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You wake up gasping. Sweaty.
Now that was a creepy dream...
Running away from someone that was stalking you. No matter where you looked, you couldn't see anything. But you were definitely being hunted. Dreading what was going to happen but you don't remember exactly what it was. Something unbearable, totally crazy-making, and no chance in hell of getting away. You had to try, though. You've been found. Again. Targeted -
Really craving a cigarette. It was too much like that summer in the desert. Now, that was a nightmare.
You don't even want to think about it...
But you do, just like so many other times, as you doze off.

In the morning, you manage to wake up later than you should. You barely have enough time to catch the bus...
Out of the bathroom, running into the kitchen, you grab a bagel and double back to your room. The grey slacks, maybe. Yeah. White shirt.
Slinging a red-and-grey tie around your neck, you swallow the last of the bagel and open the bedroom door -
And see it.
Big, clean, jet-black motorcycle... parked in your living room.
Waiting for you.
 

Oh no.
It's happening again, you think. A weird, strangled noise comes out of your mouth -
Then you relax. Warmth seems to pour down your body, making you sway a little. Nothing you can do to stop it.
That's a sweet-lookin' ride.
You chuckle at it, once, slowly.
This is familiar. The same thing happened right before you rode out into the desert.
So it found you again...

Inside your head, Everything is changing. Like a strong wind blowing stuff around. You don't remember what you were afraid of, or where you are. Even your name is gone. You couldn't care less.
Aw, you feel fuckin' excellent now. Gonna ride again.
Excited. So charged up you can't stand it... you start to chuckle. The bike is ready. You're sure of it. A heap of leather alongside it, on the floor - and it's all yours.
So your hand reaches up and gets hold of your tie. Off it comes.
Thinking about a long ride, as you look the bike over, you strip down. It feels so good. Let the clothes fall where they will, because you're never going to see 'em again. They don't matter anymore.
You walk over and pick up a pair of leather jeans...
They fit just fine.

Black t-shirt, jock socks, engineer boots. It all fits. Your clothes...
And here's the thick cuffs for your wrists. The collar. A harness, over the t-shirt. And then the good ol' jacket, heavy, making you feel safer yet.
You look at the boot-toes... smooth cowhide covering your thighs, criss-crossing your chest. And you kick out a big, relaxed, happy sigh. Oh, yeah. This is the best you've felt in a long time.
All you need, now -
Of course. No doubt about it! Your right hand slides into the jacket pocket. Pulls 'em out.
This may well be the best damn cigarette you've ever had.
Enjoying it almost more than you can believe, you reach down and pick up the gloves.
 

Now you're set. Nothing can touch you. Flex your fingers, and get the goggles. There. And the helmet...
Straddle the bike, and flip up the stand.
The apartment door swings open.
You have to chuckle at that. Convenient. You don't know how the door is opening, but somehow it isn't worth thinking about. So long as you can get out and ride now...
Grinning, you take a nice, hard drag. The bike starts to roll. More magic. You lift your boots up a little. Out the door - you hear it close behind you, and you're never coming back. Everything's okay. You're set, and the bike is rolling along the sidewalk. Nobody sees you. You're sure of that, without questioning how you know it, and it's just another part of the plan.
To the driveway... finally, you hit the starter. It fires right up. Your foot shifts into first - no thought required, pure reflex. Aw, the bike sounds great. There are no words to describe what a relief it is, to have your legs wrapped around a big-ass sled again. This is so damn perfect.
Get to the street. Toss the smoke away, and reef on that throttle! Fuck, yeah. To the freeway.
You're on your way.

No idea where... and that makes it even better, somehow. Full tank of gas - and your hand found two more packs in your jacket pockets as you tooled along, plus a wad of bills.
You ride west, totally content. Out where there's nothing but farmland. You're okay with that. You don't need to know where you're headed. It makes for some serious fuckin' fun, this way. You don't care. Riding along, with your boots on the highway-pegs, there ain't a thing that could screw up the terrific mood you're in...
 

You stop for gas, and take a leak. Smoke a couple, have a beer. Just one brew, though, because you gotta stay sharp. That's an odd thought, since you're real fuzzy about where you're going and everything. But you just shrug and saddle up again.

