"Rocker."
He turns around, sticking his lighter back in his pocket. Nobody's there.
Kicking out smoke, he wonders if he really heard the guy. That was his old nickname. Nobody's around, though -
Then he has a wild, ridiculous idea.
"Sure," he says to himself, chuckling. What an idiot -
"How's it hangin'?"
That comes from right in front of him. Maybe a yard away, and over his head a little. Confident, rumbling voice.
"What..."
"I think you know. It's all over your face."
This shit can't be really happening, he thinks. Somebody's been snooping around my laptop or something. A joke.
"Alright," he says - sounding more nervous than he'd like. "Who is this? Gary?"
"Nope."
Mainly to buy time, he takes a drag, then another one.
"Well... I'm not falling for this shit."
The guy laughs. Invisible. Smug as anything. "Aaaaaw."
"No way - look," he barks, "nice try. I'm outa here." When he turns, wondering if something else was going to happen, he hesitates just a little. But the voice doesn't say anything else, and no mysterious hands grab his arms or anything.
Too much stress. It's probably the geeks fuckin' around. That was probably it. He walks quickly to the parking lot...
Where's his car?
"Hey," he says quietly. Puzzled. He appears to be alone - but an easy sigh comes from just to his right. Not one damn person in sight, either.
They slipped a speaker into my pocket, or something. That's got to be it. And a transmitter.
"What's the matter?" the voice says.
"My car. What... Alright, this isn't funny anymore."
But the guy laughs freely. Taunting the fuck out of him. "Your car?"
"I parked it right here."
"You don't have a car."
He looks around, squinting suspiciously. "Bullshit."
"It's true, Rocker. You don't have a car, or an apartment."
That makes him think for a few seconds. "I did when I left. This morning."
"That was then. Not anymore."
He rocks back on his heels, and takes a hard tug off his smoke. "Good one. You guys, I gotta hand it to you."
"Thank you."
"So where's my car?"
"You don't have one."
"Dammit -"
A car alarm chirps twice. Turning off.
"See the blue muscle car? At two o'clock?"
He blinks once or twice. It's a partially restored Roadrunner, covered with patches of primer.
"That's your ride."
"No, it's not," he says automatically, blown away by the transportation.
"Rocker."
Out of reflex, he looks around again. "That doesn't belong -"
"It's mine. And you're getting in it. Now."
He backs up a step.
A hand takes hold of his right bicep. There's nothing there to see, but it feels strong. More hands curl around his left arm, both wrists, then his shins...
Immediately he's fighting. The result is a complete shock - he barely shifts around. The thought occurs that he could get a quick yell or two out, even if it doesn't appear like he's currently being restrained by powerful hands that no one can see. The reason for them is far too stunning to consider, much less explain.
Fingers tap his chin. In an instant, he'll be silenced. But they don't move to his lips, so he guesses that maybe the mysteriously solid palm will hold off if he doesn't yell. It won't do any good. Hell, there's hands all over his ass. Way too late. And worse, incredibly, he knows why.
"This can't really be happening," he says.
"Get in," the voice orders. "Let's motor."
There are a pair of driving gloves laying on the dash. As soon as he's forced to sit down, his hand appears to be reaching out all by itself. He takes hold of the handle and closes the door -
Right before his eyes, the gloves float up. No matter how much he fights, his hands come up and get... gloved. The leather takes control of his fingers, making fists and releasing them almost experimentially.
"Don't do this."
The keys are cruising right to the ignition. Pulling with all his strength doesn't stop his right hand from reaching into his shirt pocket and getting the cigarettes out.
"Please. Just... wait a minute."
But the gloves are lighting his smoke, reaching for an expensive pair of tapered sunglasses. Every attempt to kick doesn't accomplish anything. Gas pedal, clutch and gearshift move as if they have a mind of their own.
I'm being kidnapped, he thinks.
A hand pinches the back of his neck. "One yell, one gesture - any attempt to make eye contact with somebody - and the trip will be less pleasant. You're still going..."
Something shiny moves out from under the passenger-side seat. Chains?
One slips behind his back.
And then, dammit - of course - leather cuffs wrap around his wrists. Their locks make a racheting sound as they snug up. He's seen pictures in a catalog, and those cuffs didn't really look as if they'd hold up when a strong guy pulled hard enough. But these fuckers have three layers of stitched leather... and the heaviest buckles he's ever seen.
When that same pressure closes around each ankle, it's not that big of a shock. There are metallic clicks... and a lot of pulling. The chain is keeping his feet well away from the pedals.
"I'll, uh - you don't have to do this."
"I know. It's insurance. And I don't really have to point out that your wrists can be chained up in about four seconds. Do I?"
He shakes his head.
"All up to you."
Taking a long drag, he watches the traffic and tries to pull his ankles free.
"How much you're immobilized before you get there is your call."
"Where?"
The voice laughs at him.
"I've gotta be dreaming this."
"That would be a comfort, wouldn't it? Just a bad dream."
