They will not let me go. I don’t know for how long I have been held a prisoner here, nor to what ends my captors hold me for. If I had the strength still, I’d have fought them. Heaven knows I try now, but something seems to be consuming me, as I no longer seem strong enough to throw hands anymore. I blame this captivity for my frail state. It’s not something I am used to at all. I’ve found myself at least a couple of times feeling steely grips upon my wrists, forearms, knees and sometimes, maybe all three. Hands grabbing me and forcing me down, as I struggle to get free. Their strength is uncanny. Almost every time, I’m either forced to swallow or injected with some sedative or the like, causing me to effectively black out until I find myself again, confined to either a chair or bed in this room. I’ve always been a strong and steady man. I’m a shipbuilder. Worked the yards in Philadelphia for years, making my living with steel, rivets, and a confidence in my work that was as unsinkable as my ships. I managed to raise three children and even put ...