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Collected by Djian

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As he finished tying the knot around the stem,
she thought the two pieces of rope trailing
down to the floor made the doorknob look almost
festive, like it was decorated with party
streamers.

‘Tis the season to be…

"Get on your knees," he hissed, his finger
pointing at the space in front of the door.

She sighed as she eased herself onto the floor
one leg at a time, trying to find a more
comfortable angle for her wrists so the
handcuffs didn’t bite so much.

Don we now our…

Downstairs, the Christmas gala raged on.
Someone must have convinced the DJ to stop
spinning sappy carols and switch to a
trashed-at-the-wedding-reception repertoire of
grunt-rock and Motown standards. Obviously,
nobody had heard a thing. Not even the sound of
him hammering.

Would they call a locksmith first? Or would
some stupid hero try to break the door down?
Depends if the senator stops by his office
before going home tonight. Did he leave
anything important in here? She didn’t dare
turn her head to look at his desk. And she
couldn’t remember when he was scheduled to
leave Washington for the holidays. She tried to
visualize his calendar, but she hadn’t paid
attention to the day-to-day drama of his
appointments since she’d been promoted after
the election.

Despite the gloves and the ski-hat mask, she
knew this guy. Well, pretty sure, anyway. Not
that she would get the chance to prove it.
Everyone had become much better at hush-hushing
this sort of thing after Vince Foster.

But what if he calls the cops himself?

Oh god, she hadn’t even considered that option.
An anonymous tip. The boys in blue banging on
the door, figuring out that it was nailed shut,
then climbing through the window. Full report.
Public record. The Moonies at the Times would
go absolutely apoplectic.

She felt something jostle against her knee.

"Here," he grunted. "You may need this."

A cushion from the couch. How thoughtful. He
must be thinking long term. Great.

How many hours had it been already? The party
was supposed to start at five. She told the
others not to wait while she wrapped up a few
things at her desk, laughing off their jibes
about sucking up to the senator by working late
on Christmas Eve.

Lots of holiday cheer at the Old Exec tonight.
Probably several high-ranking officials doing
their best to get into compromising positions.
The security guys busy pouring congressmen and
cabinet members into their limo. Or maybe
they’re halfway in the sack themselves.

She heard the unmistakable sound of duct tape
being torn off a roll. What, more for her
mouth? That would be rather redundant at this
point.

His hand touched one of hers, followed by a
sticky strip. Not good. She closed her eyes and
pictured the crowd downstairs sloppily miming
the letters to "YMCA" like cheerleaders after
one too many Percodans.

Once her fingers were sealed together, he
started wrapping rope around her arms up near
her elbows.

It had to be him. Who else would want to
humiliate her like this?

Ever since he started working for the C.O.S.,
she had pegged him for a loser. Young, bright,
brimming with the insufferable "no problem!"
spirit of a terminal rookie. And he was always
spouting off about his exploits, especially the
ones that supposedly took place at his college
fraternity. Christ, he made it sound like he
had lived at the Playboy Mansion with Van Halen
as roommates.

She leaned forwarded and thrust out her chest
to ease the tension as he tried his best to
make her elbows touch behind her back.

So she had done a little research. Found a few
phone numbers. Made some calls to his brethren.
Discovered he was a charity case, a legacy toad
who had spent most Saturday nights praying to
the porcelain god after maybe three beers.

Was rope really necessary around her wrists,
too? Weren’t the handcuffs ratcheted tight
enough already?

One of the brothers said he had a picture of
him dressed in a bra and panties during hazing.
He emailed it to her. She forwarded it to some
mutual acquaintances on the Hill. Everyone had
a good laugh.

This was one hell of a way to find out he
lacked a sense of humor, among other redeeming
traits.

His fingertips grazed the edge of the tape
covering her mouth.

"Don’t say a word."

He ripped it all off with one swift pull.

She fought back the tears welling in her eyes
as her cheeks burned. No way was she going to
give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing
her break. Even though she knew what was coming
next.

"I’m sure you’ve polished a few knobs in your
day," he sneered. "Let’s see if you can get a
rise out of this one."

He pushed her face toward the brass ball.

"Open."

