Read The Gillespie Five (A Political / Conspiracy Novel) - Book 1 (42) for Free Online Page A

footsteps and what sounded like a cart being wheeled away.
    The smell of the food and his stomach's rumbling response finally forced Tommy to stop staring at the door.  Suppressing the urge to scream again, he took the tray to his bed.  Lifting the lid he found something he assumed was meant to be potatoes, and a piece of nearly dehydrated brown stuff that he hoped was meat but more closely resembled leather.  There was also a plastic cup of juice.  Gratefully he downed the juice, sighing with the relief the cool liquid brought his parched throat.  He then took a few tentative bites with the plastic fork they'd provided.  He was finished before he realized it. 
    Moments later, his eyes began to blur and he found himself yawning fiercely.  He was setting his tray on the floor when a wave of nausea rolled through him.  The last thing he felt was his head hitting something cold and hard, and then he was out.
    He awoke to the grating sound of metal on metal and a bark of, "Food!"
    Groggily he shook his head, trying to clear it, and instantly regretted it as pain exploded in the front of his head.   
    "Food!"
    Where was that voice coming from? 
    He realized he was lying on something hard but couldn't figure out what.  Pushing himself up, Tommy blinked several times, trying to focus and then realized he was on the floor of a strange room.  His head pounded and he tried to swallow against the dryness in his mouth.
    The voice barked again.  "You've got five seconds to decide if you want food."
    Food.  Where was he?  Why couldn't he think?  
    His stomach growled.  Still disoriented, he stood up and moved to the door where a tray of food was waiting.  Suddenly, his memories came flooding back. 
    "Hey.  When can I talk to someone?  Where am I?"
    "Tray."
    His foggy brain took a moment to process the single word.  He reached for the proffered tray only to have it snatched back. 
    "Tray."
    As more memories returned, he realized the voice was asking for the old tray.  He shuffled over to pick it up and take it to the door.  As he passed it through the slot, he shouted, "Hey!  Please !  Where am I?  Why am I here?"  He gritted his teeth against the pounding in his head.
    The old tray was taken and the tray of food reappeared.  As he took it, the panel slid shut with a bang.  A moment later, he again heard the sound of something being wheeled away and the echo of receding footsteps.
    Not knowing what else to do, he ate the bland food and then put the sheets and blanket on the cot and lay down, staring up at the ceiling. 
    The next meal came with a bundle of cloth.  He opened the bundle to find a dull, white top and pant set that closely resembled hospital scrubs.  After eating, he checked once more for cameras and then stripped to take a shower and shave.  He chattered in the icy water but felt slightly better for doing something familiar. 
    The routine continued the next day, with three meals being delivered and still no answers.  At one point he began to pace his cell, noting it measured just a little over seven by nine feet.  With nothing else to do, he began sleeping more frequently but, eventually, the bright and buzzing florescent light began to make sleep difficult. 
    The next morning, or afternoon or evening - Tommy was no longer quite sure - the buzzing of the florescent light began to wear on his nerves.  He became obsessed with finding a way to turn it off, even if it meant breaking it.  But it was encased in a wire cage and that, coupled with the thought of spending that much time in the dark, stopped him.  The next day, he began screaming.  And, still, no one came.
    On what was actually day six, though he no longer knew, Tommy remembered a prison movie he had watched with his dad in which the prisoners had marked the passing of their sentence on a calendar.  Thinking this was a good idea and may be a way to maintain his sanity, he took his bar of soap and began making marks on the