Lane still didn't remember the crash.
"Ah, to be twenty again," Kick said, laughing that wild-ass laugh of his.
"Fuck you," Lane grinned. The cigarette bounced as he talked. Good ol' Kick. "Damn truck..."
His brother nodded. "A few more inches, we wouldn't be talkin'."
Lane had nuthin' but good to say about the morphine. The cast totally sucked, though. He didn't know what a "pelvis" was, but his was shattered. Bruised his left ribs real bad. Broke one arm, and tore up the other shoulder - so the fuckin' docs had gone nuts with the plaster. Left arm in a cast, all the way up. Another one on his right arm from over his elbow. And then, all the way to his ankles...
He yawned. "Hey," he heard Kick go, "You're fading..." And the cigarette went away.
It felt so good to lay there. Drifting off. His brother stepped back, until he was over by the window. Lane heard him smoke - a hard drag, as if he had a joint. "Man. Lookit you. You gotta get better, real soon."
"Doc says... yeah. I will, Kick..." And he couldn't help but grin at his big brother. His hero. Kick was alright.
He sighed. "Good thing you listened to me. Asshole. What did I tell ya about wearin' leathers? That buffalo-hide you always bitch about. 'They're too hot. I sweat like a pig.' But I ain't seein' no road-rash. Ya still got all your fingers."
"Mmmmf..."
"And your toes. You got your boots to thank for that. Yeah, your feet are... good to go." He laughed again. A different laugh. Meaner...
Lane recognized it. Uh-oh. He forced himself to open his eyes.
His brother hadn't moved, though. Still at the window. Whew. "Yup. Real sensitive."
"Ffuuuckk," Lane slurred. Did he have to say that so damn loud?
"I'm gonna have to make sure they're okay. Fuck with 'em real hard, after you heal up -"
"No. Get away. Kick... Nuh -"
"Oh yeah. Tickle 'em for real. Harder than I ever did before. Ain't no kid anymore - scooter trash. Yeee-up. Tie ya down... and have at 'em. Get all the guys in on it. Show ya what happens to little patch-holders who fuck up, pullin' this stupid probie shit. Been way too long... Baby brother."
"Dam-mit..." Lane yawned again. It was getting real hard for him to talk.
"You know it," Kick said. "Your feet - they're all mine."
Done deal. Fuck. Lane knew his brother. He made a threat like that, you could take it to the bank. He didn't forget shit when you wanted him to.. and now he'd be plotting it. Polishing his little plan. Tweaking it. And if he went and told the other guys - well, Lane was dead. At least it would be a long fuckin' time before he was up f-
Fingers ran down his left foot.
No way. Lane jumped - and it hurt to jump. But he didn't move. He couldn't. So he opened his eyes...
His brother was stepping back. Big grin on his face. The bastard had actually tickled him. Lane growled -
Something got his attention. Over by the window - or just outside? But his room was upstairs. Still, right by where Kick had just been standing... he thought there was somebody else. Listening in?
"Sweet dreams, fuckhead." And with one more deranged laugh, Kick walked out of the room.
But... he still felt it. Like he was being watched. And he couldn't see... anybody.
Lane fought hard to keep his eyes open. No one - definitely, all alone. But he felt 'em. And maybe they heard his brother talkin', the stupid asshole... Promising him a real-life nightmare.
Then it took much effort to think about anything.
"They never should have discharged you so soon," the doc said, frowning.
"No money," Lane said.
He'd missed two appointments. The reason was obvious - he sure as hell wouldn't fit in a car, with the casts.
So the doc, a stand-up guy, had stopped by on his way home. He looked tired...
"I want x-rays," he said, straightening up and cracking his neck. He'd just finished an exam. Having Lane push here, twist there. "Want 'em soon. I mean it."
"Ambulance..."
"Uh-huh. They'll get the money back from the county. It just takes a while."
"How am I?"
The doc shrugged. "Far as I can tell, you're doing great. No nerve damage. Gotta get that cast off to be sure -"
"Alright!"
"Cool it. Replaced. I don't want you moving around yet."
"Replaced?"
