waiting. To wait me out. But I see his tense shoulders. The veins in his neck bulge. I hear his snorts. He coughs, clears his throat. I can tell he’s restraining himself. Waiting for the perfect moment. Trying to find the silence he always demands before he speaks. I’m tired of him getting what he wants, though.
“Are you okay, sir?” I ask. It’s no trouble at all to muster mock sincerity.
The Director roars. He spins and slams his fist onto his desk. The entire desk shakes, and the force feels like a gale wind slamming my back into the chair. His red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes brim with fury.
“Shut up. Shut your goddamn mouth.” Beads of spit fly from his swollen purple lips; a deep animal-like growl rises from his throat.
I clasp my hands as if this action will hold me together.
He wants so much to believe he is in control that losing his grip only enrages him more. That’s when he makes mistakes. It’s a risk to draw out his rage, but if he’s focused on me right now, he can’t focus on anything or anyone else.
The Director skirts around his desk and stands over me. He puts his hands on the chair and bends over me until his face is inches from mine. I recoil from the whiskey on his breath and the sweat dripping from his hairline. I start to gag.
He grabs my jaw between his rough, calloused fingers and squeezes. I twist my neck away, trying to free myself from his grasp, but he only grips harder. The pads of his fingers brand my skin with their force. I try to speak, yell out.
“Shut up,” he spits in my face. Then adds, “Does this hurt?”
I don’t move. I stop struggling. Don’t answer. Don’t give him the satisfaction. I may have almost no control, but I still have a choice.
“How about now?” The Director tightens his grip more, and a grin escapes his purple-red lips.
I dig my heels into the floor and wrap my hands around the Director’s forearms. I feel like he could tear my skin from my skull. He begins wrenching my face, like’s he’s trying to pull it off my neck.
“And now?” he bellows so loudly that I feel his voice inside my body. Tears stream down my cheeks. He pulls his hand back, balling it into a fist. I raise my hand to protect my face. His hand hovers in the air, suspended.
The door bangs open. It’s Fred. A small mercy. “Sir. Your visitors from High Command are passing through security, sir. They will be here shortly.” Fred steps completely into the room. “I can take the internee back to her cell, sir.”
The Director lets out a raw, brittle laugh. If there is a devil, this is what he sounds like.
“Lucky again, Miss Amin. Soon I will make that luck run out. Count on it.”
Fred takes my hand and gently helps me out of my seat, hurrying me out of the room. He shuts the door behind us.
We walk silently down the small, empty hall back to my holding room. Fred stops at a small closet and grabs a couple of ice packs. He opens the door to the cell and helps me to the cot. Once I’m seated, he breaks the capsules in the ice packs and shakes them, hands them to me. I hold them against each side of my jaw.
“It looks like you’re going to have some bruises. I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve intervened sooner. I—it’s so wrong, what’s happening here. Jake is right; we need to speed things up. He’s trying to.”
I look up at Fred. I’m so grateful he’s here. “Is Jake back? Where did he go?” I wonder what things he wants to speed up, but my body and mind feel like they might both collapse, and I can barely get any words out.
Fred shakes his head. “He’s attending to High Command. He’ll be back soon. I know he’s worried about you.”
I know he has his orders, but I’m sad he hasn’t come back. Doesn’t he at least want to check on me?
My jaw throbs. My entire body hurts. “If you see him, could you tell him—tell him I—” I have no idea what I want to tell him. Maybe that I feel broken and lost and helpless. “Tell him I tried to stay strong.”
Fred nods. “He’ll go wild when he finds out what the Director did. Things are getting out of control. That’s why High Command is here. With all this media attention, the protestors, they can’t afford any more mistakes. The public was fine with all this in the abstract, but it’s becoming real for them, and it’s starting to make people squirm.”
“How long will the Director hold me in the brig? Can I see my parents? Are they okay?”
“I don’t know how long he plans on keeping you here. He’s forbidden any visitors.”
Tears sting my eyes. I’m so tired. I wish I could sleep. I wish so badly that I could see my parents. But I’m still aware enough to realize that both Fred and Jake ignored my questions about my parents. I hope they’re okay.
“I’ll wrangle you up something to eat.” Fred begins walking back to the door.
“Fred? Aren’t you scared? I mean, the cameras in here?”
“The IT guy on the security feed right now is with us. Any footage that could cause trouble will meet with a technical glitch. It might not seem like it, but there are a lot of people who are fighting this.”
I offer a weak smile. Fred walks out. And I’m alone again.
I clench my fists. I want to punch this stupid wall, but I can barely lift my arm. I fall over onto the cot, my body convulsing in soul-shattering sobs.