Standing in the sunken cavity, my senses are heightened, dread growing with the water steadily rising higher around my helpless, trapped form. Each uptick marks a silent countdown to the unknowns that loom ever closer.
Frost literally towers above me, his piercing gaze moving over my face, my body, before focusing on the trio of equidistant bottles surrounding me. I stare at them too, tension fueling my shallow breaths, acutely registering the weight of water submerging my legs. Ominous block letters stare back, their oppressive presence reinforced by that of the man who put them there.
My teeth sink into the ball lodged between them, chattering into the silicone against the cold temperature of the fluid greeting more and more of me. The top of the basin is at level with my chest so, while disconcerting, the fear of drowning is alleviated, at the very least. Still, my body becomes increasingly agitated, shivers claiming my limbs as they work to maintain their hold on the basin’s six electrons and keep me upright at the same time.
Through the haze of sensory overload, Frost’s deliberate movements draw my attention. He leisurely retreats to his wall-to-wall medical shelf, almost as if he’s making a show of it. His big body obscures the label on the compartment he accesses from my vantage point, revealing itself only when he returns, holding a sleek, smedium-ish black box. My eyes fixate on the box as he approaches, then flits to the label behind him gradually coming into focus.