Off the interstate, down some rolling two-lane highway. It's so fine. Trees and meadow, hardly any buildings or houses. No traffic to speak of. But the excitement is building. You can feel it in your chest. Getting closer to... something. Shit, yeah.
And you come up to a fair-sized town. Looks like a nice place. You keep your speed down, like a good little citizen.
When the buildings get few and far between, you see a gas station down the road.
Cackling to yourself, you pull in.

In the far corner of the lot, there's a pickup truck. Waiting. You head right for it, not questioning why. You know it's parked there intentionally, where somebody looking out of the gas station windows can't see it.
Ah. No tailgate -
A ramp starts sliding down. The sight of it makes you smile. Roll on up to it...
Cut the motor. But you keep moving right up the ramp, somehow, until the front tire almost touches the back of the bed. There.
You're done with the bike. It got you here, and that's the important thing. As you get off, you groan a little... but it feels good to move around.
Tie-downs are securing the wheels. Wrapping around the frame. You watch 'em, getting yourself another cigarette. Before they're done, the truck's motor turns over and it shifts into gear. Nobody's sitting in it. You think this is all pretty damn cool.
The driver's window rolls down, and a six-pack of beer floats out. It sets down in front of your feet. Alright.
And the truck drives off.
You turn around. Nobody is in sight.
Now, all you have to do is wait.
 

It's only about a half-hour. You don't mind. On your fourth beer, just drunk enough, plenty of smokes...
The cop car pulls in. Sits there. You're getting looked over.
So you raise your beer, like you were making a toast.
That does it. He starts driving over. And you feel so good, you just gotta grin.
One guy inside the car. Tall, pretty young. Cop sunglasses. He doesn't look too happy. The window is rolling down as he gets closer, and he's talking into the mike briefly. Waiting for a reply, you think -
His face moves. It almost looks like he's been slapped. You laugh once, without knowing why.
He stares at you... and starts to smirk.
"Oh," he says quietly, as if he just figured something out.
"Six-five," a woman's voice says. The radio. "Copy, you're at Harv's. Did you start to say something else, over?"
He brings the mike up to his mouth, not taking his eyes off you. "Negative," he says, and his grin gets bigger. "Everything's quiet here."
"Copy," the dispatcher says.
He throws the gearshift into 'Park' and opens his door. Pops the trunk open. "Let's do it," he snickers, opening the back door.
"Yeah," you nod. Climb in.
He gets something out of the trunk and slams it shut. A little bag. Tosses it to you...
"I wonder where that came from?" he says - quiet, distracted. He sounds fuzzy, too.
"Fuck," you shoot back, laughing.
He shuts your door and gets behind the wheel. You light another cigarette.
Turning left, you roll away from town.

"Put 'em on," he says.
You look around. There's nothing to put on. Just the bag he got out of the trunk. Blue nylon. You pick it up and unzip it.
Riot chains. They snap around your boots. Yeah, you're not gonna run away with these things on. And there's handcuffs.
You lock 'em around your right wrist and sit up. Stick both hands behind your back.
The other cuff tightens around your left wrist. You take a drag and pull a little. Yep. You're stuck.
Jingling. Metal clicks - and there's tension pulling your hands down. You look, and see the chain pulling down to the one connecting your ankles. Locking, somehow.
"Fuckin'... hobbled," you say.
"That's right," the cop fires back.
Another chain is being connected to the back of your collar.
"Got a key for these?"
"Oh hell, no," he laughs. Looking in the rear-view mirror at you, through the grate -
You sit up, all of a sudden. The collar-chain is pulled tight. Hands pick up your legs and roll you, so you're kinda laying on your back.
Another smoke comes floating out of your jacket.
"Comfy?" the cop says. And you both crack up.
"Actually, yeah."
"Good."
"Where we goin'?"
He snorts at that, and chortles. Shaking his head a little. "Like I'm gonna tell you."
The bag moves. You watch something slide out of it. More leather.
It turns out to be a blindfold.

You relax. More smokes keep coming.
Trussed up good, nothing you can do about it...
 

Maybe a half-hour goes by, and then the car pulls over. Parked, with the engine idling.
"Should only be a few minutes now," the cop says.
"Okay," you nod. No fuckin' idea what's going on, but you know it's all planned out.

