insides burst into flame; I remember feeling my legs buckle; I remember something warm and thick running down the front of my face; I remember thinking the floor was very considerate, the way it rushed up to greet me like it had really missed my company….
5. I Always Liked That Song
… jesus christi didnot THINKhis nose wasever going TOSTOPbleeding whydid you have TO hithimwith so muchjuiceHADtobesurehe wouldnot MAKEany noise didinotBUTwe agreed ABOUTthe face hehas tolook ALL rightyouknow …
I came awake in slow degrees. The first thing that registered was the vibrations; I thought I was on the motel bed, "Magic Fingers" massaging away, but then it got bumpy and hard and something solid that was most definitely not magic slammed against my back.
… sorrywe DIDNOTHAVE time toCLEAN theroom butYOUARE THEone whowantedto GETout before the POLICEgot thereDONOT start fightingWITH each othernot NOW WEaREalmost done …
The second thing that registered was the pain in my face; it was dulled somewhat, but it still throbbed back into my skull; the continuous bumps and jostles didn't help any.
… ohgod iamso SCARED whatif HEIS reallyhurt BADAND wecannot getHIM toWILL you BE QUIETyouare
getting thomas UPSET whatabout me ….
The next thing to hit home was the taste of a metallic-snot furball lodged between my tongue and throat; I tried to lift myself awake and pull in a breath so I could hawk it up but my head weighed about fifty pounds, so I decided to blow my nose instead.
The radio was playing a Marshall Tucker Band song, "Take The Highway." I always liked that song.
I reached for my handkerchief. Something rattled and clinked and my arm just stopped. A sharp pain encircled my wrist; someone with an ice-cold iron hand was wrenching it away from me.
I tried pulling free but whoever had hold wasn't going along with things; that didn't stop me from trying again.
No good.
Time to rally.
And-a one, and-a two, and-a—
This time, as I jerked back with everything I had (which, under the circumstances, isn't saying much), the thought crossed my mind that it might maybe-kinda-sorta be a good idea if I opened my eyes so I could see just what the hell was going on—
Everything looked like it was being filtered through one of those gauzy camera lenses used in movies to make aging stars appear to not have crow's-feet and face-lifts.
I blinked several times, then—against my better instincts—shook my head. The pain snarled forward and I bit my lower lip, wincing… but when I opened my eyes again, things were a lot clearer.
I almost wished they hadn't been.
I automatically clicked into janitor mode, examining the entirety of the mess at first glance, then breaking it down into bite-sized pieces of disorder.
Disorder first: I was on the floor of a van and the van was moving; so much for the "Magic Fingers" scenario.
Disorder second: The pain was getting intense in a hurry.
Disorder third: My ankles were manacled together with one of those strap-and-chain numbers used on violent murderers being marched into a courtroom.
Disorder fourth: There was dried blood all over the front of my shirt, which had been torn and was missing several buttons.
Disorder fifth: I couldn't move my arms because each wrist was handcuffed to an iron ring soldered to the wheel wells on either side; I lay in an almost perfect crucifixion pose.
Disorder sixth (and for the moment, the most immediate): I had to—in Cletus's words—make a pause for the cause.
I tilted back my head, and for my efforts got a forced-perspective view of the folding (and currently upright) seat I was chained behind. I opened my mouth to say something and suddenly remembered that scene from Last House On The Left (one of Tanya's favorite horror movies for some reason) where the killers, just to degrade one of their female victims, force her to piss in her pants before murdering her.
I concentrated on keeping my
5. I Always Liked That Song
… jesus christi didnot THINKhis nose wasever going TOSTOPbleeding whydid you have TO hithimwith so muchjuiceHADtobesurehe wouldnot MAKEany noise didinotBUTwe agreed ABOUTthe face hehas tolook ALL rightyouknow …
I came awake in slow degrees. The first thing that registered was the vibrations; I thought I was on the motel bed, "Magic Fingers" massaging away, but then it got bumpy and hard and something solid that was most definitely not magic slammed against my back.
… sorrywe DIDNOTHAVE time toCLEAN theroom butYOUARE THEone whowantedto GETout before the POLICEgot thereDONOT start fightingWITH each othernot NOW WEaREalmost done …
The second thing that registered was the pain in my face; it was dulled somewhat, but it still throbbed back into my skull; the continuous bumps and jostles didn't help any.
… ohgod iamso SCARED whatif HEIS reallyhurt BADAND wecannot getHIM toWILL you BE QUIETyouare
getting thomas UPSET whatabout me ….
The next thing to hit home was the taste of a metallic-snot furball lodged between my tongue and throat; I tried to lift myself awake and pull in a breath so I could hawk it up but my head weighed about fifty pounds, so I decided to blow my nose instead.
The radio was playing a Marshall Tucker Band song, "Take The Highway." I always liked that song.
I reached for my handkerchief. Something rattled and clinked and my arm just stopped. A sharp pain encircled my wrist; someone with an ice-cold iron hand was wrenching it away from me.
I tried pulling free but whoever had hold wasn't going along with things; that didn't stop me from trying again.
No good.
Time to rally.
And-a one, and-a two, and-a—
This time, as I jerked back with everything I had (which, under the circumstances, isn't saying much), the thought crossed my mind that it might maybe-kinda-sorta be a good idea if I opened my eyes so I could see just what the hell was going on—
Everything looked like it was being filtered through one of those gauzy camera lenses used in movies to make aging stars appear to not have crow's-feet and face-lifts.
I blinked several times, then—against my better instincts—shook my head. The pain snarled forward and I bit my lower lip, wincing… but when I opened my eyes again, things were a lot clearer.
I almost wished they hadn't been.
I automatically clicked into janitor mode, examining the entirety of the mess at first glance, then breaking it down into bite-sized pieces of disorder.
Disorder first: I was on the floor of a van and the van was moving; so much for the "Magic Fingers" scenario.
Disorder second: The pain was getting intense in a hurry.
Disorder third: My ankles were manacled together with one of those strap-and-chain numbers used on violent murderers being marched into a courtroom.
Disorder fourth: There was dried blood all over the front of my shirt, which had been torn and was missing several buttons.
Disorder fifth: I couldn't move my arms because each wrist was handcuffed to an iron ring soldered to the wheel wells on either side; I lay in an almost perfect crucifixion pose.
Disorder sixth (and for the moment, the most immediate): I had to—in Cletus's words—make a pause for the cause.
I tilted back my head, and for my efforts got a forced-perspective view of the folding (and currently upright) seat I was chained behind. I opened my mouth to say something and suddenly remembered that scene from Last House On The Left (one of Tanya's favorite horror movies for some reason) where the killers, just to degrade one of their female victims, force her to piss in her pants before murdering her.
I concentrated on keeping my
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