"Same setup. Sorry -"
"Fuck. Doc -"
"No. You're healing up real well, Lane. I think. And I know it's uncomfortable, but believe me... you won't like recovering from surgery any better."
Lane blinked at him. "Surgery."
"If you aggravate some of these injuries, yeah."
He sighed real hard.
"As soon as I can, we'll get your arm out. And your lower legs."
That wasn't exactly what Lane wanted to hear. His dick itched a lot. And his belly. They'd been cooped up in the cast for a month, almost.
"But then, of course, you'll smoke more."
"Hey, now, I ain't g-"
"Save it." The doc rolled his eyes. "You're taking the morphine like I told ya - right?"
Lane nodded.
"Not sharing it with anybody?"
Well... Kick helped himself. But that was all. "No, sir."
"Is it taking care of the pain?"
He looked at the doc. "Y-yeah. I mean, it hurts somewhere or other. All the time. Whenever I'm awake. But it ain't... horrible. I'm kinda used to it now."
That got him a smile. "You don't know how lucky you are. That's why you're healing up so fast."
Right about then, Kick had a big falling-out with Shel, his old lady. But she was cool. She wasn't gonna come and babysit Lane any more, which kinda sucked... but she knew how to work the system. There were gonna be nurses' aides, or some such shit, all the time. Until he got cut out of the cast - and put into a smaller cast.
At least the x-rays looked good. He just had to wait it out.
Lane was really fuckin' tired of not being able to move. The fuckin' plaster was heavy...
Phil was a drunk. Lane heard him clomp downstairs...
He looked at the ashtray, to make sure the butt had gone out. Then he relaxed. Phil gave him a couple cigarettes before bed. Then he'd go downstairs and drink all night. Between three and four, he'd crawl back up and see if Lane was okay.
The night shift lady, Junella, wasn't much better. But the price was right. He didn't have any trouble with sleeping a lot. And if he yelled enough, they'd come.
Lane closed his eyes.
There was a soft sound, from off to the side of the bed. He was wondering about it -
And something pushed down. His mouth.
He looked. Didn't see anything. But... there was tape over his mouth. Surgical tape. The wide stuff.
Who...?
The room was empty. Except for him.
That was when the door started to close.
There was just enough light coming in from the streetlight - and in the hallway, too, faint light from the living room. So he could see the door clearly, and the hallway... Where Phil would be, or Kick, if they were closing the door.
He tried to yell. It didn't seem very loud.
Automatically, Lane started to wrestle around. His shoulder didn't like that, or his hip. Plus, the cast was just too damn heavy.
He scanned the room again -
There.
What was that... doing there?
In front of the window, he saw a feather. Maybe six inches long.
Trouble was, it was just up there. About eye-level. It was between him and the window, actually. It wasn't on a string, and it sure as hell hadn't been there earlier.
After a couple seconds, it started to move.
Lane pounded his head on the pillow. And his good arm... He tried to blow the fuckin' tape off. It had to be Kick, doin' all this... right?
He just couldn't see anybody else in there. Or hear 'em.
The feather - aw, hell, it wouldn't be that mean -
It made a beeline.
"Nnnnuh!" Lane bellowed. "Nnnnh! Fuuuuunffll! Hnnnnpff!"
Aw, no. It wouldn't -
Brushing, up and down. Left foot. Fuck. Apparently, it would.
He tensed up - which hurt - and growled. Don't fuckin' laugh, dammit, you mutherfucker. Don't give it away -
The feather stopped.
Oh, fuck yeah. He was so relieved.
It switched feet.
"Nnnnnnnnllfff! Stummf - sssstuhhhhfff-"
Maybe it'll stop soon, Lane thought. Oh, boy.
And what if it... doesn't?
That was bad. Fuck, no. He couldn't move. It could just keep on and on -
"Awwwwwwwff aawwf aawfff faaawl faw fuh faaawf," he exploded, trying not to move. His hip had these shooting pains when he tried to really move.
He could move his feet, though. Big deal.
Oh, it was a fuckin' nightmare.
The feather went back to his left foot.
Lane hooted like crazy, and shook his head. Aw, no. This just sucked. They couldn't keep doing this...
They? He didn't see any "they". The feather was switching feet now, every few seconds.
