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He found himself struggling to contain his fruitless erection again."8874," she said in firm tones, and said nothing else. There was a pause as he tried to make sense of it, at the same time watching her as she stood powerfully, leaning against a wooden chair she had obviously brought in with her. Finally he said, "what?" She smiled wryly and moved towards him, setting the chair in front of him, back facing him. Taking a seat backwards in the chair, legs straddling the back and arms resting on top of it, she repeated herself. "8874. That is you," she added, "prisoners here do not have names, they have numbers. You are number 8874. Do you understand?" His mind reeled for a second, before he spoke: "I'm a what?"Her slap struck him hard and without warning, the loud sound of latex glove on skin reverberating throughout the cell. When he turned his face to look at her again it appeared as though she hadn't ever moved, but the sting on his face and glare of her eyes said otherwise. "When. There was so many things to think about I found I couldn’t think at all. The weight of my guilt pressed down on me like a slab of concrete resting on my chest. It squeezed the breathe out of me inch by inch. My heart began to race and my face broke out in a cold sweat. Amber’s voice echoed in my head, bouncing around the caverns of my mind like an endless echo. I had to get away. Away from Kristel, away from the apartment, away from everyone. So I jumped. No destination in mind, no thought to where I might end up, just away. Hermes had told me that I couldn’t jump somewhere if I didn’t know where but, as I’d found out rather painfully, that wasn’t entirely true. I could throw myself out there, it could have just been anywhere. In retrospect I suppose I should be thankful that I didn’t pop up out in the blackness of space somewhere. I reappeared about one hundred feet in the air over some very hard, very unforgiving (and rapidly approaching) desert ground. I read once in a book that.
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