The Painful Truth About... The Truth
David Alexander Paxton – or just “Dave” as he and those who knew him referred to him - did not really care that he was currently sitting in the
back of a recently landed military transport – his hands bound by plastic cable-tie cuffs and a black hood over his head. These facts were all
secondary to the fact that he had won. He had taken the bastards on, head to head, and he had won
. Now they could do whatever they wanted to
with him... he did not care one iota...
He had won!
Footsteps approached from the distance of the military transport and soon hands were pulling Dave up and pulling him to walk. Blinded by his facial
coverings, he only resisted for the slightest of moments and in a purely instinctive way. Soon he found himself walking down a ramp, across pavement
and was quickly seated in some sort of a vehicle. From the height of the step he had to take to enter the vehicle and the feel of and shape of the
seat – he was fairly sure it was an SUV of some kind. Knowledge, and a lot of movies and TV informed him that he was likely in the back of a black
Suburban or Escalade. He pictured it in his mind and wondered if passersby would be able to see him through the window tinting that he was positive
Ultimately he decided that they would not be able to see him. It would not serve the “public interest” for the citizenry of this great nation to
see men in black head bags being transported to and fro.
This thought elicited a slight chuckle from Dave. One that none of his traveling companions – three of them was Dave's guess based upon the
footsteps he'd heard while walking – seemed to notice or care about. They remained silent. Actually they remained frighteningly silent.
Dave silently snarked... I am now, officially, a freaking rock star.
This thought elicited another unanswered chuckle.
Soon the hypnotic qualities of being on the road began to take hold... the highway drone and vibration of the vehicle... driving Dave into a deeper
place of reflection. Soon the discomfort of having his hands bound behind him and a bag covering his face melted away. Mindlessly his thoughts drifted
into a movie-like reliving of the high points of the past few months of his life...
For years to come experts and laypersons alike would try to analyze and understand just what drove Dave to do what he did. Many theories would be
offered... some seemingly rational – others utterly absurd. All more exciting than the reality of it all. The truth is that Dave did what he did
because he had a momentary urge to do it. That's all it was – just a whim. No planning, no deep thoughts, no grand scheme. He simply realized it was
possible to do it - and he made an impulsive decision to follow through on an idea. That was the long and the short of it.
With a half thought out swipe of an enter key... Dave had changed the world.
After that moment – it had all turned very surreal. Life has a tendency to get that way once you realize that you have just made public not just the
biggest secret in the entire world... but quite literally every single big secret that there was to release into the wilds. Or at least enough about
them to open the floodgates. The few days following that keystroke were all just a vague blur. Packing bags and trying to buy airline tickets to
that was on the list of “non extradition treaty countries”, that you had been Googling just an hour before – well that is not
anything that school or life prepares one for.
Dave's only regret is that he opted to flee to a rat hole and not to somewhere nice. In the end it only took them a couple of weeks to snag him
anyway. All things being equal he'd have much rather spent those two weeks in a five star hotel in Paris than the third world nightmare hut that he
had opted for.
But, semantics and hindsight.
Besides... He had cemented his place in history and in Heaven. He was a hero of the people and new parents would name their children after him and
sing his praises for generations... maybe even centuries from now. Women would write him lengthy and heartfelt love letters. Maybe he'd even get to
marry and get visits while in whatever prison he would end up being shipped off to. He was high profile enough, he thought, that some dank secret
prison was out of the question. The public would want to know his whereabouts. Right? Surely he was insulated from the worst that they could do to
him. Notoriety had it's benefits.
No matter what scenarios Dave let his mind play out ( and even in those that he did not let his mind play out – but which came along to haunt him
anyway ) it all ended up aces. Hell, it was not out of the question that, after a few years had gone by, some future Presidential candidate might not
come along and win popular support by offering to Pardon Dave. Once the smoke cleared and enough people in power had been crucified because of what
Dave had revealed to the world? Anything was possible.
For the first time since he'd been apprehended – roughly 22 hours ago – Dave was glad for the bag over his head. It kept his traveling companions
from seeing the full-on smirk that was gracing his face.
Dave my man
– his mind silently reflected – You, Sir, are the man.
The remainder of the drive was uneventful. Dave relaxed into something of a hypnotic near sleep and drifted into mindless thought. At some point (
Dave was fairly sure it was not too much later on ) the vehicle stopped and the hands were, once again, pulling at and tugging on Dave. He complied
and was walked into a building, down a hall, onto an elevator, down another hall – and finally into a room.
Suddenly the hood was removed from his head and the florescent lighting was like a billion needles in Dave's eyes. He could barely make out the shape
of the obviously suited individual who had pulled his hood off as that person turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
After several uncomfortable moments Dave's eyes began to adjust. He had been seated on a cement bench, facing a cement table in a very non-descript
and plain room. A room that reeked of Government blandness. Overhead rows of florescent lights buzzed away, washing the room in way too much sickly
light. The walls were off white and unremarkable. It was all unremarkable. It was a cold room being used by a cold power for cold purposes... and it
fit that bill exquisitely.
Dave was positive that he would be facing hours and hours of solitude in this room. He was fully aware that this tactic was one of their tactics. They
would isolate people in rooms like this, let them become hungry, thirsty, sleep deprived... they'd let their bladders fill to bursting. Then, and only
then, would they come storming in, rapid firing questions and accusations... demanding answers NOW! This was phase one of American interrogation. The
truth is that less than half of those subjected to his simple torture ever made it to phase two. Most dug their own graves simply from thirst and a
need to pee. As it happens – Dave never even made it to phase one.
edit on 7/7/13 by Hefficide because: (no reason given)