Chance wasn’t sure if he woke up or simply had a moment of clarity bringing him to consciousness. He shot up to look over at the other bed. Is he here? No. Not yet, of course. Let the tension eat at me a little longer, right? This fucker and his mind games, Chance thought. You guys serve breakfast in this joint? Ah, let me guess—that costs extra, right? He didn’t expect a response.

“Good morning,” the Voice called to him.

“Mo…morning,” Chance stammered. It would have been one thing to have the Voice call to him over an intercom or phone, but the sound it made in his mind was just unnerving and unnatural. His blood felt cold after every word, and his hair stood up on the back of his neck, legs, and arms. He didn’t think he would ever get used to it.

“What, no self-inflating comments from the witless-wonder? You were so talkative a minute ago. What happened, Chance?” the Voice retorted sarcastically.

“You…you…” Chance stuttered as his mind went blank.

“I figured as much,” the Voice said matter-of-factly. “I knew you were beneath my intellectual capacity, but I had hoped you would not be a complete dunce. However, this conversation, to your benefit, will be short this morning. Your new friend shall be arriving within the hour. Now, I never imposed on you a time limit to complete your objective, but I must insist it be done expediently. It is for your own good. Should the two of you become too familiar, it will only make the inevitable that much more difficult and painful. I shall be watching you, Chance.”

Another click and the Voice was gone. Chance exhaled, grabbing his hair so ferociously he accidently pulled some out. I can’t go through with this. Murder just isn’t in me, Chance thought. What the fuck am I gonna do? His blood began to slowly warm, the hair on his extremities slowly receding. His heart still raced, but not with such intensity. He tried to control his breathing. Maybe this guy will be a complete prick and I’ll somehow find the courage to do it. The thought made his stomach turn. What is happening to me? Am I seriously trying to rationalize an acceptable reason for murder? No…no! Never gonna fucking happen. Ever!

----

Time crawled slowly, or at least Chance assumed it did. No clocks hung on the walls to confirm it. He assumed it was still morning because his lunch had not yet arrived. Are they going to throw this guy in here before or after lunch? Chance wondered. Some company would be nice. He sat on the side of his bed, chin in his hands, trying to think of something to break the monotony. He started doing push-ups. He only got to six before he realized how out of shape he was. He rubbed his arms and sat on the floor with his back rest against the bed.

The door shot open so quickly it appeared to instantly have switched positions instead of swinging. A body flew into the room slamming against the bed railing. Before Chance could react, the door slammed shut followed by the sound of the lock twisting. He heard a groan coming from underneath the sack covering the man’s head. Chance stared nervously over at the stranger. He contemplated whether he should walk over and check on the man or not. He could be dangerous, Chance thought. Maybe he is here to kill me? No, if they wanted me dead, I would be dead already. Chance sighed and began to tiptoe gingerly toward the body. The man began to stir causing Chance to freeze in his tracks. Chance began to sweat as fear and anxiety washed over him. “H...hello,” Chance whispered.

The man tensed at the sound of Chance’s voice, backing up until he hit the wall. “Who are you? Where am I? What do you want? Why the fuck am I here?” the man yelled at Chance.

“I don’t know why we are here,” Chance responded calmly, wondering why the man left the bag over his head. “My name is Chance. They stuck me in here yesterday. They...” He paused, remembering the Voice’s rules, “they have not communicated with me since. Don’t you want to take that thing off your head?”

The man stiffened, as if realizing for the first time a sack covered his face. He snatched it off his head. He glared at Chance, seemingly trying to decide whether he was a threat or not. He must have decided not as his body posture began to relax, and he let out a deep sigh. The stranger was built similar to Chance in height and weight. He had dark eyes with black hair that reached down to his shoulders and a shortly-trimmed goatee. His eyes searched the room taking in his surroundings. “Shit,” the man muttered.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Yeah,” Chance agreed. “What’s your name?

“Lance,” he responded.

“Nice to meet you, Lance. I think.”

“Yeah, no.”

They both chuckled at his response before expressions returned to the grim realization of their imprisonment. They remained silent after that, only exchanging glances intermittently for the next hour. The slot opening and the subsequent tray that now held two plates of food finally broke the tension. Chance grabbed the tray and handed Lance his plate before sitting down to eat his own. Same fucking food again, Chance thought.