Son of a bitch! It was awful. If he could've moved his legs. But like this... aw hell, he might as well be a little fuckin' kid again, down in the old root cellar. The casts were worse than Kick's stupid fuckin' granny knots. Clothesline - at least he had a chance to squirm out of it.
This was pure torture. He couldn't kick the feather away...
After a while, it stopped. Lane was all sweaty. He was gonna piss himself soon -
The tape started peeling off. He moaned, real happy. Got ready to yell for Phil...
Before he could get it out, the tape was pressed back down.
By the fourth time that was repeated, Lane figured it out. If he yelled - the tape would stay. So he felt it start to go, again, and thought about how he could yell and make it real sudden. He might only get one yell out, but he had to get Phil up there.
The tape wasn't even all the way off his face... when the bandanna was shoved into place. It was too late to yell loud enough.
"Noooooo. Nooo nooo nuh-uuuuggff," he begged.
The ends of the bandanna slid under his head - somehow - and tied themselves together.
And that was when the drapes started closing...
Lane squirmed as much as he could. He hoped he hadn't actually fucked his hip up. The room was darker, and he couldn't see the feather anymore.
He was gettin' mad. This shit... it just don't happen, he thought. If everything didn't seem so real, he'd think he was still asleep. Dreaming. Damn Kick, anyway. Talkin' about it -
There was a new sound. Stretchy.
What the fuck...
It sounded like - naw. No way. That couldn't be right. Lane didn't want to be fuckin' right. No way -
Soft sounds, from over by the cart... where all the medical shit was.
Squeaking. Faint snaps.
Then a louder sound - like a fart. Lane's arms started trying to move, even before his brain figured it out. It was a sound... like a tube would make. That ointment.
Greasy ointment. Fuck -
He really started to beg, then. And when the little smacking sounds stopped, he knew what was coming next. It's not fair, he thought, shaking his head. I can't move -
Fingers!
Aw, no. Fuck.
He grabbed a big breath and started to roar. So long as he didn't thrash around - it didn't hurt. And that pissed him off too.
It just... tickled. Something fierce.
Two more hands got a lock on his ankles. That was... he was so fucked. From bad to worse.
One set of fingers, on each of his feet. The bottom part. The worst part, for oily fingers to be... Tickling.
He laughed as hard as he could.
It didn't hurt to laugh.
"You're enjoying this way too fuckin' much," Lane snapped.
"Well... yeah," Kick shot back. And he laughed.
It was morning. Seemed like it took a whole week to get there. Lane tugged hard on his smoke.
"Little brother's dreamin' about me -"
"When I get better, I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ass," Lane promised.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties in a bunch."
"What I'm tryin' to tell you," the younger guy said, "is that it warn't no dream. And if you didn't do it..." He trailed off, waiting.
"No!" Kick laughed. Finally. "Wish I'd seen it. Damn. But no, dude."
"Real funny. I can't defend myself or nuthin' -"
"I get it. Ain't fair. Real bad dream."
Lane shook his head, and kicked out smoke.
"Maybe you hit your head a little too hard."
"I didn't hit my mutherfuckin' head."
"Stir-crazy, then," Kick decided. "Cabin fever."
"It really freaked me out. And you don't even believe me."
"Oh... I know it freaked you out. Little guy. I can remember how wild y-"
Lane glared at him, and he shut up. He got out another cigarette, and swapped Lane's with it. But he was still grinning.
"Dammit."
"Lane. C'mon, now. Shit like that don't really happen."
"You wouldn't say that," Lane said quietly, "if you went through what I did."
That night, Phil brought the TV in and sat there all night. Lane had to beg him to do it.
But he couldn't sleep for shit when there was a TV set on...
He dozed the next day. Good ol' Luann. The day shift lady. She really cared.
Junella was sitting there when he woke up. She went to fix dinner, then. The sun was going down, and he made sure she shut the drapes before she left the room.
Lane had a bad feeling. Maybe not today, he thought. Shit. But soon.
Why am I so tired?, he thought.
Stress... or maybe the new pill wasn't really another muscle relaxer.
He didn't want to be - well, out of it. Being alert was all he could do, to prevent that from happening again.
