The Compound (Ongoing)

Chapter Three

My head is pounding, nails driving into my temples and it feels like a hand is clamping onto my brain, squeezing until it half its size.

I don't dare open my eyes, afraid that this is death, and that even when I open them things will stay black.

"Ashley, open your eyes," a stern male voice says. It's a voice that seems familiar, and I know that it's one I don't want to ignore.

Wincing, I pull my eyes open, stopping halfway when the light pierces into my skull. After I adjust to the brightness, I open my eyes fully, doing my best to ignore the fact that they feel like they're going to burst. It feels like someone's taken an air pump to them. Building the pressure more and more with every blink.

Doing my best against the pain, I look up to see a dark haired man standing above me, a grim look on his face as if he's disappointed.

That's when I notice I'm strapped down to the bed by my ankles and wrists. I start pulling, doing everything to get out of these restraints.

Pain.

My left cheek stings, and it takes me a minute to realize that the man slapped me. Hard. I taste blood as I run my tongue over my bottom lip.

I stare at this man, petrified. If he smacks me that hard for moving, what else will he do?

"Well," pulling a seat towards my bed, he sits down and poises a pen over his clipboard. "You're making things a lot more complicated than they need to be Ashley." Looking down at his paper and over at his watch, he sighs, "We're going to have to make this quick. First things first. Ashley, can you tell me your number?"

I stare at him, afraid to speak. I have no idea who this man is or what he's capable of.

"Look," he rubs the place between his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "I don't have time for this, and things will be very unpleasant for you if you don't answer my questions. So please tell me, do you know your number?"

He looks at me expectantly. I'm pretty sure the number he wants is the one from my badge, but I can't remember it.

"Umm...no." I state simply, hoping this doesn't make him even more upset and angry.

"I need the truth Ashley. Are you telling the truth?" He clears his throat, and I take a moment to assess him.

I know he might get angry about my pause, but I'm not sure how to answer. So instead I watch him. His black hair is perfectly styled, and his brown eyes look tired as they stare at me in what seems like hope masked in expectation. He's tall, his long legs folded awkwardly around the chair. But nothing about this man says awkward.

He screams power. Danger.

Death.

I lick my lips and try my best to meet his gaze without seeming afraid.

"You mean the number on my badge? I don't remember it."

I see something unrecognizable flicker across his middle-aged face before he begins frantically scribbling on his clipboard. He makes a small 'hmm' sound as his lips curls into what seems like a slight smile. I have no idea why he'd be smiling, and honestly it scares me, beacuse it means he knows something.

But then he's on to the next question, pretending that my previous answer hadn't intrigued him as much as it did.

"So what do you remember Ashley?" This using my name in every question thing is really starting to piss me off, especially since I don't know his name. It's sorta like he knows I don't remember, and he's rubbing the fact that I don't know my own name in my face.

I'm trying to figure out the best way to answer.

I could lie and say I remember everything, but then if he asked more questions I wouldn't be able to answer any of them. But if I tell him the truth, what does that mean for me? Because there's absolutely no way that my amnesia is a good thing.

At least not for me.

Finally I settle on the truth, because honestly I have nothing else to work with.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" He raises his bushy eyebrows, "Well certainly you remember something? You're name perhaps?"

"No." I look straight into his eyes, not wanting to seem any weaker than I already am. It's hard to be tough when you're strapped to a table and have no identity.

"Just like with the number, I only know what the tag says. And I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me who the hell you are and why I'm here."

I know my words are harsh, but I'm strapped to a table dammit. I have a right to be as rude as I want, especially until I find out what the hell's going on.

A soft chuckle escapes him, and for some reason I think he finds me amusing. He shakes his head slightly, smile still on his face, as he writes something new.

"Oh my. I didn't realize how severe your amnesia is. Well, it seems I owe you an apology. My name is Dr. Thomas. You're in an amazing facility, and I promise you're being well taken care of."

"Oh really? Then why," I yank my arms up, pulling the straps tighter around my wrists, "am I strapped down? What kind of facility is this in which I'm supposedly safe?"

Dr. Thomas looks at me with a sympathetic smile.

"Why, you're in the Compound."

I roll my eyes, annoyed because this is nothing new to me, and he knows it.

"I know that. You mind telling me what the fuck that means?"

"No need for such strong language young lady. You practically signed yourself up for this you know."

I stare at him, mouth gaping in shock.

"What do you mean? Signed myself up for what? What IS this place?"

"A science research facility."

"Research for what?" I hate asking so many questions. If he'd just answer me straight I could've known the truth ten minutes ago. For someone who was in such a hurry before, he sure seems to be taking his time now.

"Genetic manipulation."