(No "action" in this one, FYI)
I watch my ex-wife get on the train, and turn away when she's gone. Light a smoke -
And hear a quiet, terrifying noise.
Bad memories...
So I bolt. Hell, I'm not afraid to admit that. Probably it's just my imagination. I tell myself I didn't really want to stand here until the train left, anyway.
Without even being aware of it, I run into a club. Basic meat market, crappy music.
I grab a stool at the bar, and point at another guy's beer when the bartender finally looks my way.
That fucking sound haunts me.
The last time I heard it, four months of hell were finally coming to an end. But even that isn't as clear as it used to be... Eventually, the only way to survive was to enjoy it. Love it, actually. I had no choice.
While I was gone, my wife decided to take up with her boss - again. For good. That ended, and so did our marriage. She took a job in Boston and was on her way there, by train.
And I order a boilermaker. Reliving it, far too much, trying to believe the noise I hate was not an omen or something. A sign.
This isn't my kind of bar, but I'm in no hurry to leave it. So I take a leak and sit back down, start on another shot. I'm almost out of cigarettes...
Again. The sound, closer now. Maybe below me.
Handcuffs.
Oh, no. I kick my feet, and they move as I expect. Such a relief. I can't stop myself from looking down.
They're just landing on my right thigh.
Dull black handcuffs.
Fuck. Hunted, and already gone. I know. It waited for my ex to be out of the picture, and now it's going to kidnap me again, right in the middle of a bar full of drunks. Help...
Will it even matter, if I scream?
The last time there was a car waiting. Impressive, really, how smooth it all happened. Aw, dammit, not the handcuffs again. Leave me alone. I can't, I just can't -
Can't what? Well, I can't go through this again. I can't get away. Turn it down.
That's odd. I can't turn this down.
Oh, shit.
What the hell do I do now?
I'm afraid to move a muscle. My hands are on the bar. Safe, for the time being. I don't even dare to take a drag, because the handcuffs could jump up to my wrist.
I look around. Lots of people, but they're paying no attention to me. I'm over the curve, age-wise, and besides it's pretty dark in here. If I was the handcuffs and I wanted to kidnap a guy, this would be a great place to do it. Walk him right out.
I can't stand this. Kidnapped again. No. I have to think of something. Probably I should've reacted right away, but I know how fast it can move shit, when it wants to. And I'm a little drunk. No fair...
The cigarette burns down, and I stub it out -
As if that was the signal it was waiting for, the handcuffs lift off my lap.
What do I do now? Will anything work?
I'm frozen in place, here, watching them. If I jump back, and run...
No, I bet there's a backup plan. Fuck it - I'll move fast. Will it work?
It's teasing me. I forgot how much it loves that. There is no way it would be this bold unless it was sure. I'm already caught. It's right here, raising the cuffs. Reaching up, with one of the hooks. Right hand first.
"No," I say to the handcuffs, whispering desperately. They aren't listening. Just metal...
Run now. Do it.
Hell, it won't matter. Ever since the train station, probably, it's been too late. I just didn't know it yet -
Oh no, this can't really be happening again. I'm hallucinating it. The cold metal sliding around my wrist can't be happening again.
That clicking sound makes my mouth go dry.
I stand up, but the handcuff immediately jerks me forward. The noise, one more time. But my other hand isn't caught...
The stupid music is loud enough. Nearly all eyes are on the dance floor. No one sees.
And it takes me a few seconds of tugging to figure it out. The other cuff is locked around the brass rail, just under the bar.
I'm stuck. Right here.
The back of my fingers, the trapped ones, feel something soft. Thick.
Flailing doesn't throw it off.
Just like the last time, now it's pulling a glove over my hand...
My fingers move, and I can't stop them. They curl into a loose fist, and release.
The handcuff lets go of my wrist, and the glove darts over - catching my left hand with my right. Then the cuff closes again.
Another glove. No matter what I do, it's patiently getting my left hand trapped in leather.
I can't stand this. Even if someone was looking, and they were sober enough to see in this dim light, why would they think anything of it? I'm putting some gloves on. Big deal.
Lunging around, I'm still caught - again. Too late. Always too late. It's going to haul me off -
Clicking.
Well, I'm not chained to the bar anymore.
My hands won't behave at all. I've got six or seven bucks sitting on the bar, and I can't pick it up even if I wanted to. Resisting as much as I can, my fingers still get me another smoke and light it, putting the lighter away... Nice and casual.
Leaving the cigarette between my lips, the gloves wander behind my back.
The open cuff wraps around me.
They push in until I stand up...
I give it one good lunge, but the gloves counteract it enough so I don't go down. Two women watch me rock forward. Their faces are masks.
Before I reach them, they turn away.
Black handcuffs, dark room.
As I'm hustled out, the driving bass beat makes it certain that nobody would hear what I was telling them, in here, even if I did scream.
Pushing me in the small of my back, the gloves turn me to the right. There's an alley.
Something dark -
Over my head! I manage to kick my legs out. The gloves raise me. Swinging back, I yell. It hurts.
I can see again. They've pulled a black sweatshirt over my jacket.
A pack of cigarettes flies out of the pocket - a big pouch, in front -
Magically, the sleeves are tucked into the pouch. Twisting around, it finally makes sense. Now I don't look like a guy whose hands are cuffed behind his back.
The nearest people are about fifty yards away. They're not looking back.
My hands push me forward, and the cigarettes float along in front of my chest, peeling open.
Fuck. This just gets worse and worse.
Within a couple blocks, I realize where it's taking me.
Back to the train station.
I could be a thousand miles away tomorrow, hidden real well. Suffering, roaring.
Now I'm being marched down a siding, toward some boxcars. The fear is deep and dull, competing with every other thought...
I remember something else that I haven't thought about in a long time - the moment it all changed.
A couple weeks into the nightmare, chained up in that old foundry... late in the day. Tools had been all over me. It was scrubbing my inner thighs with little brushes, and fingers jumped back onto my feet. They were oiled. Laughter became impossible, due to the intensity of it, and all I could do was grunt. Pleasure immediately became a piercing ache from each squeeze. Same as always -
And maybe it was the hours that led up to that, one texture after another, but the pain switched back again. More pleasure than ever.
Suddenly the tickling felt... so good.
I relaxed, and kept on breathing. My legs were so alive. Excited feet. I didn't want the gloves to stop.
And it continued for hours, resuming each day. Month after month.
My mind was caught too. Even if it had taken the restraints off, I wonder sometimes if I even would've been able to run.
That was what it turned into, for me, the last time I was handcuffed and marched somewhere. Just like this.
30apr2004