(No "action" in this one, FYI)
I thought I heard a car pull in, so I hit the mute button on the remote - but the sound of a car door slamming didn't follow.
Dammit, where was he anyway? This wasn't like him. Not even a call... But after a minute I forgot about it. Until the game was over, anyway. Then I started wondering.
So I stuck my head outside - and saw Robbie's truck in the driveway.
I was pissed off, at first. But I wasn't his dad. He's a big boy. I was mostly glad he wasn't in the morgue or something. My curiosity got the better of me, and I went outside.
He was there. Laying on the bench seat, on his back.
Butt-naked.
I looked at him for a few seconds, but he didn't move much. His hands were too dark - and that's when I saw he had gloves on. But only the gloves.
A real bad feeling came over me. I didn't even know why. It just seemed like the smart thing to do was to go back in the house. Stay away from him.
But he was my friend. I knocked on the window. His head moved. I kept knocking, until he started to sit up - and then he collapsed again, grabbing his sides like he was in a lot of pain.
Maybe he was sick. Appendix. I tried the to open the door, but it was locked. "Hey. Unlock the door. Let's go inside."
He stared at me, with a weird look on his face.
"C'mon. Robbie. Unlock the door."
He nodded, and reached over - very carefully. Pulled the lock up. I opened the door, and had to catch him before he fell out. He smelled bad - like smoke, and apparently he hadn't taken a shower in days. "What the hell hap-"
"Ow!," he said, pulling away. "Ow. Easy - Aw, fuck. Seth? Is it... please say it's you, man, it's really you..." His voice was shot. A raspy croak. I had to listen close to make out what he was saying.
"It's really me. Seth," I said calmly, looking around to see if anybody was around.
"Where... Oh." He stared at the garage door, through the windshield.
"Shit. Can you, uh, walk?"
"Uh..." And he shook his head.
"Great." Well, first time for everything. "Grab my neck." As he did, I thought saw something on his arm. But he started to fall again, so I had to concentrate on not dropping him.
"Shit. Oh - wait, wait -" He reached for something on the seat. "Okay."
Then I saw what he'd picked up. Cigarettes. A whole carton. "Hey, dammit, not in the house -"
"Just - just get me inside. Please...."
So I did.
"Bathtub," I grunted, kicking the door closed.
"Damn, I'm really home, ain't I? There's my room."
"Uh-huh." I elbowed the light switch, in the bathroom. "You hungry?" And I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "What? What's wrong?"
I stared at his right arm, in the mirror.
At a huge tattoo.
It was all in black. Gloves, and black stripes - or maybe they were supposed to be... straps? - against a solid background of flames.
It scared the shit out of me.
Our eyes met, in the mirror.
"No." He started to shake. "It wasn't real." Robbie turned his arm a little. The tattoo wrapped all the way around his forearm. Seven, eight inches wide. "Fuck."
I hefted him up again, before I dropped him, and headed for the tub. Eased him down. He just stared at his arm like it belonged to somebody else.
There was another tattoo, on the back of his neck. A feather. With little motion-lines.
But I figured that wasn't the time to ask about it. I had no idea what to say next. I just shook my head, and pulled a towel down where he could reach it.
"Shit," he said, more to himself than to me. "They really did it." He rubbed his arm with his gloved fingers.
They. What the hell.
A joke, I thought to myself. He must've snooped on me. Saw the websites I'd been visiting.
This was just too big of a coincidence.
When he looked at me again, there were tears in his eyes.
"I'm... uh... gonna get you some food," I mumbled, looking away. I figued he could use a few minutes. In case he wanted to bawl or something.
He nodded, finally, and reached for the tub stopper.
I got out of there. Why would he... do something like this? I'd known Robbie since college. He was one of my best friends. I trusted him. Why?
Back in the kitchen, I ran my hands through my hair. Figuring it was gonna be a long night, I made some coffee.
He had no right to be spying on me. What I did on the net was my business.
This didn't make any sense. He'd looked as shocked as I did, when he saw that tattoo.
Had he been kidnapped?
Gloves - and a feather.
Shit...
