What is Your Name?

Warning: This story has themes of torture and mentions a weapon!

I don't know why I am being called in to work today. All I know is that when my boss is as frantic as he is right now, then it’s important. My mask causes my breath to fog up my glasses. Right, the glasses. The clear, non-prescription lenses slip off my nose, finding a home in my pocket for the time being.

The door to the office building rotates, allowing me access like an old friend. “Good morning, Alyssa,” says the receptionist. Alyssa isn’t my name, but she knows that, just like how she is one of two people who work both for the seeable office here, and for the secret one.

The elevator doors open, giving me my way out of the crowd. Sadly, two others join me, stopping me from going to the correct floor. “What floor do you need?” The man asks.

“Oh, floor two please. Normally I would just take the stairs, but my husband bought me these new heels, and it seems like I haven't broken them enough yet.”

The lady beside him chuckles, “My husband bought me some heels last year, he was so happy when I wore them out of the house, little did he know I was going to swap them out for a different size.” I politely chuckle, leaving the elevator once it stops, just to immediately press the button and wait for the next one, which, thankfully, is empty.

The security panel pops off silently, not that it matters, no one else is in here. I can’t see it, but I know if I move my finger in between the back wall of the compartment and the edge, a tiny button hides there, waiting to be pressed. The elevator jerks to a stop when I do so, looks like someone has to wait for a different one.

I place the cover back on, waiting to be taken down below.

A ding resounds, signaling the end of my trip. Open doors reveal the inner workings of this building. Men and women move about in suites, and while the clothing is no different than that of the people above, these people hold themselves differently, like they know they’re doing something extremely important, like they know they are always being watched.

I glide through the crowd, nobody paying me any mind, they think I am exactly like them. They know I work for the government, but they don’t know how different my work is from theirs.

“Alyssa! There you are,” The man that knows my true job calls out.

“George, why was I called in? And before you ask, no, my husband does not know I am here, no he does not suspect anything. He’s at work all day today, so I’m good for a few hours.” As far as my husband knows, I occasionally work at this office, mostly doing minor things that people mess up. For the most part I work at home.

The grey-haired man’s face pinches. “Go to room zero one zero.” He says the words robotically. “I will be there in a moment.” He marches away, if it wasn't for his constant state of marching, no one would believe that he was in the army, or that he now works for this part of the government. The dirty part.

Three chairs and a desk adorn the center of the room. Above that desk is a light that belongs in a closet. We only use these rooms to talk and glean information from people that work here. But there have been some exceptions. Like when the person is not a friend, but a foe, and when they don’t feel like talking, George is called in. These rooms are not for friendly conversations with coworkers.

I take my place, on the side with two chairs. A moment later, George is there as promised, but he doesn’t sit beside me, he sits across from me.

“I’m going to need you to take your mask off, please.” I do so with no complaint, only he is allowed to see me completely.

“What’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re going to integrate me, that's just ludicrous.”

He sighs. “What is your husband's name?” He’s actually questioning me.

“Kevin William. But you know this, we did a whole background check before I even got with him.”

“What is his profession?”

“He works at a heating and air company called The Cool Ones. He’s there now, and he has no idea of my true profession, he believes I have a job at the paper company above, but that I work primarily from home.”

“Okay, I’m just getting straight to the point. Are you aware that the name that we thought was his, is in fact not.”

My heart stutters. “I would have found that in the background check.”

“But we didn’t. That is, until you captured an enemy of the country two weeks ago. We have been interrogating him, and it turns out, Kevin William is an ally of a country that has made known its hatred for us.”

“But that could be anyone.”

“We showed a photo of your husband and others; he insisted that who he is talking about is him.”

“He could be lying-”

“Kevin William is currently in custody, he has refused to say anything, he is not asking for a lawyer, but he has asked multiple times to call you. So, we allowed it, that was when he informed you that he would be at work late tonight and to not wait for him. Ever since then, he has refused to say anything at all. He knows he is caught.”

Buzzing from the light emits throughout the room. It takes all of two minutes for me to come to terms with what is being said, and what is subtly being asked of me.

“You want me to integrate him?”

“We have used all the methods that we are allowed to. You, however, have more freedom, and I believe that he will break when he sees his wife on the opposing side.”

My foot taps incessantly. “Let me rephrase it. You-”

“Where is he?”

He pauses, as if he didn’t expect me to do my job. A single nod is all I get before I am led from the room.

Of course, the last room is the one he’s in. Room zero two five, according to George. One second is all I allow myself before I enter the room, shutting the door behind me.

The table is smashed, laying against the wall. A seat has had a leg broken off; another sits on its side. And in the middle of it all, is my husband. Maybe his name is Kevin William, maybe it's not, I don’t know right now, but by the end of this, I will know everything.

His hazel eyes are obscured by a blindfold. His arms are tied securely to the chair's arms, while his legs are tied at the ankle. All this so he can’t escape. I wonder what he knows.

