The box came in the regular mail.
Holidays
Captured
He recognizes the basic idea - somebody sent a gift from one of those catalogs. Gaudy red and green Christmas trees are silkscreened on the box.
It's heavier than he expected. Addressed to him.
He sighs and opens it, even though Mikki doesn't like cheese any more than he does...
Steel.
What?
There are handcuffs in the box. Rope too, and off-white strips, all wadded up -
He's startled. Almost dropping the box.
Brown things jump out at him, all too familiar.
Oh, shit, he thinks, here we go again. Maybe somebody actually... sent me gloves?
Not a chance. They're grabbing him - and they're not taking no for an answer. Shoving him down to the floor, the box falls in front of him.
He's crawling as fast as he can, but the damn handcuffs catch his right wrist. Both gloves work together way too well - slamming him down and forcing his left hand back.
Then the strip is pulled between his teeth, winding around two or three times. Elastic bandage.
And the rope pulls his legs together.
Oh, fuck, he tells himself, I know what happens next...
He can struggle, but it changes nothing. The gloves hang over him, ready to grab on again.
They won. He knows it.
Yelling into the bandage doesn't do any good either.
So he lays there, on his side, and flops over whenever his arm hurts too much.
What are they waiting for?
Mikki, he thinks, please come home. Right now. Save me.
When the sky starts getting darker, the gloves go out into the garage.
He hears the open-door "ping" from his truck. That gets him worried enough to squirm around. I am going to be kidnapped again, and I can't stand it, I can't -
The very thought makes him kick wildly. If he could step through the cuffs, maybe there'd be a chance... but the gloves tied the handcuffs to the knot holding his ankles.
After they open the garage door, his kidnappers float back inside. Empty, steady, and far too strong. They've got him.
His jacket is brought over. Last time, they draped it over his shoulders... and none of the other drivers seemed to noticed that "his" gloves didn't have arms attached. They drove him out to the fuckin' cell where he suffered for almost three months.
Picking him up, they slide a chair over...
Holding his cell phone.
The other glove points at him, right before it loosens the bandage-knot. If he yells, there's no doubt in his mind that they'll promptly gag him again.
But he keeps looking at the phone. There's still a chance -
"Four," he says hopefully.
The glove's index finger presses that button, and waits. So the bastards can hear him somehow. Just like last time.
He reels off seven numbers, and after they're all dialed the glove holds the phone up to his head.
"Mikki Shad," his wife says.
"Oh, shit, I'm so glad you're there."
"Hi." She doesn't sound all that thrilled to hear his voice.
"They're back, honey, you gotta help me. They got me again. Call the cops. Do it now."
"They got you again?"
"The gloves, the damn magic... hands. Invisible tickler. Whatever. They've got me! Handcuffed. The garage door's open."
There's an unsettling little pause. "When did this happen?"
"Right now!" he yells. "I'm fuckin' tied up, and my truck -"
"You're tied up. And they let you use the phone?"
"I know, I know. Please! Call somebody. Get home."
"Sam. Come on. Why would they let you call me?"
"I don't know!"
She pretends to stifle a sigh. "This is a bit much. To believe. How did they... You're in the house, right? Did you let them in?"
"No. Mikki - they were in a box. Came in the mail."
"In the mail? A pair of gloves?"
"And handcuffs," he snaps at them, yanking helplessly. "Rope, and a gag."
"You opened this box -"
"It was from a cheese company!" he yells. "Gift box, one of those holiday things."
"Cheese?" she snaps.
He knows, from her tone, that he's a goner. Definitely.
"I'm not drunk. Really."
"I never said you were -"
"Help me, baby. Please, Mikki, I know you haven't been all that thrilled with me lately, but dammit, I just - I can't go through this again. Do something."
"Take a deep breath, Sam. I'll call the sheriff - Oh, crap, I have that meeting at six."
He squeals into the phone.
"Look. If you're... tied up, already, can't they just haul you off any second now?"
"Yeah!"
"It'll take me twenty minutes to get there."
"Call the cops, dammit!"
"Okay, okay. Who sent it?"
He kicks his legs a couple times. "What?"
"Who was it from? The box?"
"I don't -"
One of the gloves is moving. Picking up the outer box, bringing it over.
"Wait. Wait, they're showing me."
"Who... The gloves? They're - how are they showing you?"
"The box." One of the fuckin' gloves is holding the box up to his face, and he reads it.
No. Oh no, oh no, no.