She hesitated for just a moment.

"Would you rather lose a nipple first?"

He waved his knife in front of her eyes.

She shook her head and scooted herself into
position, then stretched her jaws wide around
the cold metal until the doorknob disappeared
into her mouth. He quickly wrapped the ends of
the rope around her head and knotted them
tightly around her neck.

She found herself thinking about that Kevin
Costner movie about a spy in State. What was it
called? Oh yeah. "No Way Out." As she recalled,
the plot had hinged on a photograph, too. And
he certainly had plenty of new ones to make up
for the Polaroid of him in drag.

That’s why she knew it had to be him, and not
some random rapist. First of all, he hadn’t
raped her. Not with his dick, anyway.

She felt his hand grab one of her ankles and
pull it up against her thigh. That will teach
you to think it can’t get any worse, she rued
as he began trussing her folded-over leg,
forcing her to balance precariously on one
knee, then the other.

She wished she had struggled harder at first.
Then again, people armed with guns and
switchblades tend to win arguments, no matter
who’s right.

Once he had her stripped, handcuffed and
gagged, he could have done anything he wanted.
Instead, he had spent hours taking photographs
of her bound in strenuous positions. Hogtied on
his desk. Spread-eagled on the coffee table.
Hanging from the coat rack. Stretched out in
front of the fireplace so you couldn’t miss the
senator’s pictures on the mantle. Very intimate
angles. Very obvious location. Very
incriminating for her, not to mention her
very-married boss.

But not even one gratuitous fondle. Cold.
Methodical. Vengeful.

It had to be him.

Is the party never going to end? Don’t these
people have families?

She caught a peripheral glimpse of him
hovering, then kneeling at her side. With
something in his hand.

"A little present to remember me by," he said,
trying to be suave and cruel.

Her eyes shifted sideways and saw the black
binder clamp held open between his fingers. She
gasped as he maneuvered it over one of her
nipples, then squeezed her eyes shut as she
braced herself for…

Something clattered loudly behind them.

"What the FUCK was that?" he yelped.

Her eyes popped open as he sprang to his feet
and disappeared from her field of vision.

"Huh-huh-who are…" he stuttered. "W-what do you
think you’re…"

She tried to turn her head to look, but there
was no slack between the doorknob and the rope.

"Hey, you’re…" he said, sounding suddenly very
small and surprised.

A thump. Big and heavy and noisy.

A groan.

Another thump.

Then something hit the floor. Hard.

"Are you all right?" a strange voice asked from
behind her.

She practically twisted her eyes out of their
sockets trying to see who was speaking to her.
Definitely male. Older. Concerned. Kindly,
even.

Hell, he sounded almost jolly.

"Well, he’s not going anywhere for a while. And
neither, it appears, are you."

Panicking, she screamed into the doorknob and
thrashed wildly against her bonds.

"There, there, everything’s going to be fine
now. No need to worry. Let’s see, I’ll just set
off the alarm…"

The code-red security sirens began ringing
loudly throughout the building. How did he know
where the secret button was? Besides, his voice
was coming from somewhere near the fireplace,
not the senator’s desk.

"When the authorities get here, tell them you
escaped, then knocked him out with this poker.
Hmm, we’d better make it look good. I’ll just
give him a little whack…"

Ooh…she thought that sounded like it hurt. A
lot.

"Now, let me get you out of this mess."

She felt the ropes and handcuffs fall away from
her head and body, then the tape seemed to
literally melt off her hands. But she was
certain nobody was touching her. In fact, she
could hear him muttering back by the fireplace,
something about fragile N64s, Tonka trucks, and
"good thing I still have all these lumps of
coal in my sack for everyone in D.C."

When she was finally free, she spat out the
doorknob, jumped to her feet, and spun around
with a jerk.

But all she saw was a flash of red fur, a wisp
of what smelled distinctly like pipe tobacco,
and her assailant crumpled on the floor,
surrounded by sooty prints on the carpet left
by someone apparently wearing big, heavy boots.

As the guards started pounding on the door, she
shook her head to get rid of the ringing in her
ears.

Then she realized she was hearing the sound of
bells jingling somewhere in the distance
outside the window.

 

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