- - 25 - -
The next morning, I feel horrible. Breathing hurts. Muscles I didn't even know I had are pissed off...
But our trainer is way ahead of us. After breakfast it tries mocking us, stronger insults... but we don't finish our smokes and get up from the table until it starts suggesting other ways to pass the morning.
And around lunch, the next day...
I didn't really think about how sore I was until we sat around for a while. No need to ask Shon if he felt it too, 'cause I could see it in his face.
The tickler made us fire up a decent-sized hooter, pass it back and forth. Preemptive strike, I thought, but then the THC kicked in. Keep the monkeys sedated...
I try to think. It's so hard. Everything's hard. Dammit -
"Let us go," I exploded. It wasn't much of an explosion, 'cause I was thick and calm under the reefer.
"Hare," Vex says tolerantly. "Fighting so hard. You're going to wreck your buzz."
Shon opened his eyes, and attempted to raise 'em from his lap.
It was time for... something drastic. But what?
Casting around, I have a wild idea. My own idea, not a suggestion from... outside.
I look across the table. "Let him go, and I'll... s-stay."
Shon yells at me. "Deck!"
Freeze. Everything stops.
I didn't say that. Out loud.
Did I?
Well... Full steam ahead.
"Enough. This is insane. Ain't no reason both of us gotta be laughing our guts out for the next twenty years," I tell Shon, not wanting to add any more words to that sentence.
He blinks, trying to catch up, and takes the joint I'm holding out to him. But I take a deep breath and rush it back out. Barrel on before I totally lose my nerve. "You let him go, now, and leave him alone. Forever," I tell the ceiling, "and I'll go to your fucking palace. We can't live like this, you got that? Runnin' all the time, or even dreading the last half of August or some shit like that, 'cause that's when the tickler's gonna have its annual party -"
"Shut the fuck up," Shon says, drunkenly. "You're not gonna saaahah hihheh haaaawllnnoooowhaa hah hah haaaawwllleeee heee heeeeeee hoo haaaawwwll haw hawwww..." He's squirming hard, trying to tuck in. The joint lands on the tabletop. He throws his head back and chuckles, lost in it.
But it's fairly mild laughter, for him. Just enough to get him out of the conversation. I don't like what that suggests.
I'm not that far from frantically taking it back. I didn't mean it, it was the pot. I'm very stoned, but the TM's not making me think anything. Amazing how quickly that seems abnormal - to have a will of my own.
The joint lifts up and heads for the ashtray, edging cigarette butts out of the way.
"Hmmmm...."
The coal is tipped off the end. Saving it. A curious gesture. The roach, no longer burning, cruises over to Shon and slips into his shirt pocket. He's unaware of this, gone, trying to sweep hands off him that I can't see. He's staying right on the chair, so I figure he's being held there... either physically or from the inside. Like, I'm dyin' to get up and run but my legs just won't do what I tell 'em to.
A fuckin' nightmare, all of this. I sigh again.
"Really," Vex says, sounding real amused.
"Yeah. If... If you cut him loose. Permanently. Free pass." And I pause. This is like talking to a genie. Gotta get the wording just right. "Forever, from all ticklers. No games. I'm makin' you a serious offer, here." I'm such an idiot, I must be even more stoned than I thought... "You know what I mean. Hell, you probably can tell better than I can. And I'm seriously wasted, so cut to the chase. No more contact or nabs or 'suggestions' of any kind."
"And if he should choose it? Later?"
"Well. If it's a real choice. A free one. Not an suggestion you stuck in his head. Irresistible -"
Shon laughs a little harder.
"Look at him. Buck-rabbit enjoys it."
I snort at that... but he does look happy. On the outside. Lost in it. Deliriously lost in snickering, giggling. Happy as hell.
And I think back on the last few days.
How the urge to get tickled - rip-roarin' worked over - has been eatin' at him. Sure, it came from outside the bunker, before the tickler got in. But I had figured the fucker was playing with our, uh, natural inclinations.
Me, I was tempted more with the idea of tickling Shon. Giving him some relief, 'cause he obviously wanted to feel it so damn bad...
Right? So I tell myself.
