[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY FIFTY-TWO

I’m walking down a long institutional corridor in Frankie's thin legs. The walls are peeling paint the color of butter. I’m not sure if I’m in a hospital or prison, but I do hear animal screams haunting the hallway. The color palette is muted, as are all Frankie's memories, but perhaps the floors and walls are really only painted this way.

Every step brings me in the opposite direction of where I wish to be. In a safe place away from the inhumane cries. Sometimes, it screams in a strange language that I suspect is Russian.

I rear a corner, almost on top of the screams now. At the end of the hallway is a large metal door and I decide: prison. Or mental hospital. The door is equipped with a small metal square peep window at eye level that I have to unbolt it to swing it open.

Inside the room, the screaming man's back is seated toward me, his arms pinned back in a painful position. Standing around him is several men, including my burly friend from the bar — one of the “Rough Boys.” His hands are bloody, as are the metal sharp instruments that line a metal tray beside the seated man. Behind them, in command, is Blome. The German's eyes dart to mine and he stares at me with cold indifference. The Rough Boy looks up, and then his face falls, almost ashamed. We stare at each other for a moment and then he resumes his work. I swing close the metal peep door, which whimpers for oil over the man's cries.

[Deleted]