He couldn't move his body.
No matter how hard he tried, his muscles barely responded to his will. The injections they kept giving him left him barely able to move — he could occasionally force his arms to do something like grip the metal bars or push against the floor. Not with any real strength, but he could do it.
But his legs were all but useless, and he hadn't been able to move his head properly for hours. Whenever he tried, a tremble passed through his body, almost like a small seizure, making him gasp for breath but not allowing him to actually move.
And every time he started to regain some control over his limbs, every time he began to feel his strength coming back, they came in with their needles and injected him with more. And once he was paralyzed again, they could do what they wanted to him without fear of reprisals. They seemed to enjoy that most of all — knowing that he couldn't respond.
The worst part was that even though his body was immobile, he could still feel everything. Everything they had done to him. Every painful, horrifying second — all of it was burned into his mind as if they had branded him.
And now they had April.
His breath came in rough gasps as he tried to tense his arms against the rough cinder-block wall, to push himself forward enough to crawl or drag himself. He could barely see them at the other end of the cell, but he knew that they had her — and the idea of them trying to do anything to her filled him with rage. If they hurt her — if they put one hand on her — he would find a way to rise just to make them regret it.
Then suddenly she was in front of him, walking unsteadily across the cell on her bare feet. He felt a rush of relief at the sight of her, apparently unhurt and untouched.
But then he saw her face. She was sad... no, she was frightened.
She dropped down to her knees, and leaned close to his face so that he could hear her whisper. "I'm so sorry, Don," she said tearfully.