For him, the hook is the total surrender. Letting go.
And pow - I have a sudden realization. Shitty timing -
I want to feel... what the tickler does. That much power. I've been a toy for too long, and I don't swing that way. Hell, I jacked off to the thought of tickling Deck - when his tormentor made me - but still. I can't fool myself into thinking I'd be doing it mainly to help him. Not any more.
Suddenly I'm hearing this voice in my head. Cackling. Smutty as fuck. A maniac. Triumphant. Yeah -
And then it fades, revealing another sound. It makes my dick hard...
Tortured laughter. A steady, involuntary flow of raspy hoots and chuckles. It's phenomenal - I could listen to it all night. Shon's voice, or maybe mine. I don't care. The best kind of laughter... is "tortured". Literally.
It's hypnotic -
D bounces his chair on the floor. Twice.
Eventually I look over at him. What the hell was I saying, again? Some stupid shit. I'd rather watch him laugh.
I could be the one doing that.
Vex lets loose with another gale of laughter. Audible, this time.
I get a message - an invitation. It'll strap him down. And let me at him.
A clear image clicks into place. And the smells. The taut resistance of his soles, through latex, over oil.
I start to drool.
And then... it makes a mistake.
Shon lifts his head, though it's obviously costing him a lot to do it. And he looks at me.
Tears are streaming down his cheeks. I like the look of that, when tickling is the cause. He looks good that way -
We make eye contact.
I sit upright. Frightened...
What was I about to do? To D?
The fucker - suddenly aware of his misstep - pushes Shon's head down. It's too sudden of a movement, though. Son of a bitch.
Never, I think. Real hard. Not him. No.
And it switches tactics. Look what we got here, I think. D's a fucking actor. The movie in his head is always starring him. Watching the tickler kick his ass. Him, the noble victim, caught firmly in the grip of a pitiless trickster. The big fucking star that no director has said "boo" to in ten years - finally caught by someb- something more powerful. Punishing the egomaniac... And he's studying the experience. You can take that to the bank. Shon, sitting there, watching the major star get levelled. It's an old reflex with him. More like studying the intensity of the experience. Enjoying the seamless perfection of the cruelty. Wallowing in it...
I've lost. My offer is a ridiculous joke.
"So what?" I bark. What the hell was I talking about?
Shon starts to squeal. Then I remember.
"He may like it... But. Uh... That don't mean he likes it... this way..."
He's been running too. He's gone to the same lengths I have - to avoid it. We've talked about it for way too many hours. How intolerable it is. Far too fuckin' much of a good thing. That's his stance, even if he never said it in so many words -
Pure dread. I've seen it in his face.
And I get reminded what an incredible actor he is.
Aw, no.
Maybe... just playing a part. All this time. Lying to me, to Berry. And Ciuna, maybe.
It's so ludicrious, it collapses under its own weight. So, what, he wanted to miss out on the chance of giving an acceptance speech at the Oscars? And why was he so glad to see me when I got here? If he really wants a private marathon ticklefuckfest, I sure as hell wasn't needed.
His face is a tight crinkly mess. There it is - the pain. Right there, at the same time with all that pleasure. No no no, stop it, I can't stand this. No more.
There. My partner in - misery. When the masks come off, he's identical to me. I've seen it. Another target, scared sometimes, weary, confused. More optimistic than me - well, almost always. He can hold onto the idea that, someday, the threat of more tickling will quit dogging us. I've razzed him enough times about that.
He likes it, but he's not the one who gets bummed about ever getting free. I am.
Well, there ya go. Fucktard. Take that.
"Bravo," Vex says.
A pack of cigarettes is shoved into my hand. Camels. Nonfilter, the kind I used to smoke -
And - I get corrected - the kind I will smoke from this point on. Satisfied only with these shortys, to a point I never knew before...
I bite back another 'fuck you' and get a cigarette going. It's one of the best smokes I ever had. Wow. The fucker must be doing something major in my head, because I'm just lovin' this Camel.
And that despite my big mouth. Uh-oh, any second now, a dozen gloves are gonna pounce. Really blitz my whole upper body. Pay me back good...
