Food was brought to them in plastic pails. They had to eat in a six-foot-by-nine-foot space they shared with a bucket of their excrement. They had not showered, either. The smell alone was enough to make someone vomit.

Demanding shrieks bounced off the walls of Corbett’s soundproof cell, but only he could hear his rage. Steinwood remained silent. He was convinced it was all a bad dream, and he would wake up at any minute. Marcus, on the other hand, had recurring nightmares while he went in and out of a state of semiconsciousness. All in all, the three men had been cut off, in one way or another, from civilization.

* * *

Near the end of the second full day of incarceration, the clanking of keys drew Steinwood out of his trance. Locks clicked, and the door opened, and what appeared to be a camera flash went off in his face. A large figure stood over him.

“Turn around,” the figure demanded.

Steinwood obeyed the order while fearing the worst. The man pulled Steinwood’s arms behind his back and secured them with a zip tie that Houdini himself would have had trouble slipping out of. The man shackled Steinwood’s ankles together, put duct tape over his mouth, and placed a burlap bag over his head. Steinwood could not stop himself from urinating in his pants.

The large man looked down. “Too bad the Laundromat is closed,” he said. “Now walk.”

Steinwood tried to mumble something.

The large man said, “Shuffle,” and gave him a nudge. “Move! Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall down a manhole.”

Steinwood moved slowly as his urine-soaked pants stuck to his legs.

* * *

Corbett ranted almost the entire time he was awake. He thought he might go mad.

Did he hear keys, or was he beginning to hallucinate? A bolt turned, and a bright light filled the cell. It almost blinded him. Someone took his photo. He could not figure out how long he had been sitting in the corner, trying to avoid the stench of his own excrement. He rubbed his face and felt what he thought might be two full days of stubble.

A large man filled the doorway. “Stand up,” he commanded. “Turn around.”

Corbett was about to start shouting at the man but thought better of it. He had heard enough horror stories about prison. For the first time in several days, Corbett remained silent. As he had done with Steinwood, the large man secured Corbett’s wrists with a zip tie, shackled his ankles, covered his mouth with duct tape, and put a burlap bag over his head.

“Make one sound, and I’ll stuff you like an Idaho potato,” the man warned.

* * *