He feels like he could bust out crying, anytime, because there's no hope of changing the nightmare that's been planned. None. Nothing will get him out of it now.
"Sam? Are you still there?"
"Aw, shit. Why, Mikki? Why did you do this to me?"
"What are you talking about?"
He forces himself to take a breath. "The box. From Mikki Shad. That's what it says. Why? Months of tickling -"
"I didn't send it," she growls.
"It says your name. You don't get it. You never - It's not just a little, a light little bugging tickle, Mikki, it's full-bore agony, way past laughing, every day for months. Months! Help me, please, they're gonna drive me nuts. This time I'll lose my fuckin' mind, baby, please don't do this to meeeee."
"I didn't send you gloves in a cheese box," she says loudly. "Will you settle down?"
"Serious tickling. You got no idea."
"You can't think I... Just stay there. You've already lost it."
"Yeah, I'd love to stay here," he whines, "but they got the garage door open."
"Well - shit, Sam, what do want me to do about it?"
"Call the cops."
"They won't get there in time."
"Call 'em anyway."
"Listen. I think you may be... hallucinating."
He looks at the rope tied around his legs, and tries to kick. The gloves hanging in the air, over his legs, look just as real as the ones he stared at, week after week, the last time. "Not a chance."
"Take one of my Valiums and just, uh, wait for me to get home. I'll see if I can reschedule the meeting."
"See if you can reschedule it, huh? How am I gonna get to the medicine chest with fuckin' handcuffs on? Huh?"
"That's a little hard to believe."
He bounces up and down with frustration. "Call... the... cops. Now."
"Just calm yourself down, Sam, and I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Pleeeeeeze!"
"You're okay, you're... I have to call the people from Justine's now, and cancel the meeting. So I can rush home. You just... sit tight."
"Baby -"
"Deep breaths, Sam. I'll see you real soon."
And she hangs up.
"No. Mikki. No, no, help!"
The glove drops the phone, and they both take hold of the bandage. Before he can get more than one scream out, they have him safely gagged again. And they go to the cell phone.
Holding it between their palms, they press in -
Cracking it. Horrible plastic death, right before his eyes. That location-tracking feature in the phone won't work so well now.
They stick the ruined cell phone into his pocket. One of the new boxes goes back into the other box, and then both are flattened and shoved into the waistband of his jeans.
One glove, and then the other, reef up on his arms...
Kicking, flailing, he doesn't see a soul out on the street as he's pushed into his truck. The gift box is tossed onto the seat, next to him.
The bandage loosens - slides down to his neck - and gets tied off to one of the shoulder harnesses from the back seat. He can breathe fine if he sits still, but slamming around makes him cough and gasp. It's a depressingly good incentive to just sit there.
Fingers turn the radio on, and find the metal station. Cranking up the volume. Shouting, even screaming as loud as he can, will accomplish absolutely nothing.
One glove works the pedals, and the other one steers...
Several cars pass his truck, but none of the people seem to react. It's too dark, and they're all going fast enough. His last chance is the stop light.
But the gloves pull over, in the bank parking lot, until no other cars are around.
When the light is green, they take him onto the freeway and punch it.
Forty miles south of town, they pull the truck over - and untie the bandage. Now it's wrapped over his eyes...
They keep on driving. After a few quick, skidding turns, he has no idea which way is which.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, the truck turns onto a dirt road.
At least that much time goes by again...
Two more turns, and the engine is shut off.
They drag him out. Weeds, and gravel. His heels bounce on metal. A door frame -
Then he hears a sound that scares him, even before he recognizes what it is... the hiss of a thick, heavy door. It's being pulled shut. Clacking.
And that's it.
Locked in my cell, he thinks numbly. Gonna laugh like a fuckin' fool tonight. For the rest of the winter, too. Maybe well into the springtime. He has no idea where this place is.
The gloves pull the bandage down, but he doesn't want to look. Memories of the last kidnapping are still way too sharp, and now it's more than just the usual bad dream. Reality.
He peeks -
All of the... furniture is there. Shelves full of tools, toys, food. Everything he expects. Just the sight of the swing makes him rear back. How could he have forgotten the unbelievable fuckin' handling he got on a swing like that one?
Last time, this time - the past doesn't matter, because right now he's facing more of the same. Tortured. With pleasure. They got him.
Shiny gloves are coming to life. Flying off the shelf and moving his way -
Coming to tickle him.
One of them wags the box at him. Some fuckin' gift this is.
He shakes his head.
They don't stop.
29jan05