As intelligent as she was, Erika wasn’t thinking clearly. ‘As meaningless as it may be, we know the press. They’ll hound us on this one and make...a much bigger story if we don’t give them something. We want them writing about Alistair’s performance in the debate, not this crap.’ ‘You’re right,’ Erika slowly responded, thinking things through. ‘Absolutely! Doing nothing isn’t an option. Okay, this is why we hired you, Thomas, what we pay you for. To deal with this horseshit! Your suggestion is?’. He gasps as it fills him and then swallows convulsively, sucking a lungful of air. The sheets smell stinks. He tries not to think too hard about the filthy smell of the dirty sheets or from the worn mattress beneath as it assaults his nostrils. He tries not to think about the stains, how they got there. Stains that chronicle everything that has happened to him since they first caught him, bundled him into their van and brought him here. The obscene touch of their rough hands through his clothes. More

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