I got busy. Bread, the last of the pastrami, mustard. I made a couple of sandwiches, got his cookies and two of my energy bars. And I thought about the bottle of Early Times I'd just bought. I poured a half-cup of the coffee into a mug, and added a couple shots. Sipped at it, while the rest of the coffee brewed. That levelled me out.
Snooping. It wasn't like him. Tattoos, leather gloves - that wasn't Robbie either. And those tats. The feather - and he kept his hair short. Everybody'd see that feather. He wouldn't have that ink placed there. Gloves - tattooed on him? Below the elbow? I didn't think he owned more than two long-sleeve shirts. Why would he pick tattoos like that?
Unless he didn't have any choice. That was creepy. Hitting way too close to home. Images like that... got me thinking about my fantasies. I'd never told anyone. Hell, it had been a couple weeks since I'd even thought about it. It was kinky, and private.
And maybe, it had really happened. To my roommate.
No. It had to be some bizarre attempt to... scare me. Teach me a lesson? That sounded even less like ol' Robbie. I was gonna get to the bottom of this, if it took all night. I poured another mug of coffee, and topped off mine... piled up the food on a couple of plates, and went down the hall. He was smoking, apparently.
That made me mad. What the fuck. But I stopped before I was in his view, and took a deep breath. "You decent?"
"Real funny," Robbie shot back. He sounded okay. I peeked, and he was still in the tub. Lots of bubbles - my shampoo, I guessed, from the smell. I hadn't seen a cigarette hanging out of his mouth in ten or eleven years.
"The whole house is gonna stink like an ashtray."
"Tough shit," he said. "I can't help it."
"Oh yeah?" I set the plates on the sink. "It better be one hell of a good story."
He stared hard at the sandwiches. "It is. Trust me." I looked for another place to... well, we're not real tidy. The toilet was gross, and he'd set the carton on the seat cover already.
"One sec." I went and dumped my laundry basket out, and brought it in. I put it right next to the tub, and set the plates on it.
"Alright. Thanks." He took a drag, and flipped the cigarette into the sink. I just stared at him, but he was already devouring a sandwich.
I went back out and found a coffee can, put some water in it... and brought a kitchen chair with me. He watched me fish three cigarette butts out of the sink, and put 'em in the can. I set it down hard on the toilet seat, pulled the chair in the bathroom, and sat down. Leaning back on two legs, I watched him eat... and studied that tattoo on his arm. It had to be fake.
Some kind of elaborate scheme to - what? - scare me off the kind of websites I liked. But that didn't add up either.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to see that on my own arm. Shit. A big giveaway. Come and get it.
Robbie scarfed the other sandwich, and the cookies. He made a face at the energy bars. "All I've been eating is those things," he said. I let that pass, for the time being. He drank some coffee, made a contented noise, and got himself another cigarette going. I held out my hand, for the lighter, and he passed it to me after a second. White, disposable... and somebody had drawn on it with a black marker. Chain links, wrapping around it.
I watched him suck in smoke, hold it awhile and hiss it back out. Grimacing, like it hurt him to breathe.
"Alright. What happened?" I finally said.
He took another long drag. Then, "Fuck." He squinted at me. "Hey. What day is this?"
"Thursday."
"No. What - the date."
"Twenty-third."
He stared at me. "Are you kidding?"
"Nope."
"What is that... nine days?"
I had to gulp, then. "I got back from Vegas on Sunday."
"I - When did you leave, again?"
That made me stop and think. "The ninth."
He blinked at me. "And it was after the weekend. That Monday. Shit - it was ten days."
"Are you gonna tell me wh-"
"I went out. To get rum," he said, with a dazed expression. "Fuck. Seems like ten years ago."
"Where'd you go?"
"Just down to Vic's. Before they closed." He finally shook his head. "I pulled in... and I was starting to roll up the window..."
Oh shit, I thought. Impossible. "Uh-huh..."
"And something hit me. The lights went out. I tried to move, and I couldn't. There was somebody holding me. That's what I thought, anyway. A hand, over my mouth." He looked at the gloves, laying on the bathroom floor. "Except... it wasn't a hand."
