Free NO GOOD DEED by M.P. McDonald

arms restrained his head from moving. The chains on his ankles tightened, and he heard the clink as the guard clipped his feet to something. His heart skipped a beat when the foot of the board was raised. Blood rushed to his head, and he tried to control his trembling. What were they going to do to him?
    There was a shuffling and the scrape of chairs on the floor. Jim stood to the right of Mark’s head. He couldn’t turn his head far enough to see, but it sounded like the men in the room had come closer. The door to the room opened, sending a slight breeze over him and he shivered.
    Jim stepped away from Mark, his footsteps headed towards the door. “Thanks for joining us, Dr. Solomon. We’re almost ready to begin, so please, just have a seat.”
    A doctor? What the hell did they need a doctor for? Mark pulled against the restraints as his stomach twisted into a tight knot of fear.
    “I can’t say I’m glad to be here, but it’s good to see you again, Jim.” Out of the corner of his eye, Mark caught a glimpse of a white coat and heard a rustle. The doctor was going to just sit and watch while they did whatever the hell it was they planned to do?
    The guard spoke to Jim and pulled Mark’s attention away from the doctor. “Sir? How do you want me to do this?”
    The uncertainty in the man’s voice terrified him. Was there a hint of reluctance too? The man had never been reluctant to restrain him before. What was different this time?
    Jim returned to the spot near Mark’s head. “Use the cloth. Put it over his nose and mouth. That usually works best.”
    Did they plan on smothering him? His breath rasped out in ragged pants as he tugged again on the chains. “I don’t have anything to confess. Please.”
    He met the guard’s eyes, but whatever reluctance had flashed earlier, was gone, and the guard let his gaze slide away from Mark’s. The other man’s expression a blank mask, he draped a cloth across the lower part of Mark’s face. It felt too light to smother him. The guard disappeared from his vision, but Mark’s fear escalated when water splashed nearby. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as a chill swept through him.
    The guard returned with a large pitcher in his hand. It was like the one Mark’s mother used to mix Kool-Aid when he was a child. The guard looked up as though waiting for a signal from someone. Mark riveted his eyes on the man’s face and held his breath waiting for...what? If only the guard would look at him again. His eyes would show if it was going to be bad. If he knew for sure, he could brace himself. Mark froze when the guard took a deep breath and nodded to someone out of Mark’s field of vision. The signal had been given.
    The cloth fluttered against his lips with every ragged breath. Mark locked onto the pitcher in the guard’s hand. He held it over Mark’s head and wouldn’t look him in the eye. The water flashed in the light an instant before it hit his face. For a few seconds, Mark sputtered, too ticked off about the iciness of the water to recognize the real threat. With every breath, water flooded his nose and mouth. His body spasmed in an effort to get rid of it. The water kept coming and coming. He coughed and gagged, sucking in even more liquid. It ran into his nose and his sinuses burned as they flooded. He fought, bucking against the shackles and arched his back in an attempt to move his head. That only made the stinging in his sinuses worse and increased the pressure behind his eyes.
    This was it. He was going to drown. Above the roar in his ears, Mark heard Jim ask if he’d had enough. If he just talked, the torment would cease. He opened his mouth to say yes, just to get them to stop—whatever it took, but the water filled his throat. Without enough breath to even cough, his vision narrowed and his strength ebbed.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Mark coughed and felt his body turning until he was lying on his side. He panted and discovered the cloth was gone