Eventually the cop rolls down his window. You can hear another car coming. Pulling up -
"Hey, John." Another voice. Older. "What you got in th-"
But John just laughs.
"I see," the other voice says. A car door opens.
"Okay," John says, rolling up the window. He gets out, and opens your door.
The hands return. Curling around your boots, turning you -
"Now, take it slow," John tells you. "Watch your head..."
"Straight ahead, a few steps," the other copy says.
You try to stand up, but the chains aren't gonna let that happen. "Uh -"
"You can do it," the older cop says. "Itty-bitty steps."
And he's right. "Okay," you tell him. "I get it."
"Yes, you do. You're in for it..." Hands took hold of his upper arms. "Turn around, now." And you do.
They ease you down. Swing your legs in.
The door shuts.
"Got him," you hear the older cop say.
"Alright," John chuckles. "We'll see you later, Ted."
"You goin' to the spaghetti dinner?" Ted asks him.
"Sherry's on the committee, so I guess I better," John says.
Then a car door closes, and John's car drives off.
"Let's go," Ted says - sounding a little dizzy, or something - and gets back in the car. "Time's a-wasting."
A cigarette touches your lip, and you hear the lighter clink open...

"So," you say, after a few seconds. "I'm in for it, huh?"
Ted whistles, as if he can't believe it's true. "Yessir."
"You know what it is?"
"Oh yeah."
You pause. "But I bet you're not gonna tell me."
"You win that bet," Ted says, real friendly. "Except I'm not fool enough to make it. Shoot, I can't even imagine being in your shoes."
"Cool," you laugh.
Ted makes a clucking noise. "Of course, I won't remember driving you out there."
"You won't, huh?"
"Nah. An hour from now, it'll all be gone. Wiped out. And John's already forgotten about you. Not a soul will know you're in there."
"That sounds... excellent," you sigh.

"If you say so," Ted replies amiably. "It's set in stone."
Take a long drag. Enjoy it. "You ever had anything... like this happen before? To you?"
"Me?" Ted says, sounding surprised. "You mean - Oh. Delivering somebody?"
"Yeah. Taking 'em - to the place," you say, hoping he'll slip and give you a clue even though you know he won't.
"Well, I don't know," Ted says thoughtfully. "Can't remember."
"Uh-huh."
"You can rest assured. John and me, we're not gonna remember you at all. And nobody else saw you. It's all been arranged."
"Son of a bitch," you say happily. "Wondering... Hey, maybe you hauled me out there, before this. More than once."
"Could be," Ted sighs.
"Uh-huh."
"Is that blindfold tight?"
You shake you head around. "Yeah. Can't see a thing."
"Good. You don't get any hints. It's a surprise."
"Like it matters."
The older cop chuckles at that. "Yeah, well. Every little bit helps."
"Is that so?"
"That's so. You're not getting away. Even if you wanted to fantasize about it, you're not gonna know where you are. So - I guess you're not going to know which way to run, even if you could bust out."
"I don't wanna go anywhere else," you tell him.... and it's true. That's weird, but hey. You know there's no point in trying to escape. No fuckin' way that's gonna happen. And you're cool with that. "I mean it. I wanna be stuck."
"You say that now," he chuckles. "But you're gonna change your tune, right quick."
"I am, huh?"
"Oh, hey. Just you wait."
You think about that, for most of a cigarette.

"Got any idea... of what's gonna happen?"
"Yeah," Ted says. "And I'm real glad it's not happening to me. That's all I got to say."
Chills run through you. The good kind.
"Aw, fuck," you wail. Pretending to be all upset. "And you know for how long?"
"I got a rough idea."
"Well?"
"Uh-uh. Drives ya nuts, don't it? Not knowing?"
Dammit, he's right. It does.
You just gotta laugh about it.
 

The cop turns off the highway, and the road gets rougher. Branches swish by. Your chains jingle when the tires roll over branches now and then. Then you're riding up a slope, and down again...
About four cigarettes later, the car stops.
"Well, I'd say good luck to ya," the old cop snickers, "but that would be silly."
You hear the car door open. Hands start dragging you out. Without knowing why, it seems like a good time to squirm. "Uh...," you say, "Look, maybe you can, you know, come back and see if I -"
"Nope," he says easily. The car door closes. "Already, I'm forgetting all about you, and this place..." The tires tell you the car is moving. Away...
And now it's gone.
You're picked up, a few inches off the ground, and carried forward.