I wanted to yell at him. Knock this shit off, Robbie. This is ridiculous -
"And I must've passed out. I woke up..." And he shivered. It didn't look phony. My heart sped up a little bit more. "In this house. Old, run-down place."
"Where?" I finally said, when it looked like he was getting lost in thought.
"Huh? The river. Somewhere... I could smell the river. The old south road?" He shrugged. "A real dump. There's all kinds of abandoned houses, up and down the river."
"Uh-huh."
"I was... on a mattress. It was brand new. And I was tied down." He closed his eyes. "Stripped. There were boxes... Cardboard boxes. Like, twenty of 'em. Full of... all kinds of shit."
He's lying, I thought. He's making it all up. But I didn't believe myself. I knew Robbie too well.
"Go on," I said quietly.
"Smokes. That was the first thing. I pulled at the ropes for a long time, and they weren't gonna break. And I yelled, but all I could hear was the wind in the trees. Nobody around. Something was rustling around in one of the boxes... and I saw a carton of cigarettes float out. It came over, and fell. Next to my hand. And it slid against my hand. Something pushed my fingers down, and made me hold it. I couldn't see anything there, messing with my hand. Fuckin' weird -"
"Shit," I mumbled.
"Yeah," Robbie said, laughing once - and wincing again. "Tell me about it. I'm lyin' there, watching a pack of cigarettes get opened up, and there's not any hands doin' it."
"So you smoked."
"Well - yeah. Eventually. I was totally freaked out. I fought for awhile, and a cigarette... just hung there, over me. Waiting. Like it was gonna wait all night. So I started thinkin' of what else was in those boxes. Ways to get me to... cooperate." His hand reached for the pack, but I didn't think he was even aware of it. "And I went along."
I watched him light up again. When he exhaled, he looked all shaky. Bewildered. "I laid there and smoked. I mean, like, a whole pack. Then there was beer." He looked me right in the eye. "Denger's."
"Fuck!"
"Denger's Tan."
I didn't care for it, myself. Robbie was the only guy I knew who did. The tan kind only came out in the spring, and he'd drive all over the fuckin' city, if he had to. He saved up during the winter, just so he could have cases of the shit stockpiled. It was his favorite beer in the world.
His brand.
It was impossible to find Denger's Tan anywhere after May or June. Unless they stole it from our garage...
"This is too much," I said, laughing, shaking my head. Nope. He was yanking my chain.
"There were three cases of beer," he went on, staring at me. "All of it was the Tan. I watched the first one getting opened, and got the idea that whatever was gonna happen to me, in there - I wasn't in, like, serious danger."
Except for going crazy, I thought. Laughing until you wished you could go insane, just feel something snap in your head and finally, you were in a safe place, a quiet place, where the feathers and the fuckin' gloves couldn't touch you any more -
"You okay, man?"
I looked at him. He was staring at me. "Robbie, dammit, if this is some kind of sick fuckin' joke, it's really cruel -"
"No!" he barked at me. Squinting, as if he was reading my mind. "No joke."
I took a couple breaths, and nodded. "Okay." I didn't like the way he was looking at me. "Sorry. I got a wild imagination."
He took a thoughtful drag. "Maybe not wild enough." His tone was odd. Almost suspicious. "What do you think happened next?"
"I know what happened next," I shot back - and he flinched. Oh, fuck. I didn't mean to make it any worse for him... though a part of me liked it. Seeing him squirm. Just imagining what he'd gone through, all those nights.
Feverish, delirious. Tied down.
No way I would ever have wished it on him. And dammit, a small part of me was jealous. How sick is that? My response gave me away... but maybe not completely.
"Fucker," I said easily, forcing a grin. "You got a feather tattooed on ya. And you don't even know it. On the back of your neck."
His hand flew up there. Then Robbie started to get angry...
But we've known each other too long. Black humor - and it always worked.
A big smirk came over his face, and we both started to laugh.
"Oh, ow, stop it," he said. "Shit. Don't make me laugh. Dammit."
"This is insane," I said. "C'mon."
"All I've been doing... is laughing. Ten days. Ten mutherfuckin' long days."
"Was Teddy over here? I think maybe he slipped you something. Acid, maybe. Got you dusted -"
"No, Teddy didn't come over," Robbie said, mock-defensively. "You asshole."