Phil sat up with him until he fell asleep... He was all impatient, though.
Lane told him there had to be a set of headphones in the house, somewhere. In one of his boxes. But he knew why Phil didn't want to sit there all night. His bottle was downstairs. No real good way to bring that up.
Lane looked at the ceiling. Wide awake in a hot second. Shit! He groaned, before he could stop himself.
The door was wide open.
Your mind's playin' tricks on ya, he thought. Easy, now.
He sighed, and let his body relax.
Right then, the gag slapped against his lips.
He tried to flop around. Couldn't help it. His fuckin' hip started to talk back again. The straps keeping his arm from falling off the bed were too much for him. He tried to pound the mattress.
When the gag was tied tight, the door started to close.
Help me, he thought, somebody help, I'm fuckin' doomed here...
They didn't stop with his feet.
It was impossible. But he laid there - when it let him catch his breath - and felt the slimy rubber land on his arms. Right by the edge of the casts...
The fuckers started to creep inside.
Others slid through the hole... lower, where his dick hung out. No, dammit, he wanted to scream. Not there. Get away...
One by one. They were inside. Creeping over his belly -
Lane just laid there, howling like a dog.
Creeping down, his arms, to his fuckin' armpits.
He just couldn't think of anything to do that would get 'em out of there. Inside the cast. It was so horrible... He could slam his head around, and laugh like a psycho. And that was about it.
"Now you're worryin' me, bro."
At least Kick wasn't grinning about it. Not anymore.
"Get the doc," Lane said, voice all raspy.
"Are you sure y-"
"Get the doc."
They didn't believe him.
Of course not.
Since he'd come all the way out there, the doc gave him another exam. Lane pushed and pulled as he was told... and there were new little stabs of pain in some of his joints. And they felt fine the day before.
"It feel like... pins," he said.
"Pins? No," the doc said, studying Lane's good arm. "Burning pain, maybe. A deep throb -"
"N-no." And then he got an awful idea. "Look for 'em, doc. Pins. Little holes -"
"Lane. C'mon, boy. Who'd be stickin' pins into ya?" Kick said.
"Probably... just the bone, healing," the doctor said slowly. But he didn't sound like he believed it, himself. "New pain comes and goes."
"It warn't there yesterday," Lane said. "You gotta look. If they - Look, I gotta get out. Please, doc. Get this mutherfuckin' cast off me. That's just what they don't want. I'm trapped, here -"
"Easy..."
Whenever he tried to move - really move - the pin-pricks were always there. Nowhere near the edges. Hell, no. Pins... stuck in where they'd be hard to spot. Pain, every time he moved just right.
It was enough to convince the doc. The fuckin' casts were gonna stay on for a while.
"You don't cool it, fuckhead, he's gonna stick you in the hospital."
"Fine," Lane told Kick. "Great. Bring it on. All those people around. Maybe they won't fuck wi-"
"Funny farm, Lane. State nut-house."
"Shit." Now that would suck.
Junella kept looking at him funny, when she'd come in the room.
And Phil, too.
That made Lane think real hard. He had plenty of time, since he was too worried to sleep. Waiting for the tape to slap down again, or the bandanna. Watching for the feather...
Phil actually checked in on him, like, five or six times. That was cool. The last few times Lane was kinda embarrassed, so when Phil would stumble up the stairs he's pretend he was sleeping. Phil would stand there, in the doorway, for a while, and go away.
If Lane knew Phil at all, though, that kind of consideration wouldn't last too long.
He believed what Kick said. If he kept talkin' about it, they could put him in the state hospital. Pretty fuckin' bad there, from what Lane heard. He had a aunt who was there once, but he never visited her...
The next afternoon, Kick stuck his raggedy ass in the room.
"Hey," Lane said, "You got anyplace to be?"
"Well, not for a couple hours..."
"Cool. Get a bottle, wouldja?"
That was reason enough, for Kick. He clomped downstairs, and came back with a fifth of Jack.
"Right," Lane said. "Close the door. Pull up a chair."
"What's up now?"
"Gotta convince you," his little brother said, "that I ain't crazy."
Kick snapped his lighter shut and leaned back, thinking.
