“How do you feel?” he asked, and in his voice I sensed true concern. He sounded nothing like the man on the phone. His voice had a slight buzzing quality, as if he spoke with the aid of a speech enhancement device. Though his voice was familiar, I couldn’t place him, and I distrusted my perception after spending an indeterminate number of hours unconscious under a slew of narcotics.

“I feel groggy,” I said, my tone as demure as possible. I didn’t want to excite him.

“That’ll wear off.”

“You wrote those letters? Killed that teacher?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Where am I?”

“Suffice it to say that you’re in the middle of a desert, and were you to escape, you’d die of thirst and heat exhaustion before you reached the outskirts of civilization.”

“How long will I—”

“No more questions regarding your quasi-captivity. I won’t tell you when or where you are.”

“What will you tell me?”

“You’re here to get an education.” He paused. “If you only knew. The substance of your learning will become manifest, so be patient.”

“Can I please have my things?”

He sighed, the first sign of frustration boiling under his breath. “We’ll talk about that later.” Then his voice softened, shedding its edge. “Pretend you’re an infant, Andrew. A tiny, helpless infant. Right now, in your room, you’re in the womb. You don’t understand how to use your senses, how to think, how to reason. Rely on me for everything. I’m going to teach you how to see the world again. I’ll feed your mind first. Fatten it up on the most brilliant thinkers in human history.” A white hand pushed through the bubble wrap and dropped a book onto the floor.

“Your first meal,” he said as I lifted a hardback of The Prince. “Machiavelli. The man’s a genius. Undisputedly. Are you familiar with Hannibal, the general from Carthage who ransacked Rome? Marched his men across the Alps with an army of war elephants.”

“I know who he was.”

“Well, he marched his army all over the Mediterranean coast and Eastern Europe, but what made Hannibal’s army singular was that there was no dissension among his soldiers. Different nationalities, beliefs, languages, and no dissension in the ranks. You know what made that peace possible?” he asked. “In the words of Machiavelli, Hannibal’s ‘inhuman cruelty, which, with his boundless valor, made him revered and terrible in the sight of his soldiers, but without that cruelty, his other virtues were not sufficient to produce this effect.’” He was silent for a moment, and I could hear only the dry, scorching wind pushing against the glass panes and my captor’s escalated breathing. “‘Inhuman cruelty,’” he repeated. “That gives me chills.” His voice had turned passionate, as though he were speaking to his lover. “So,” he said, “start reading that tonight, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m starving.”