Greyson
The wailing siren continued as the lights above strobed. Closing my eyes was not a reprieve. The deafening squeal screeched on incessantly. No longer were my hands bound. I was free to move about the small cell. The room was ten feet by ten feet by my estimation and at least fourteen feet high. I told myself that it was larger than the closet Cecilia described.
Gritting my teeth, I held my hands firmly against my ears.
Nothing could stop the penetration of the sound.
It rattled under my skin and deep into my bones.
“Think, Kyle. f*****g think."
Keeping my mind active was my first priority for survival. I refused to allow the relentless noise to strip me of my cognitive ability. That was the purpose of this particular form of torture. I knew the routine. I'd even used the