Lane took a drag and watched him think. The booze, on top of the pain pills, was really workin' for him. Doc knew 'em well enough to pick the right kind, so he wouldn't O.D. He thought back to the first time he met the doc... the look on the guy's face when he saw Lane's tats, and got a good look at Kick. And then, the fucker just sighed -
"You don't sound like you're nuts," Kick finally said. "That's what worries me."
Lane nodded. Whew.
"Still say the most likely thing is that you were dreamin' -"
"Yeah, and I got nothing but to time to lay here and think it over. I know the difference, Kick."
He nodded his head a little. "All those drugs..."
Lane saw the leer on his brother's face. "Fuck you and the pan you rode in on."
"Ah, there we go." He laughed at Lane. "That's better." He finished his smoke. "So I guess I better quit findin' this so fuckin' funny, huh. And you're so much fun to tickle -"
"Bro. Shut the fuck up. Please -"
"Yeah, yeah. Alright... So what do we do?"
Lane looked at the window. It didn't feel like anybody was there. "I'd really appreciate it... if you'd move my ass downstairs."
"Well, fuck, buddy. When you ask all polite like that - sure. You won't sleep worth shit. Guys hangin' out, the TV -"
"I know. I don't care," Lane said. Deal with that later. It would be worth it, just to have somebody else around all the time. Right close by. The fuckin' gloves wouldn't be able to get at him then.
Kick belched, and grinned. "Well, I'm drunk now. Ain't gonna risk dropping you..."
Shit, Lane thought. His brother was only gonna get more fucked up, that night. And the other guys too. So it looked like tomorrow morning. Lane guessed he could stay up one more night.
"I wish I had a buzzer... or something," he said. "Hit it when I needed Phil to haul ass up here."
"Good idea," Kick said. And it was, but Lane was pretty sure it would never happen. "Look. I'll come and getcha, in the morning. Put you on the couch, take the fuckin' pain-in-the-ass bed apart and bring it on down. Deal?"
He didn't see much of a choice. "Yeah. I really owe you one, Kick."
"Aw... Yeah. You do. And all this talk... Hell, I know just the way you're gonna pay me back," he said, staring right at his brother's feet. Luann had put socks on him when he said they were cold, but he still knew exactly what Kick was thinkin' about. "Just gotta wait until you're strong enough to fight. And you're still gonna lose."
"Thanks," Lane said, all sulky. "That's something to look forward to. Like I need to think about that."
That got him the crazy laugh in response. "You owe me, remember? Ain't gonna forget. It's been a good seven, eight years. Gotta make up for all that time -"
"Fuck."
After a while, Lane dozed off. Didn't want to. When he woke up, he was all scared - but nothing had changed. The door was still open. The duct tape Kick had put on it was still there, pinning the door to the wall. The hallway light was still on, he could hear the TV coming up from the living room. No telling how far in the bag Phil was, though.
He fought to stay awake, but ended up nodding off again. And a third time, when he was wide awake in a hot second, looking all around...
But all was the same. No sign of trouble.
He started to relax a little bit.
And the fourth time he woke up, that night... it was on.
Waiting for him. Asshole. Or assholes. He still wasn't sure. One tickler, or if he should count all the gloves and shit... Either way. Before he was awake enough to yell, the bandanna was already being tied.
Braced for the pain, he started to move. The pins were gone - totally gone. He stretched his legs as hard as he could. No pain.
The really bad discovery was the straps. His arms were strapped down to the bed. And, he soon found out... his ankles were strapped together. Which wasn't even fuckin' necessary. He couldn't really move much anyway. The fuckin' cast was enough...
He yelled as loud as he could. Phil had to have heard him... unless. Oh, no. Fuck. Maybe he'd drank until he passed out cold.
With the light from the hallway behind, Lane watched the feather... dive slowly to his feet.
It hadn't even got him laughing hard yet, before the gloves started snapping as they were pulled out of the box. That awful squeaking sound, as they greased up.
Phil never came to check on him.
The gloves worked their way up under his cast again... and fuck if they didn't slide all over. And under. A whole pack of the fuckin' things, roaming around. He laughed until he shit, which Luann wasn't gonna appreciate at all.