Instead, the voice chuckles. Humoring me. "The palace was built for you two. Him, and you. Chew on that one, badass. The first eyes to see it are going to be Buck-rabbit's. And then yours. That's final. I've looked forward to it for too long - watching your faces -"
Shon manages to mumble, "Nuh ho hoh nnnno, D," and resumes his weak hooting. And I think, that guy's gotta have shit for brains. He can't wait to get on down there. His palace. Ecstatic for years, decades -
Whoa, that's not my thought. It's another plant. Catching on to that helps a little.
I take another drag. My hand is shaking.
The fucker doesn't say anything.
Wow. Him, me - both - this is a nightmare. Of course there's pleasure. But it'd be different if it was... voluntary, once in a while. We're treated like machines. If he wants to get strung up by his next lay and worked over, fine - if he was able to choose it. Makin' movies, raising hell -
"No way no how, Hare-rabbit. You're both going south, to inagurate the Palace. Exactly as planned."
Shon's laughter starts winding down. I watch him, and smoke.
Then we both get to our feet. It just happens, without my knowing I was going to stand up. I take a long, extravagant drag and punch the cigarette out decisively.
"You're in no shape to play with yet. Either of you."
And now I'm tired. Like flicking a switch.
Like zombies, we head for the couches. Fading fast. I wonder if we're actually going to make it before we pass out -
A pair of hands grab my biceps, carrying me the rest of the way.
"Sleepy rabbits, ticklish rabbits," Vex croons. Sing-song, dreamy. "Nice, deep sleep..."
- - 26 - -
I wake up, ready to kick some major ass. Like I'm twenty again. According to the TV, I was asleep for nine hours...
Smell of fried chicken. I look over, and see Deck yawning real big.
"Dinner," the voice says. "Then... a night workout."
"Shit," he sighs.
"Not that kind of workout, yet," it chuckles. "Pumping iron."
"Oh."
As we lift weights, and do the reps we're told to, I feel like I'm shellshocked or something. Shon doesn't look too sharp either.
I've been thinking about the prison we're headed for. A stupid picture, in my head, of an island. Creepy. But even that's just a distraction...
I'm locked in this fuckin' place with something that wants to tickle me, all day, every day. For months.
There's knowing, and then there's knowing...
Later, after dinner...
I light a cigarette off the last one, and look up. Shon's looking at me, but he's a million miles away.
"D? You okay?"
He shakes his head a little. Grins. "Yeeeah. Shit. Who wouldn't be?"
"I know."
After a pause, his smirk looks mor embarrassed. "I, uh, keep having the same dream, except I know I'm awake."
"Island? Sunset?"
He sighs, totally relieved. "The sand. So white. It's beautiful."
And then I sigh. We've got the same thing going on in our heads, and now we know who's putting it in there.
"That laugh."
"I know! What's up with that?"
We look at each other, and nod. I am just completely at a loss for words. Can't think of a single thing to say.
- - 27 - -
This is what else we learned over the next few days about the fuckin' Palace.
I struggle to imagine two hundred klicks of impossible terrain. Not a single thing to recommend it. No one would slash their way in. A solid week of hard travel, to find - what? Another shallow tributary of the Amazon. The trees are so thick they can't be penetrated by satellites or heat-sensing equipment...
The tickler is bent on finding out what it's like to start in on us again and again - its favorite targets - when we're finally in the "right" frame of mind. All panic gone, no more longing for a chance to run off. Zero chance of attracting the attention of anyone, much less someone with the cojones to try to help us. All of the things we yearn for, those pathetic hopes that give us a little space from the tickling - all gone. Extinguished.
It will spend months on us. As long as it likes. With us forgetting about the cherished dream of escaping its clutches. We'll relax, like we never have before, and it figures it'll be able to crank us up to a level of sensitivity... No, make that unlimited levels of sensitivity.
Nudging us until we work with it. Help it. Ask it to let us stay...
Persuaded, stroke by stroke, over a couple hundred nights, to forget everything else and dive into the experience headlong. Permanently. That's what the goal is.
- - 28 - -
"If this was a movie, I wouldn't be in it," D says.
He's curling dumbbells. A Lucky's hanging out of the corner of his mouth, bobbing a little as he talks.