Seems like a good idea to get loose. Now. But no matter how much resistance you give 'em, the hands have no trouble -
A door is opening. Right in front of you.
As they haul you through, you smell... old smoke. And leather. Just like the shack in the desert.
And next, of course, the door closes. It sounds like a heavy chain is dragging across it. No echo at all. A firm snap, and then another -
The ankle-cuffs are unlocked.
Another door squeaks open, and the hands push you in that direction. You stumble, and drop your smoke...
Through another doorway, and a few steps further.
A different door closes, and your blindfold is pulled off.
Nothing. The room is empty. Not too large. Upholstered gray material covers every surface, broken here and there with sturdy rings. A small window in the door is blocked with iron bars.
The room stinks - like a gym, except it's also clear that a lot of smoking has gone on. And there's other smells. You're reminded of oil -
Wait. You're not alone. There's movement. And you can't seen anybody else... or anything.
Like a big bird, circling around you, across the room and back. Wind. That's not possible, of course. You steal a look at the door, estimating how long it would take you to reach it -
The force makes you whip around again, as you try to follow it. Moving like a bird, maybe... but it feels much bigger than that. Something powerful. Stalking you. Predatory, like a carnivore moving in.
You're definitely outclassed, here, and you can't even see what's stalking you.
Fingers grab the collar of your jacket... and lift until your boot-heels break contact with the soft floor.
You start to really wrestle, now, braced for a punch or something, wondering and dreading -
Hands touch your stomach.
 

You look down, automatically. Nothing. A wrinkle in your shirt moves a little.
The fingers slide apart, finding your ribs. Utterly calm. Determined to -
But that's the most ridiculous thought you've had yet.
They're settling in. Twisting doesn't get you anywhere.
Oh, fuck, they're not going away.
You gasp quietly. Start to growl. This is not... cool. There's no mistaking it, though. What they're doing.
Is this what happened in the desert? And maybe that wasn't the first time.
A section of the wall swings out, and you can't help but stare. It's terrifying. Plumes and dusters. Hand tools with furred tips -
Fighting as hard as you can, a strange giggling sound bubbles out of your mouth.
Chains are floating over to you.
Hands start pulling off your jacket.
Panic is building, throughout your body, as the chains rise and hook into ceiling-rings.
More fingers - obviously eager - yank the t-shirt over your head, loosening the harness. More cuffs are heading your way now, yawning open and creaking. Nothing showy about them. Far thicker than they need to be, and the sound they make gets your heart speeding up even more...
Countless hands clamp around your arms and hold them out. No amount of pulling will get your wrists out of range. All you can do is watch the cuffs arrive, clossing up right next to the set you're already wearing.
A thick bar arrives. The cuffs slam against it. Fat bolts slide through some of the chrome rings. Nuts clink and spin.
Your hands are maybe a foot apart, now. They're going to stay that way.
The chains pull tight, reaching over... as if they're just yearning to be used. So, naturally, they get their wish. Big clips, catching the bar.

Now you can lunge around. Harder. Shouting, you frown at how well the puffy walls dampen the sound - not that it matters anyway, out here. A secret cell, a playroom. Torture chamber. Miles from the highway. Just like that summer...
The hands lay back down, finger by finger, over your ribs.
Yelling, you sling yourself forward. The chains don't let you get very far. You no longer have any doubt about how sturdy the restraints are, but you have to move! You just can't stand it.
The hands hug tight, digging their fingers into your pits.
One quick breath... and you laugh like a trucker. Snapping at the chains, watching them quiver with your head thrown back. Helpless.
More fingers sneak around your insteps, pinching gently - and others begin to run all over your soles.
You screech, roaring louder now, and kick as hard as you can. Cuffs, chains - not breaking. No hands you can see, not down there, or moving all over your torso... skillful fuckers...
But they've got you. Just the way they want you. And they're tickling harder.
It could be a long, long time before you get out of this one.
So you howl.
Again. Hiccup, and roar. Harder...

29feb2004