Raphael was shoved into the room, stumbling and nearly falling.
Carlos followed close behind, but his body was rigid.
More than a decade had passed, and in countless nightmares, he had returned to this place.
The position of the drain hadn't changed, nor had the light on the ceiling.
He felt his palms start to go numb, as if Hector's face, his eyes wide open in death, was right there.
"Uncle Carlos."
Carlos whipped his head around. Hector was standing right beside him, asking the question with a curious look.
He jumped, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
"Uncle Carlos?" Raphael noticed his strange behavior. "What's wrong?"
Carlos shook his head but didn't speak.
Someone shoved him from behind, and he staggered toward the table.
The iron door closed behind them.
A voice came from the speaker.
"My two police comrades, my two... *good* policemen," Kuluoqi's voice said with a chuckle. "Good evening."