   They both sat against their respective beds as they ate their meal. Once they had both finished, Chance put their trash on the plates before forcibly shoving it through the slot, the sound echoing throughout the hall. Lance gave a faint smile as Chance sat back down on his bed.

   “When did they grab you?” Lance asked.

   “Day before yesterday. You?”

   “Last night. Somebody grabbed me as I left the bar. He shoved some rag in my mouth, and I passed out.”

   “Same, guess they’re not too creative in their kidnappings either.”

   “Either?”

   “Food is the same every time. Seems we get two a day. No breakfast.”

   “Perfect,” Lance said sarcastically as he began hitting his head slightly against the rail. He climbed onto his bed covering his eyes with his arm. Chance took that as a cue he no longer wanted to talk and decided to do the same as he fell onto his bed face first in his pillow. He closed his eyes hoping some sleep would come.

---

The slot opened, and a hand deposited their evening dinner tray. Chance stirred slowly. Sleep had evaded him once again, and he was starting to feel delirious. They had lain silently in their beds for hours with only their own thoughts for comfort. Chance gathered their food and distributed it like before. Both men sat on their beds eating their meals, mindlessly staring off into the distance. Chance collected their plates again and set them in the slot. He didn’t throw it this time. He was too tired for another frustrated display. They each sat on their respective beds lost in their own thoughts. They avoided each other’s eyes for the better part of the evening. After what felt like hours, Chance decided to break the silence.

“Where you from?” Chance asked.

“Why do you care?” Lance groaned.

“Just making conversation, man,” Chance said, agitated with the man’s behavior. “We may be here awhile. You got something better to do?”

Lance gave him a cold look. He clearly did not trust Chance. Maybe he thinks I’m in on it? Chance thought. Is he worried I am here to get some kind of confession out of him? Chance did not blame him for his reluctance. Wait, what if he is here to get some confession out me? They throw me in a hole telling me the sole reason for my abduction is to kill this man. What if, in fact, the objective is for me to grow to trust this man and spill my guts? Why do that if they can read my thoughts, though? Unless they are only capable of reading the thoughts actively running through my head. Do they think they will find something hidden in my brain? Maybe security codes to some computer systems in our office? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Yo, asshole, you there?” Lance bellowed.

Chance shook out of his daze. He had gotten so lost in his head he had not noticed the man talking. “I’m sorry, man. Did you say something?” Chance asked.

Lance’s annoyed look slowly faded. He probably knew the thoughts running through Chance’s head considering they probably consumed his own as well. “I said I’m from Boston. You?” he asked.

   “Born and raised here,” Chance responded. “Married?”

   He hesitated before saying, “No, you?”

   Chance thought it may be wise to withhold the fact he was married. The Voice already knows about my family, so if this guy is in on it, then he knows too. “Yeah, I have a daughter too,” Chance admitted.

“How old?” Lance inquired.

“Six. Really funny and energetic.” Chance paused, giving some serious thought to his family for the first time. Wonder what Beth is thinking right now? Probably that I ran off with some girl or on a bender. Hell, they are probably happy as can be right now.

Lance looked at him quizzically. “Where do you work?” he asked.

   “VP for my dad’s business. Sounds better than it is,” Chance responded, shoving thoughts of his family out of his head. “You?”

“Construction. Sounds worse than it is,” Lance chuckled as he lay back. “Night.”

Chance smiled faintly, but it fleeted swiftly. His surroundings did not allow any happiness to permeate him for more than a few brief seconds. This room. His prison. His mission. Talking had helped only slightly. It has not even been two days and yet it’s getting to me, Chance thought solemnly. I don’t think I am capable of doing what they ask. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something or throw something. But he didn’t. I have to be strong. Throwing a temper tantrum is not going to work here. I’ve got to use reason.

Chance lay on his bed. His eyes began to search the ceiling as if there was an answer written in the stucco. He felt his eyes getting heavier as his breathing deepened. Hopefully sleep would come to him tonight. His mind slowly began to relax as his thoughts slowed. He felt a spring in the bed poking his back, but he didn’t care. He needed sleep.

“Good evening, Chance,” the Voice greeted.