Chapter 3
     The scream startled the man awake.  He should be getting used to them by now but they always get to him.  This one sounded farther away than a lot of them - like it had originated past corners and down corridors.  It must be late.  The sun had gone down what had to be several hours ago.  The man wondered what time it was.
     Another scream.  This one sounded a little weaker than the first one. 
     “What are they doing to that man?” he thought.  “What are they going to do to me – and when?”
     He lay on his side and drew his knees up into his chest and grabbed them with his arms.  He was determined not to cry – he had done enough of that.  He was weak and so tired but his mattress wasn’t comfortable so sleep came with effort and not as often as he would have liked.
     He remembered his daughter’s face – how her dimples appeared when she smiled.  That last day was a great day.  His wife, his daughter, a picnic lunch beside the stream.  It was a warm day for early October.  In fact, that’s why they decided to take a picnic knowing they wouldn’t get too many more days like this one.  
     The food was simple:  a freshly baked loaf of bread, some fruit, some freshly sliced ham, cheese and wine – all they had picked up at a market on their way out of town since it was an impromptu picnic.  Things done on the spur of the moment are always best because you never know…. 
     His thought trailed off and he began to cry again.  His thought was …because you never know when you’ll get to do something like this again.  He fought off the tears. 
     “What else did we do that day?”  he thought.  Memories began to emerge.  His wife had on a longer summer dress of a light colored fabric that came down to her mid-calf.  The dress had no sleeves and he remembered when she stood in front of the sun he could see the outline of her beautiful body through it.  He could feel himself getting a little aroused.  He could smell her perfume.  A faint smile came upon his face.
     After lunch he took his daughter by her hand and led her to the stream.  It was time to teach her the fine art of skipping stones across a creek.  Everyone needs to know how to do this.  He remembered walking along the bank searching for just the right stone:  small enough to fit easily into the hand and yet big enough to have some weight in order for inertia to carry it on across the stream.  And the shape!  Yes, the most important element – it had to be flat in order to skim across the top of the water.  He showed her how to bend down and throw the rock with the forearm parallel to the ground in order for the rock to land flat on the surface of the water and not plunge in at a steep angle and go into the water.  After showing her several times he stood behind her and guided her arm through the correct pitching movement.  He remembered how he laughed and applauded the first time she tried it on her own.  It actually skipped a couple of times.  He remembered looking back to his wife.  She was barefoot having kicked off her shoes.  She loved going barefoot.  She was sitting upright with her legs pulled up and her arms wrapped around them.  She was laughing and applauding with him at the marvelous feat their daughter had performed.
     He must have played, rewound, and played the scene of that picnic at least a hundred times in his head – maybe even a thousand.  Remembering things like that in his life helped him maintain his sanity.  How long had he been here?  Months, years.  The other times in his life were getting more and more hazy.  That’s why he kept thinking about the picnic.  That was the last thing he and his family had done together. 
     “Why am I here?”  He thought.  “What could they possibly want with me?  I am a peaceful man.  I only want what is best for my fellow human beings.