“Did you make this mess?” He jolts, as much as the chair will allow.

“Katherine?” My name, my actual name, slips from his lips. Not the fake one I go by so people don’t know anything about me.

“Did you make this mess?” I ask again.

“What are you doing here!” He’s frantic, the dots have yet to connect. “I swear if you guys hurt her I’ll kill all of you! She has nothing to do with this!”

One question has been answered.

“Kevin,” he stops his writhing. “Is that your real name? Kevin? Or is it something else?”

“Katherine, what are you talking about? Of course that's my name,” a nervous laugh escapes him, or maybe it’s one of disbelief.

“Kevin William, who is the man that calls himself Jordan Kiles?” I had glazed over the file George had compiled of the man that I had caught and of my husband. I have no idea what else the file said, just the name.

His body goes stiff. “Katherine?”

“Yes Kevin?”

A gust of air leaves him, and he begins chuckling. “You, you’re- Gosh, seems like we were both hiding some things, weren't we?”

“Yes, but you are going to tell me everything.”

“I love you. That wasn’t fake,” his fingers begin to tap.

“I know, I love you too. But I have to do this.”

“Our biggest fight yet.” One single tear, that's all I allow myself. I had finally allowed myself to open up to a person, to have someone. And he turns out to be an enemy, an enemy that I have to deal with.

“Tell me everything, please make this easy.”

“I can’t do that, Love.”

My hand doesn’t tremble, not a bit, when I place it on his. Not even when I dislocate the first finger. He grunts but is otherwise silent. So, I go onto the next, and next, and continue until all fingers are out of place. And then I replace them, which hurts just as much as when they're dislocated. But still nothing.

“What is your real name?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know how to tell you this, but that kind of hurts.”

“I’ll tell you something if you tell me something. But you have to go first.” I don’t enjoy breaking promises, he knows this.

His lips don’t move.

I sigh, knowing what tactic comes next in my arsenal. The pliers weigh heavy in my hand. The cold metal rests against his left hand first, “Tell me what you know, Love. I am no longer playing.”

His breath is shaky, but his voice never shows. It doesn’t reveal.

One, two, three nails are gone. His blood coats the end of the armrest. “Just tell me.”

“I’m not talking, because you know my tells. I can’t even lie.”

“I don’t care why you’re not talking, just talk. Tell me all the information you know.”

Seven nails later, the only sound in the room is his gasping and the steady drip of his blood falling to the ground.

“Have you heard of water torture?”

“No.”

“You’re about to learn it, but you won’t if you just talk.”

Drip, drip, drip.

The rag falls on his face, and then the water.

“Why won’t you just talk! This wouldn’t even be happening if you were to just tell me the information!”

“I love you too,” he gasps out. His head is thrown back, black hair dripping wet.

I rip the blindfold off his face, and eyes lock onto mine, and despite what I have done, despite knowing he’s done terrible things. Love shines in his eyes, and I know it shines in mine as well.

He is at his breaking point, I can see it, but I need one more thing to tip him over the edge. An idea strikes me.

I take two knives, one in my left hand, one in my right. One for him, and one for me. There is one chair, besides his, that is not destroyed. I right quickly, setting it up across from him.

“What now?”

My eyes never leave his as I begin to sink the knife into my left thigh. “Katherine! What are you doing!” he panics, thrashing widely. I am his weakness. The other knife sinks into his left thigh, so he can feel just how much pain I’m in.

“STOP! Please Katherine!”

Both knives sink deeper.

“Caleb Cambell! My name is Caleb Cambell!” I gasp out a sigh. Our knives almost reach the bone. He’s gasping, his hair is a mess, his eyes wild. What else does he have to say?

I begin to move our knives again, blinding white light erupts in my eyes. My ears almost don't catch him shouting out an address. “That's where we meet up and get our jobs. I’m the commander of this unit. Please Katherine, please.”

“Anything else?” I try to sound steady, but I fail miserably, it seems to break him even more.

He yells and shouts and pleads, giving more and more information, some of it is from me simply moving to touch the knives.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, Katherine. That is everything I know.”

“Thank you, Kevin. I love you.”

“Please get medical attention, please.”

“I will. I’ll make sure you get some too.”

I wince as I stand, knife still in my leg so I don’t bleed everywhere. The second the door opens, I’m dragged to a medical room, where I am stitched up and assured that Kevin, Caleb, will be attended to. Also, where I’m told that a team has been dispatched to the location that he said.

“Go home Alyssa. Unless you’re called, don’t bother to come in for the next two weeks. You can’t do much with that wound you gave yourself.”

Next thing I know, I’m home. I don’t know how I got there. I just went from one cell to the next. I manage to shower and brush my teeth. My leg throbs as I crawl into our bed.

The covers are barley over me before I break and can do nothing but weep.