"A bad one," I grunt, after I finish a chin-up.
"Yeah."
I pull off a few more, and hop down. Twenty chin-ups, no sweat. Shon's not even breathing hard, despite the cig. We're in excellent condition. The best shape I've probably ever been in. I dig in my shirt pocket for a Camel, and light up. Fully aware of the irony.
It's like the gym from hell. Lifting weights - forced to lift, and smoke as we do. We slam beer as often as water. Tokin' on a joint while spotting, waiting for my time on the weight bench, is old news. JD and a couple Camels, right after a few hundred crunches. Ugh.
"How much longer?" he says, squinting with head cocked back.
"I take it you don't mean the weights."
His lips tighten.
It's been making us follow this pretty intense regimen for twelve days now. Or thirteen. We're not sure. He's finishing his reps. "Maybe... the question is... how much... healthier... can we get?" He slams the dumbbell on the floor. "Whoooo. I mean... unless it's out for serious fuckin' bulk... I'd say we're there." Not to give the fucker any ideas. Hello, all set now, come and get it. But it's monitoring all the time, and throwing little digs in constantly, so Shon and I just ignore it. Whenever possible. No point in watching what you say too close when it's reading your mind, so easily, and you can be forced to say anything and grin like a thief while you do.
I nod agreement. We're about done.
"Lookit," he says, popping his triceps. Exhaling smoke. "You're not the only badass now. All these mutherfuckin' tats. A couple of... exercise-yard wannabees."
It's so stupid, I just shake my head and smirk.
One of us is coming up with a line like that at just the right time, when the other guy needs it. It helps. Really. Too much, maybe. It likes that.
Sometimes it has us get into a stupid maniac exchange of patter, like a couple of eighth-graders. Eased into, easy as pie. Moronic jokes, swearing like a sailor, rebel yells... Another joint scarfed, or a few shots of whiskey. But you know even as it's happening that it's the tickler, pulling the strings.
As much as I hate it, we seem to be getting used to it pulling our strings. Getting acclimated to it. The stuff we do, it just happens like we were doing it ourselves, wholeheartedly. The present is just bizarre, the past fairly sucks...
And the future. A hell of a run ahead of us, here. Safehouse-turned-prison. And then we're goin' to this Palace, sure as shit, and I can't get any kind of handle on how long we're gonna be stuck there.
That night, we were sprawled on the couches. Too drunk to move. The TV wasn't even on, and the lights were out.
I'm thinking of... the island. The mutual nightmare that isn't where we're headed. Symbolic, I guess. A gorgeous place, restful. Setting sun.
Hysterical gibbering.
But not a creepy, permanently-psychotic sound. No. It's a creepy, feverish sound, set right by maybe fifteen hours of sleep and a quart of emoillent, another half-gallon of water, vitamins, four or five thousand calories of good food. And then it'll start again. Endless loop.
The white sands, and the lazy waves lapping gently. Never any other viewpoint. I keep waiting for the camera to move. Creep slowly, lovingly, through the palm fronds, toward a hut... up to the window. Let us see the action -
But the damn scene never changes. Neither does the laughter. Even knowing this is completely made up, the endlessness of it really gets on my nerves.
Shon shuffles around.
"Hey?" I say quietly.
"Hey."
"Beach?"
He sighs hard. "Why doesn't the sun ever go down? Pisses me off -"
"The camera. Never fuckin' pans. The suspense is killin' me."
A few seconds pass. Then Shon says, "Hey, let's talk about somethin' else."
"Okay."
Another silence. Longer this time...
"Shit," I say. This ain't good. Then, "You still think the tat video is on the up-and-up?"
He thinks a second or two. "As much as anything is, around here."
Earlier, we'd studied the video of the tat removal for about the eighth time. Shon wants that. Real bad. As much as he struts around, makes jokes about coming in colors, he's set on getting nominated for awards again - and winning. With the artwork he's got now, he won't get the parts he wants.
"Oscarrrrrr," I yawn.
"Huh?"
"And the Academy Award goes to..."
"Fuckin' A."
We steady each other, bullshittin' around like this. This is all way over the top. If there wasn't somebody else around...