"Please. C'mon."
"You wanna go home?"
"That's... Yeah."
"Well, you are."
He squints in the rear-view mirror. "It's that way."
"No, it's not," the voice says easily.
"I know where I live."
"Not anymore."
Oh, shit, he thinks. I've got to get away from this... thing. "What -"
"I'm only gonna run through this once. You don't have a car, Rocker. You don't have a home, or any unpaid bills. Your cell phone account has been closed too. No money in the bank, no credit card balances, no possessions."
That called for a couple more drags.
"You can't be serious."
"What you do have," the voice chuckles, "is me."
"Wait," he barks, "just - just wait, dammit, you got the wrong guy."
To his horror, something starts to pull on his shoelaces.
"I do, huh?"
"No, oh no, oh no, - now look," he rants, squirming like crazy.
A hand curls around the center of his left sole.
It knows. Oh, fuck, it's not possible, it can't be true...
Even through the sock, he's so afraid the hand will just start right in.
"I've got just the place for you," the tickler says.
There's no way he can really be... going through this. Absolutely not.
"No!"
"You're not gonna believe how much fun. Literally. You just won't believe it."
"Let me go."
"Everything's been done. All I have to do is get you there."
Flailing around, he feels the chains tug at one wrist, then the other.
"Relax."
"No! Dammit, you - let me go!"
The glove squeezes his foot slowly. It's very unsettling. "Want a cigarette?"
"Listen to me -"
"Rocker."
His pack floats up, between him and the steering wheel.
"Fuck," he snaps.
"You gotta take it easy."
As a smoke is pulled out, a flash of color catches his eye. Down on the floor, again, below the other seat -
A carton.
"Say thank you," the voice taunts.
"Thanks," he finally says.
The cigarette is coming up, trailed by a lighter he's never seen before.
"Panic is only going to... waste time," his kidnapper says. And the hand lets go of his sock. A big sigh of relief rushes out of him.
"You gotta listen to me."
"Oh, I will. Every cackle, every whoop -"
"Just let me out. Here. I'll walk."
"And where will you go? The assignment is finished. At KLT they'll think it's pretty weird if you show up again, since you wrapped everything up."
"My car was stolen, they'll h-"
"One more time," and the voice sighs. "No car, no apartment... no money. I took it all away. Do you think I'm kidding?"
He wrestles with that one. "Maybe."
"Are you in any position to prove me wrong?"
The chains jingle when he snaps at them, but his limbs won't really go anywhere. "Dammit. You can't."
"I did."
"You think I can just disappear? Nobody will fuckin' notice?"
"Damn. I must've really spooked you." But the voice laughs at the idea. "Seeing as I went to all this trouble, so far, you think maybe I went ahead and took care of everything... so one insane night would turn into a couple hundred? Huh, prisoner?"
"Well," he mutters, "this oughta be good."
"Try 'perfect.' The wonders of modern technology. I've got your voice in a computer. Phrases you use, rhythm and cadence. On your new cell phone - which you're never gonna see, of course - I'll keep your friends and your dad from getting too worried."
"I can't fall off the face of the earth -"
"The cover story is a new consulting gig. Long-term, of course. Those defense subcontractors can be so paranoid."
He thinks that over, and starts really whaling on the restraints.
"Yeah," it gloats, "you think it'll work too. Excellent. Voice mails from Rocker, no details - the client wouldn't like that - but you're just fine, bored but you're gonna stick it out anyway, could be quite a while before you can tear yourself away."
"Son of a fuckin' bitch."
"I got you. Everything's covered. Just kick back and... go with it. We'll both enjoy it more."
"You want me to, uh, cooperate. So you have an even better time that you're already gonna. Fuck that."
"Considering how long I'm gonna be tickling you," the voice says, "it's the only practical response. You'll see that, eventually. A happy coincidence is that whole new levels of sensation get tapped more easily. You're getting the works in any case, but I do like to hunt for a limit."
"A limit?"
"The maximum."
He sighs, taking a drag. "Ever found it?"
"Nah. There's always more... but it's always fun to try."
This is by far the most trapped - cornered - he's ever felt in his life. "I'm telling you I can't... Please. I'm not your guy."
The only response is sinister chuckling.
"You want me to like it?"
"Well, that's preferable. Yeah. But not a requirement or anything. Staying miserable won't prevent a single hour of what's coming -"
"Got it." He sighs again.
A bottle of water slides out from under the seat.
He thinks for quite a while. Two or three smokes.
Staring out the window without really seeing anything, he can't come up with a damn thing. Invisible ticklers aren't supposed to exist. Naturally, it would be a long-term son of a bitch that settled on him.
Imagining a year of unstoppable fingers is not that much different than a full night. He just can't grasp it. Strapped down tight, nobody knowing, as the bastard celebrates the second day, week ten, the six-month mark... Still breathtaking, what it loved to do, and he'll be no closer to finding a way out of the kidnapper's grasp.
12july2006