Justin awoke in a very plain room. It was no more than eight feet wide and long. A small, bench-like shelf extended from the wall farthest from the door, which was what Justin was now lying on.
The door appeared to be made out of glass or see-through plastic. There were two guards discussing something on the other side of the door, which was either sound proof, or the guards were talking in very low voices.
Every now and then, both of the guards would look directly at Justin and then refer to a manila folder that one of them was holding.
Is that my file? Justin wondered. Is that the same folder that the doctor showed to my nurse in the infirmary?
Justin shuddered. If it was, then his future did not look too bright, for it seemed that everyone who looked at the file became compelled to kill Justin, and he had a feeling that the guards had things more sinister than pills at their disposal.
Justin's view shifted from the folder to the waist of one of the guards. Just like Drake, this man also had a holstered gun on his belt.
How hard would it be to just open the door and shoot me? Justin asked himself. Probably a whole heck of a lot easier than giving me "painkillers."
Justin's attention broadened from the gun to the two guards again. The man with the folder pointed something out to the other one and then checked his watch.
Suddenly, both guards looked up from the file and stared down the hall. One of them shouted something out to the person who had obviously just called their attention. That person turned out to be Mr. Livel, who walked up to both of them and started talking. Justin was becoming very frustrated by the fact that he couldn't hear anything.
The man with the folder showed it to Mr. Livel, who, once he was done reading, looked directly at Justin and then checked his watch as well. He then started talking to the guards again. Once he was done talking he smiled and so did they. The first two guards gave him the file and walked off, leaving Justin and Mr. Livel alone.
Mr. Livel seemed to be watching the guards walk back down the hall, apparently waiting until they were out of view before he looked at Justin again.
When he did, Justin could see that the smile was no longer on his face.
Oh no, Justin thought to himself, wondering if it was to be Mr. Livel who would act as executioner. Not Mr. Livel. Please, not him. He couldn't hurt me. He wouldn't.
As he was thinking this, Mr. Livel looked intently at Justin and motioned him to come to the door. Gingerly (his leg was throbbing worse than ever, now) Justin stepped off of the large shelf and slowly walked toward the door that separated the two of them.
Once Justin was at the door, Mr. Livel pointed with two fingers at Justin's eyes and then pointed at an object to the right of the door, on the wall. It seemed as though he wanted Justin to look at something.
Justin stepped closer to the see-through door and pressed his cheek against it, looking as far to the right as he could. Mr. Livel stepped over to something that was slightly protruding from the wall. He put both hands inside of it and, after a few moments, pulled out two small canisters that slightly resembled very tiny bottles. One was a brownish green color and the other was white. He showed both of them to Justin and then put the white canister back into its slot. He walked past the door, far to the left with the brownish green bottle in his hand. Justin shifted his stance so he could watch Mr. Livel, who stopped several feet down the hall, reached into another protrusion, possibly from another room next to Justin's, and pulled the white one out from there. In its place he placed the brownish green bottle and walked back toward the door, passing it and stopping in front of the protrusion from which he had taken the brownish green canister in the first place. He showed the white bottle to Justin and gently slid it into the slot next to the other white canister that had been in there originally.
What the heck was that all about? Justin wondered. So he switched the brown and white canisters. Now there's two white bottles over here and two brown ones over there. So what? What's the point?
Mr. Livel walked back in front of the door and looked at Justin. He put his hands together and rested his head on them sideways, imitating the act of sleeping. Then he pointed to the bench and motioned for Justin to lay down on it.
"Why?" Justin asked - or, rather, yelled - at Mr. Livel. He was hoping the sound proof glass was not completely sound proof. "Where am I! What is this place! What did you just do!"
Justin was speaking in a very animated manner, gesturing emphatically with his arms. Mr. Livel quickly motioned for him to stop moving.
"Why?" Justin mouthed. It seemed obvious that Mr. Livel could not hear him.
With one, pointed finger, Mr. Livel swung his hand upward and to Justin's left, indicating that there was something of importance in the upper left-hand corner of the room. Justin looked to where Mr. Livel was pointing and was surprised to see a small video surveillance camera, resembling a miniature version of what Justin was used to seeing in supermarkets.
Perhaps Mr. Livel doesn't want the security people to know that I'm being given instructions.
Hoping that this was the case, Justin decided to follow Mr. Livel's advice. He walked over to the bench and sat back down. Mr. Livel gave Justin the "thumbs up" sign, indicating that everything was fine and that he shouldn't move from that spot.
Mr. Livel made the sleeping imitation again and walked off to the side of the door, where the two white canisters were loaded into the wall. Justin took the moment to gaze once more around the room.
What is this place?he asked himself. Is this like a detention room? Am I in time out?
Justin laughed at the thought. But even after he was done thinking it was funny he continued to laugh. A strange feeling was building up inside of his stomach, similar to the feeling he would get while going over a hill in a roller coaster or a fast-moving car. His laughter subsided into chuckles.
Why am I doing this? Justin wondered. It can't be that funny.
But his original thought returned to him.
Am I in time out?- he grinned again - Is that what the guards would say? 'Hey, you killed someone! Looks like it's time out for you, buster!'
Justin chuckled yet again.
Suddenly, Mr. Livel was back in front of the door, waving reassuringly at him. Justin lifted his arm to wave back and found that his limb had gone inexplicably weak. The same, strange, funny filling was coursing through his arm as well. Justin eased himself over on his side.
I can't be in time out. Justin reasoned with himself, though he found that it was extremely tough to do any reasoning at all. It seemed as if his brain was falling asleep before he was ready to do so himself.
If they really thought I killed that kid - what was his name? - then they wouldn't put me in 'time out.' What is it that they do back home when somebody murders someone else? Where do they go?
Justin thought for a moment. The answer took quite a while to dredge up from his memory.
Oh yeah, Justin said to himself as he peacefully closed his eyes. It felt so good to simply lie down and rest. He wished he could just sleep like this for days and days. That's where they go. . . the gas chamber.
And then Justin closed his eyes.
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