Few things cheer me up as much as getting that reminder - see, nothing, and I mean nothing, means more to Shon than gunning for that Oscar. And after Fences, I was so surprised he didn't win the fucker that I wouldn't dare bet against him now. Getting cheated out of his first trip to the big show, as a nominee, only made him into a man with a mission.
But that's on hold. He can make all the movies he wants, when the tickler lets go of us...
Night after slow night, being stimulated. Waited on - I mean, serviced - in ecstatic seclusion. A retreat fit for a major star. Boundless attention focused on him. Insatiable fingers, shattering tickle-toys, unbearable oils. Enjoyed more and more -
To have his lifelong dream, he's gotta turn all that down.
If he doesn't - if he gets seduced by the pleasure - he'll be out of the Oscar race. Maybe for good.
And I'm along for the ride.
No choice in the matter. That's been made real clear to us both.
But am I worried? About D, weakening... getting talked into how it'll be more fun for him and for me if I stick around the palace too, getting the works?
Fuck...
- - 29 - -
The next afternoon, during push-ups, both of us snapping up and down:
"Hey... Gonna be... major... campaign... to get you... to... like it."
I look at him. "Huh?"
He stays down long enough to talk, staying in position. "The fucker's... gonna try to get... get to me through you. Pull out all the stops... use me... uh, Benedict Arnold. Switch you over. Alright, oh yeah, c'mon Shon, dude, let's stay, this is heaven..."
That makes me wince. "Noted. Yikes."
"Fuck."
"Thanks..."
Two packs and most of a bottle later...
I'm sitting in the bunk-room, shaving my chest. If I try to refuse, the fucker just up and does it for me. It's happened a couple times. Holding the razor in my left hand, holding the stub of an ever-present Camel to the end of a new one with my right. Shon's eating.
Check that - he's supposed to be eating...
"I hate this shit. No. Forget it. How 'bout a steak, I'll eat a steak." And then he squawks. Starts to titter - "Okay, okaaaaay, I'll eat it, I'll eeeeeeeehee hee heeeeee..."
Fuck, I think. Here it comes -
Suddenly, I drop the razor. The tickler. It's got a-hold of me, doin' it all. My right hand springs the butt well away from everything, and I tug solidly on the new cig... with my hand sticking out in the air.
A pair of handcuffs are slapped into my palm.
I lock one on my left wrist, stick that hand under the bed frame, and close the other cuff around my right wrist. Quick work. Smoother'n shit. As if I'd wanted to, or I'd been practicing. Now I'm not goin' anywhere, unless I drag the bed with me.
"No nooooooo haaaaaw hunh hell haaaallpp... Yeee heee hee heeee huuhhhaalp hellp Deck! Deh heh eh haw haw haaaaawwww -"
"Handcuffed, D," I say loudly. I have to repeat it, real loud. Then he kicks out an anguished squeal, and starts laughing like a hyena.
The tickler chuckles a couple times. Lower voice. Something... different ab-
Fuck it.
My head whips around wildly. Nobody there. Something's wrong. I've heard that - aw, hell, it ain't Vex, is it?
I look down, not far from where I'm hunched over - and see the laces of my running shoes. They're being untied.
"No, uh - uh... c'mon n-"
Gonna tickle some feet.
I have never heard so much... pure menace. In four little words. My left shoe is being pulled off. And it stops. Oh please, I wanna scream, change your mind. I mean, it's been a long time, for me. Since I got it. And this fucker's letting me know just how confident and fixated and deranged it is now...
I'm not the foot guy, I think wildly. Please, put it back on, please -
It eases off. I rattle the handcuffs. The shoe is moving away from my foot. And the other one is being removed. Then the socks -
I'm just freaking out. When it says 'tickle', it seems to have a whole different kind of tickling in mind. I pull so hard I lift the bedframe off the floor -
My upper body relaxes. I can't struggle now. My feet are in serious fuckin' danger, here, and I can't do anything ab-
Gonna tickle some ribs.
That's it. I'm a dead man. I can't stand this...
The fucker's voice is all wrong! It sounds - hell, I don't know - almost Mexican. I understand exactly what caliber of tickling it's talking about. Ribs.
