”Only a short break is given to me to let a faint feeling of hope sprout, clinging to those words, before being nipped—no, crushed—in the bud when the voices resume, “But if your will is weak, your body will perish and you will spend eternity in this plane of existence, experiencing endless suffering forevermore, never really dying but wishing you would.”While the little rationality I desperately try to hold on to urges me to scream my protest and my panic needs me to squirm free of… whatever is holding me captive: a nonexistent confinement deeply seated in my subconscious? My body parts seem to flash in and out of existence, fallen apart, yet still attached to my brain as if held together by a bundle of stringy nerves letting each dissected bit dance and rearrange in new strange ways. The knowledge that all of this is just mind-trickery comes with the recognition that there is no escape from this realm of torment.I try to run but it is only the legs that succeed while the conscience. I’d give Saudi Arabia my parting gift on Friday, and be out of here by Sunday. Then I’d have all the time in the world to do guest appearances, interviews and, most importantly, hug Edwin until he was blue in the face. I’d be there for him every single day, and do anything Kate planned for me. Speaking engagements, commercials, guest parts, whatever. Come Sunday I’d be Martin King again. But now I was Carstairs, and I was not going anywhere. I had a promise to keep. A promise to Diana, but also one I’d made to that piece of shit I’d stuffed into the escalator... Tuesday, September 1st, 2015. Saudi Royal Palace.Another day with nothing to do! I slept until late, because I’d had a very busy night at the mosque. Bringing all that ethyl alcohol to the attic had required a few trips, and then I had to dispose of the empty canisters. I had drained the water tank, which had taken over two hours, and refilled it to only about ten percent of its capacity. While it drained through a small pipe.
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