Ian said nothing. He had to listen to the other man, had to play along, but he wouldn’t let his anger fuel his actions. Nor his fear. He wouldn’t let this man goad him into either.
“You don’t have to answer, Ian. I know you don’t recognize me. I also knew you as a name other than Ian, but I suspect someone like you has used many names.”
Someone like me. What does he mean? El Sanguijuelo?
“My name is Saul. Like you I’ve had other names, but it’s been Saul as long as we knew each other. The name only became frustrating in recent years, with that idiot from the drug show.”
Ian didn’t know what he was talking about. But Saul didn’t need to know that. He kept his face impassive. Saul would tell him what he wanted soon enough, but Ian hoped he would slip more and reveal more about Ian’s lost memories.
“You’re quiet, Ian. It’s not like you. I remember you talking a mile a minute. Anytime you were under stress it was yammer, yammer, yammer. Now I can’t even get you to open your mouth. Have you become a mute?”
Ian said nothing.
“If you don’t cooperate, your friend will be tortured. Answer my question.”
“I can talk. I just don’t have much to say to you.”
Saul chuckled. “Of course not, you’ve lost your memory. You don’t even remember me. You don’t remember what I swore I would do. You don’t remember your own threats towards me. I find a delicious irony in that. But perhaps that’s my knowledge and wit showing. Come now. I’ve got something to show you.”
Saul turned and walked towards the hidden door. It opened without his touch. He beckoned Ian to follow. Reluctantly, Ian did so.