Over the first twenty years it had happened only once a year.

 

When he’d been in prison over the last ten years the frequency had increased to

once every six months.

 

But the thing was, the last time it had happened was less than a month ago. He’d

been sitting in his cell staring at the wall. He didn’t know what time it was,

only that it was somewhere in the stretch between late at night and the wavering

darkness right before the dawn. It had taken all of his immense strength and

self-control not to scream out loud.

 

He had gripped the bars of his cell and actually felt the metal begin to move a

bit in his hands. He had immediately released them because the last thing he

needed was the guards seeing that he was strong enough to actually damage the

steel bars of his cage.

 

He had thrown himself down on the floor, gripped the concrete foundation that

was his bed with a thin mattress thrown on top, and held on for dear life, his

body curling into a fetal position in his silent agony.

 

He had emerged from that episode with every nerve in his body feeling like it

was on fire.

 

Rogers did not feel pain. The thing in his head had taken care of that.