"I just wondered -"
"You just wondered. Huh. What's the deal with you?"
"What's the deal with me?"
He got himself another cigarette. "How'd you know?"
"Know what?"
"Seth. Shit... You guessed." I acted like I was confused. He squinted at me again, exhaling smoke out of his nose. "Some invisible fucker's been tickling me for the past ten days - and there it is again! Don't lie to me. You're goin' off -"
"Well, who wouldn't?"
"Tickled me. Tickled the shit out of me... Uh-huh. You're reacting, every time I say it."
"Oh, get real -"
"Tickled." And he nodded, shaking his head. Looking all smug.
"Alright," I yelled. "Look. You want the truth, I'll give it to you. But dammit, dude, if you're lying to me - about any of this - I swear I'm gonna kick your ass..."
He opened his mouth, and didn't say anything. Finally, he flicked ash into the coffee can. "No lie. Seth. Everything I've told you. One hundred percent true."
"Shit." I couldn't look him in the eye. "I know... I'm sorry. It's just..."
"So fuckin' weird," he said. Still waiting.
"Uh-huh. I thought, maybe, you were... y'know... digging around in my computer."
That makes him pause. "Your computer?"
"There's some web sites I, uh, go to. It leaves a trail. On the hard disk. Where you've been websurfing." From the look on his face, it's obvious he has no idea what I'm talking about.
"I understood 'web sites'," he said. "After that, you lost me."
"Shit." There can't be any connection. What happened to him... the stuff I've read about. It's a coincidence. "I've told you about my stepsister. And my stepbrother. They were real bastards. I was so glad when my mom dumped that jerk -"
"Uh-huh," he said uncertainly.
"We all lived in the same house for a couple years. I was, like, ten. And they'd gang up on me..."
"You have got to be kidding me."
I just shrugged.
"They tickled you... and now - oh, fuck. You don't."
"Now, hold on -"
"You like it."
"No -"
"You like it? Are you crazy?"
"Well, I've never... actually -"
He looked angry. "You've never. Actually."
"No!," I said defensively. "I mean... No. They'd team up, and it was horrible. I've never let anybody touch me, since -"
"Not even Annie?"
"Well, yeah..."
Robbie closed his eyes, and smoked real hard. I got the impression he was fighting to stay calm.
"I do not believe this," he said, to the ceiling. "I get worked over - you fantasize about it - and you... you wish it was you. You're fuckin' jealous -"
"Naw," I lied.
"Yeah, you are. Do you have any idea how... intense - no, even 'intense' isn't a strong enough word. There isn't a word to describe it. That's how bad... I've been gettin' tortured. And you think it's just a walk in the park."
"No, I don't!"
"Web sites? Are you kidding me?" He shuddered. "People like to imagine this shit happening to them?"
I was tongue-tied. "Fantasy. Not reality." And I remembered something, just in time. "Rubber. You, and those latex models -"
"Aw, that's not the same thing."
"The hell it isn't. Black latex." And he smirks again. "There! See? It is the same - in that one little way," I barrelled on, as he tried to interrupt. "You like to fantasize about 'em, but the real-life version doesn't work so well."
His lip curled, and he rolled his eyes. "Good grief."
"What was it you said? Messy?"
"Well, that was the oil," he finally admitted. "The rubber pulls at... the hair."
"Uh-huh. But you like to look. And think about it."
"That's not the same as doing it -"
"Well, I've never done it," I said. I sounded wistful, even to myself. "So I don't know. I bet I'd think differently after five minutes of what you went through -"
"Five seconds," he said.
"Okay. I can't even imagine... ten days."
"Perv," he said - with a smile on his face. "They grabbed the wrong guy."
"Oh, now..."
"You're the one they wanted."
"Shut up," I said nervously. "It was a coincidence. Latex freak."
He rubbed his face. "Yeah, well. This is just terminally weird."
"Tell me about it."
"I wouldn't wish that on anybody. What I went through."
