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The day after I got here, I had to lead him into the bathroom to take a bath.’ Cynthia paused, not sure how much to tell. ‘Total wreck?’ ‘Worse. He . . . uh . . . well, when he got to the bathroom, he just stared at me. I had to undress him. He didn’t do anything, just stared like he was in a dream or didn’t really understand what was going on.’ Elizabeth stared at her, and Cynthia decided to move on. ‘Then, I put him to bed, and he just did it. Like, if I said jump through this hoop, he’d have just jumped. I don’t know, it’s hard to describe.’ ‘He was totally lost.’ Cynthia nodded. ‘That’s as good a way to put it as any. But after a few weeks, he started to come around. Started to get some energy back, smile sometimes, hold conversations that lasted longer than thirty seconds.’ ‘So what do you talk about?’ Cynthia shrugged, starting in on another rose bush. ‘Anything and everything, I guess. Except his wife. He’s never–and I mean not even once–mentioned her, and I’ve never brought. This is surely hell.The bed is soft, but that is the only comfort, and for his benefit rather than mine. I roll a little to ease the pain on my arms, which are folded tightly behind me, secured together across the small of my back with cable ties. My legs are bound separately with more of the unyielding plastic, but with ankles tied to thighs, thus legs folded, I cannot move even enough to fall off this bed or out of the cloying sheets that cover me. The darkness is complete here, and my breath is laboured through the tight rubber hood with its single pinprick breathing hole. I try to crawl, seeking fresh air out from under the heavy blankets, but they are holding me down, securing me in place. I try to calm myself, try to stifle the panic in my mind, and it is like this I stay, unmoving and focussed on breathing gently enough to live, my limbs aching in their bondage. How long I don’t know, but I mange to dream a little. I see him watching TV below me. And then like some out of body.
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