"No!... Help," I whimper, ashamed of myself, and frustrated that I can't shout it, wishing hard that Shon was able to run in here. With a hacksaw.
No help. And it laughs again, quietly. There's something familiar about the voice. I'm fighting off panic. No help, oh shit -
Don' you worry, liebre marrón. I gotcha.
Brown... hare. Where have I heard this voice before? The asshole's using a different voice on me -
"Aaaww, fuck."
You dudes sleep now. Wake up, and everything will be all ready. We gonna stay up late...
Everything... gets fuzzy.
- - 30 - -
Then I'm waking up. Feeling... beyond great. This probably means -
Big honkin' straps, off the bed corners. I'm spread wide. Naked. My big toes are held straight up with thick black cord -
I look up... and there's Shon. His feet are maybe eight, ten inches from mine. A big feather duster could rock his world and mine at the same time. He's cuffed down the same way I am. Double trouble.
We're both gettin' hard.
I hate to admit it, but the muscle development, on both of us, is pretty impressive. That's a minus, rather than a plus. No doubt about it.
Water bottles rise, in unison. Synchronized props. Roaring torment to a imperialistic cajun beat.
Cigarettes come next. But after my third or fourth drag -
"Orrrrr-riginators. How ya doin'?"
We both start pulling at the straps.
"That's good. Pull real hard. Discover the awful truth. Real good. Alert, and strong. Oh, damn, are you gonna wish you were still dreaming. But no such luck for you. Here's where the real fun starts."
"Oh no," Shon groans. "No."
Sounds like the right thing to say, so I join him...
"You haven't been properly tickled in weeks. Shredded. And that's about to change. Fuck, yeah. I've got you again. Both of you - cuffed down, locked in... hidden away. So many wild months ahead."
Then we both stop flailing around - all of a sudden. My body starts to relax. Traitor... I tug on that cigarette as hard as I can...
"Buck-rabbit and Hare, end-to-end. Just like the first time I strapped you down. The house on Coldwater Canyon. You remember. Starting back in on ya, whenever I liked. Seeing each other come unglued, hearing each other... baying, squealing, hee-hawing. It gets to a guy, doesn't it?"
The straps are as snug as they always are -
"More excitement than you know what to do with. All those days. And the nights!" It laughs again. "Just look at you now. Such excellent physical condition."
And shit, oh shit, here they come...
Gloves.
Black satin.
"Let's see. I want... two assigned to each of Buck's trusty feet. And a pair for his titties... no, make it four. Yeah. Four on his chest..."
Shon tries to hold back a shriek. Real high-pitched.
"Aaaaand... A real clever fist. Slow rider."
They're landing. Oh, shit. Oh no. Taking position -
"And Hare. Of course. Wouldn't forget him. He'd feel left out... if there wasn't, hmmmmmm... thirty fingers, playin' awwwwwlll up and down his sides. And those armpits. More - he's a tough hombré, right? - really fuckin' with his knees..."
I squirm under 'em. All these fuckin' hands. Can't help but stare -
"Stay real, D," Shon says through clenched teeth.
"Uh - Oscar," I tell him. Remember the goal. Best Ac-
Wow!
They're haulin' ass!
This is way worse than the last time, and I thought that was intense...
I know what it is. Part of it...
Finally, after all those weeks of dreading this, we don't have to wait anymore. And we got played, I mean, wound up real tight.
Now I feel like I'm finally letting the toke go, all set to trade it for air, after holding it in for a long-ass time. I hate this fuckin' tickling, but at least I get to exhale. So to speak.
Damn. We're loud. I can't believe it. We flop around and roar. Just howling.
These muscles... curves I didn't have before, hard curves, it's like the nerves are... touchier. Really getting hammered. Shit!
I'm a wild animal.
And it just keeps on going...
Oh, it's more. Way more. Insane. I'm sure now. More than usual.
Did it... do something to me? In my head?
Deja vu.
No. Different. Astounding. I'm hoarse already. Every finger... knows exactly... where. How.
Oh shit. I can't...
Worse.
If only I could pass out.
On to Part 6
Back to Part 1
20oct2002