"I'm sure you wouldn't," I said, reassuring him. But I stared at his arm. The artwork was really well done. Those gloves looked tough. Serious flames. Fiery tickling. That tat was going to get him in trouble. He'd better have it burned off. If there were... more ticklers out there, like the ones that ambushed him, he was going to be way too popular.
The black band which looked like a long, winding strap got me wondering if Robbie hadn't seen some when he was there. After the rope. Maybe he stared at cuffs on his wrists. Thick, invincible cuffs, keeping his arms out. Tight straps. Tugging on 'em, desperately wishing one would break - and hoping a box didn't open, right away, so a new strap could be taken out. Maybe a whole set, cruising over.
Doubling up the straps on each wrist. Leather, sliding and looping without any apparent help, pulling tight - while he watches. Staring at them, between long gulps of beer, after another cigarette is lit. Backup restraints for his ankles, being set in place, somehow given a few hard tugs to make sure they'd hold. His feet shifting even less than before. All he'd be able to do is smoke, knowing beyond all doubt that he was going to be kept right there, on the mattress, vulnerable, lonely house, day after day. Taking a last drag, because the gloves were levitating back over him, filling up, soaked through with his sweat -
"You're doing it again," he complained.
"Doing... what?"
"Staring. At the tattoo."
"Sorry, dude. I'm sorry."
Robbie sighed. "Can't believe you."
"Want some more coffee?" I said, getting up.
"Yeah." He pulled the drain plug on the tub, and turned the faucet on again.
He took the mug when I held it out.
"I almost wish it had been you," he said, "I had no idea you the deviant type."
And despite his scowl, I heard the old Robbie in there. I leaned back in my chair. "Maybe next time it'll be the latex lingerie models, kidnapping you -"
"Oh, fuck!" We both laughed. "Sure. Say it a little louder."
"Carry you off. Two weeks."
"When I'm not so sore, I'm gonna break your neck."
"Try it, and I'll get on the internet... Tell all the tickle monsters where you live."
"Tickle monster?" he said thoughfully. "Huh. Problem is, you live here too. Be careful what you wish for."
"I think I'm done wishing for that," I told him.
"Yeah, right."
"Fantasizing about it is one thing."
We looked at each other. He sighed, real hard. I felt bad - even imagining what he'd been through.
"Well, I know what my nightmares are gonna be about."
"Latex?"
"Hah." He lit another cigarette off the last one. His hand was steady as a rock. I wondered how long it would be until he quit smoking... "That room."
I started to visualize it - and caught myself.
"I can still see the number," Robbie said quietly.
"Number?"
"It was on the ceiling. Spray-painted. Huge number. I stared at that thing for hours." I made myself wait, while another little shudder passed through him. "Fucker wanted me to remember... Big orange numbers. I'm talkin' five, six feet tall."
"Right over the mattress?"
"Pretty much."
"What was the number?"
He looked at the bathroom ceiling. "12700134. There was a box around it. Big, thick box. And something at the far end... painted there. Maybe a padlock."
I thought about it for a few seconds. And let it go -
Then I dropped my coffee mug.
"Way to go," Robbie said automatically. "Slob." Then he saw my face. "Uh... Seth?"
Slowly, I sat the chair back down on all four legs. Thick lines around it. Padlock on the end...
"What's the matter now?"
The carton. I looked at it. Robbie had to smoke. His clothes weren't returned, but damn if he wasn't sent home with a carton of cigarettes. He'd smoked almost a whole pack since I carried him in here.
Well, I'd better get used to it. In a daze, like I was underwater, I watched my hands pick up his pack, and the lighter...
The smoke felt awful, and I got light-headed. It had been several years. I looked at my roommate...
His mouth was hanging open.
"I only looked at 'em from home," I said. And I took another drag.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The web sites. I always used my own computer. Here." He still didn't understand. Of course he didn't. The cigarette was giving me a fine buzz. I'd be chain-smoking soon, just like Robbie. No doubt whatsoever...
I shook my head to clear it. "One two seven, zero, zero, one three four. Was that it?"
He nodded, looking more frightened than I'd seen him all night.
"My PC. At work. That's the IP address - the unique internet address - of the computer that sits on my desk. My desk."
We just stared at each other for a long time.
09jun02