“My God, Theo, do you know how long you were in there?”

“There aren’t any clocks; no way of telling how long it’s going on for; no way of knowing when it’ll end. I started by counting how many times he put that rag over my face and poured water onto it. When I got to seven, I stopped. It was too much. I had to focus on getting through it by putting myself somewhere else.”

“Theo, I’m so sorry. That’s exceptionally terrible. I can’t imagine.”

He dips his head. “For weeks after, I would wake up in a cold sweat, panicking that I was back there. When the nightmares stopped, they sent me there again.”

I’m definitely not reacting to anything they put me through. Somehow, I have to train my mind to hold on to nice things, to think of the things I love before going to sleep.

I look away, dread sinking in my stomach.

“How often do they send you in there?”

“Not for a while, but I’ve been in there five times.”

“Is it the worst one?”

His chin drops in a slight nod, jaw tight as he relives each ordeal. “By a long shot. Excluding room zero, of course. Taking a life…yeah, nothing quite compares to that. It changes your very being. The guilt and the pain of knowing what you’ve done is persistent.”

“How do you live with it?”

“Well, for one, I don’t have a choice. I suppose I also deserve it.”

I shake my head, my heart aching. “You don’t. We’re all trying to survive.”

“I hope you never have to go in there.”

Me, too.

“Did you hear music last night? I was pretty out of it, but I’m sure it wasn’t a dream.” I can still hear it now if I think about it. It kind of started of low and slow then got faster until it stopped abruptly. I didn’t recognize it, but I could pick out the melody on a piano or a guitar. It sounded like it belonged in a horror movie.

“Yeah. They play it every night. I have no idea what it is.”

Creepy, that’s what it is.

“Right.” No point in dwelling on that. “What’s the plan today?” I ask.

“Breakfast at the diner, then we’ll hop on a plane to—”

“Very funny,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Are you always the first one up?”

“Usually. I don’t know if the others sleep in, or if they just stay in bed so they can pretend.”

“Right. If you’re tucked up in bed with your eyes closed, you could be at home. The second you come out here…you’re here.” I can’t blame them if that’s what they do. I’ve never really found pretending very useful. I still know the truth.