But that didn't matter. He wasn't gonna make it 'til she got in, if they kept up what they were doin'.
He was spacing out, a little, but whenever he realized what was goin' on, it hit him like a tire iron. Fingers. Everywhere.
They played with his balls until he got hard. The urinal got stuck, and it kinda hurt.
But that was the least of his worries. Sweat ran everywhere. His chest hurt from laughin' so much. And the damn things just kept concentrating on one part or another. Under the fuckin' plaster. His knees. Then, maybe, his sides...
Lane realized something was different. Finally, he figured it out. The gag was gone.
He was so hoarse, though, it didn't even fuckin' matter.
There was no telling how long it went on.
The next thing he knew, Luann had him propped over on his side. She was cleaning up his shit - and while she didn't say anything, he could tell she was pissed off.
Lane wondered where Kick was...
Around lunchtime, he found out.
Shel came to see him. Something was wrong.
Finally, she came right out and said it. "Kick got busted."
"What?"
Seems he was holding. The cops said he was. They pulled him over, which wasn't so unusual - but this time they found a baggie in his saddlebag.
"Wait," Lane said, shaking his head impatiently. "One fuckin' sec, here. They said he was carrying green?"
Shel nodded. They both knew what that meant...
Kick hated Special K. It was planted on him. Somebody set him up.
His lawyer was tryin' to spring him. With his record, though, it just might stick.
Lane looked at Shel - and remembered how she couldn't keep a secret to save her life. She was probably gonna be talkin' to the doc. It only took him a couple questions, but she gave it away. Even she knew the doc was thinking Lane might need to go to the hospital. The fuckin' psych ward.
So if he told Shel - or anybody, even Luann - about the tickling, and it got back to the doc...
He had her call T-Man, to come over and get him moved downstairs. No prob. Gimme a couple hours to fuck my ol' lady, and I'll wander over...
Before he made it out of his driveway, though, T-Man's bike stalled. There was a whole bunch of sugar in the gas tank. The lock on the gas cap didn't look like it had been fucked with... And obviously nobody could've snuck into the bedroom and gotten at his keys, while they were goin' at it.
But Lane knew a "somebody" who could pull that off.
Phil checked on him a few times, that night. But there was nothing to see.
Lane stayed awake as long as he could...
No tickling, that night.
But it wasn't over. He knew better than that.
Pointer wandered in - thanks to Shel. Lane got the idea he was getting checked out by the older dude, to see if he'd gone over the bend...
"Sure, dude. No problem," Pointer drawled. He just had to drop off some money to his old lady, and he'd head back over.
But he never showed.
That night, as soon as Phil went back downstairs - after the second time he'd checked in on Lane - the gag popped up, and the door closed quietly.
That was the last he saw of Phil that night. But the gloves kept him company. Didn't they, though. They drilled his ass like they were never gonna quit.
The frustration got real bad, after that night.
Pointer called. He was real sorry, didn't know what came over him. He made it home, and cracked open a beer - and next thing he knew, he'd fuckin' slept straight through the night.
Lane got the picture. Something would always come up. Hell, it could be some kind of accident next. Couple broken fingers... or somebody else, gettin' locked up for shit they didn't even do. They were his family.
Short of hiding him somewhere else, Lane didn't know how else they could... make it stop. If the guys hid him, the doc wasn't gonna like it. Lock him up for sure.
And sneaking off was all bullshit anyway. The tickler had to be watching. Kick - in jail - and the T-Man's scoot. Pointer, who never just passed out like that. Never.
It wasn't gonna have no trouble tagging along. Wherever he went.
Fuck. He didn't think he could risk telling anybody else... even if he thought it was gonna do any good.
So it warn't a big ol' surprise when the tickling became regular. Almost every night. Stuck there. The gag, and the straps. All those gloves.
Maybe if he got rid of Phil...
Another risk, though. Could end up with somebody who cared even less than Phil did. The more Lane thought about demanding that somebody stay in his room with him, all night... the surer he got that the doc would use that as an excuse. Put him away.
Kick caught a beef.
Ninety fuckin' days.
On to Part 2
02jun2002