Awakening: Dead Forever Book 1 by William Campbell

bandage from my arm, not in a gentle fashion as would a person with an ounce of compassion, no, he tears the thing off in one vicious yank.
    “ Yow! Can’t you have a heart?”
    My new inflictor of pain hesitates, befuddled by my remark. “I do have a heart, right here.” He points to his chest. “If I did not, I would not be alive, now would I. You are quite an odd creature. What is the source of these strange idioms? If only I had more time to study your kind.”
    One of the businessmen stands. “Enough! You will cease unnecessary conversation with the subject. Complete your inspection and prepare the equipment.”
    Tempted with defiance, the doctor glares at the businessman, then he changes his mind and cowers. Yeah, I’d do what I’m told, too. That guy looks scary.
    The doctor returns to my wound, his eyeballs giant past the thick lenses of his glasses. He studies intently, as though searching for traces of bacteria invisible to the naked eye. He pokes and prods, examines further, then satisfied, reports his findings. “He is healthy. The injury is repaired.”
    These people are truly creepy. They have nearly killed me in an effort to bring me here, and now I’m strapped to this chair, which has to be an instrument of execution. But they want to make sure I’m healthy, before making me entirely un healthy, the ultimate unhealthy—dead. Ironic, like disinfecting the needle before administering a lethal injection.
    The doctor shifts to the small table and prepares the electronic device. He puts in a roll of paper that sticks out one end, then pulls the unwinding sheet over a flat area beneath a suspended needle. He adjusts controls then pulls out thin leads that end in half a dozen circular pads. He opens my shirt and applies the pads to my chest, shoulders, and forehead. More wires end in a pair of thimble-like cones that he slips over my fingertips.
    My heartbeat rises to thunder. My body is having the natural reaction to impending harm. I’m strapped to this chair and here I will die, it’s that simple. There’s no way out, might as well relax and let it happen. Regardless, the flow of adrenaline begins. Preparing itself for the coming torture, this body believes it can survive. I fail to see how.
    * * *
    The far door opens and a woman enters, carrying a small device with keypad. An older lady, she is dressed like the men, but with a knee-high skirt and her hair in a bun. Her heels snap the floor as she walks across the room, then she seats herself at the table.
    One of the men rises, the one who scolded the doctor. “We are ready to begin,” he says, standing firm with hands like tripods, fingers spread atop the table. He seems to be in charge. The ready-to-begin prologue is a clue, but even when silent, he exudes an authoritative presence.
    “Carl, we are going to ask you some questions, and you must be completely honest. Rest assured, your responses will be held in the strictest confidence. It is vital that we know your every thought, anything that may come to mind. Do you understand?”
    “Not really.”
    “All we ask is that you try.” He lowers back to sitting, hands folded atop the table and staring at me, his expression drained of all emotion.
    At least he’s talking to me, not about me while I’m sitting right here. This time I’m not a thing, or subject to be discussed, and he speaks in a calm, reassuring tone. I wish I was as calm. I’m not even close, greased by sweat while my heart works overtime, straining to pump the terror out. The machine on the table seems to agree. The needle scribbles wildly, drawing peaks and valleys across the rolling paper.
    Given the circumstances, I realize what this situation represents. The businessmen are like a group of attorneys, or a panel of judges. The woman is recording what we speak, typing our words into her small device. The doctor is tracking my physical condition.
    “Am I on trial?”
    “No, Carl, you are not on trial. We simply have