Diversion 2

Diversion

With the smallest twigs still not catching on fire, the few branches and limbs I've gathered won't stand a chance. I've blown on them, re-ignited them with my lighter twice and poked them with a stick a time or two, but the few twigs that chose to respond initially with glowing ends are fading. Now they just look slightly scorched.

The tent flaps open a few feet behind me with a rustling sound. Then I hear Sheree say, "So you weren't a boy scout after all. Just admit it."

"Guilty. I'm a city guy with no apologies. This is probably only the second or third time I've gone camping in my life. I was a kid the other times and wasn't given the fire-starter job. You know, not being trusted with matches and all that. But I am skilled in opening another bottle of wine, unless you want to revisit your thermos of gin and tonic."

Sheree sits down next to me on one of the large stones arranged around the firepit. We found what appeared to be a secluded camping spot, miles and miles away from civilization as we know it, but it obviously had been discovered by others as evidenced by the firepit. We stumbled on it after walking through the woods for what seemed like a mile or so from where we left my car. With some luck, we might be able to find it again. But right now, that doesn't matter.

"Wine, Wade. Wine is fine. I don't need another G & T. Maybe later."

Sheree had changed from her cut-off jeans, tank top and flip-flops into a lavender hoodie, black sweat pants and a pair of clog-styled Uggs.

"Good to see you had something warmer to wear because the god of fire is having a bad night tonight."

Sheree scoots closer and says, "We'll just need to find a way to stay warm." She kisses me and I reach up, putting my hand behind her neck which extends the kiss for a few moments. When I move away my hand and our faces separate, I can't help looking at her. I look at her as often as I can, even when she doesn't know it. Twenty-eight years old, a natural blond with a heart-shaped face and high cheekbones. A uniquely beautiful face. She has small breasts and a trim, toned body. What she sees in a thirty-two-year-old average looking guy with dark hair, longer than would be expected for a mall security guard, I'll never know. I'm just lucky that way, I guess.

"I had to get away. The estate business can wait for a couple of days. I want to clear my mind, away from the stress for just one weekend."

"Yeah, we're so far away from home, there's no chance anyone who knows us will see us together. And no one knows we're here, which is good since the newly widowed Sheree Ashworthy shouldn't be seeing someone so soon after her husband's death."

"Jesus, Wade, you're so paranoid. Why don't you just come out and ask me if I told anyone we were going away. NO! I didn't! We've gone over this dozens of times."

"Okay. Okay. Focus on stress-free. Away from everything. We can do this."

"Good, that's more like it." She leans up, wrapping her arms around her knees and looking at the woods darkening around us. "I want to hear an owl. Let's just sit and listen to the woods. I love this. Right here, right now. Go ahead and open that wine, if you please."

As we drink our way through that bottle, I made at least three failing attempts to get the fire actually firing. Re-igniting it with the lighter, throwing on a few more twigs, poking at it with a stick that had already refused to burn. Same result as before. But we do hear three owls, or maybe the same one three times, and Sheree is thrilled. With each 'whoo', she grabs my arm and squeezes while looking wide-eyed at me, whispering something breathlessly to make sure I had heard it too.

We never see an owl, however. We hear hundreds of treefrogs and cicadas. We also hear two unexplained, unnatural noises which alarm Sheree to the extent that she makes me get up and 'check that out'. Once I stand, everything quietens, even the treefrogs and cicadas. I dutifully walk around our campsite then sit back down beside her shaking my head. I pull her closer to me which seems to calm her down.

The bottle is empty and every ember in the firepit that briefly looked as if it was considering becoming a real flame has died, never to see the bright life that night. But Sheree isn't ready for the night to end.

"I've loved this, baby. This whole day. Let's not let it end. We can stay up and see the sunrise!" She spoke in a low, slurred speech with her head leaning against my shoulder. A moment ago, I thought she was asleep. She reaches up, pointing her right index finger at something, and says, "Another G & T. That's what I want right now. No more wine. That's the perfect nightcap. I'll greet the dawn with it! How's that sound?" She leans her head away from my shoulder to look at me with near-shut eyes and a smile of impaired amusement. Even drunk, she is beautiful. "Pour me one, please."

I can't refuse Sheree and she knows it. I doubt she will be able to finish any drink right now, especially a gin and tonic. Why not let her blow it out for a night, or the whole weekend for that matter? She's made it through the evening without any mention of the problems the estate has been bringing her each and every day. I get up and retrieve the thermos, then pour her a drink.

After a few sips, her head finds its way to my shoulder again. A moment later the drink begins falling from her hand. That brings her around enough to shakily stand and say, "Don't think I'm going to see the sunrise, baby." I stand up and she turns and gives me a wet, sloppy kiss that could have gone on as long as she wanted, but it doesn't last long. "I'm going to bed," she says and stumbles toward the tent. I follow her to make sure she doesn't fall.

She manages to take off her clothes - she always sleeps in the nude - and I watch. I always watch. She has some trouble getting her sleeping bag to open, but with my help she crawls inside and begins lightly snoring almost immediately. I take off my jeans, and crawl into my sleeping bag in my tee shirt and boxers. I've never been a nude sleeper. I toss from side to side for a little while since I can't get comfortable. I really don't know what the attraction is for sleeping in the wild. But it was Sheree's idea and I can't refuse her. I finally fall asleep.

I awake sometime later. I have no idea of the time or how long we've been sleeping, but it is still dark. I'd hear a sound and when I open my eyes, I think I see two shadows inside the tent that shouldn't be here, and they are moving! Suddenly, I feel the weight of someone on me. As I begin to struggle, I feel a cloth being pressed against my face with a strong chemical smell that releases fumes which invade my nostrils and mouth. The last thing I remember hearing is a muffled scream from Sheree.

The beginning of my return to consciousness is triggered by a violent shaking of my right leg. I don't know how long I have been out and my mind struggles through the haze of awaking from a deep sleep, wondering where I am. Then memories of the shadows in the tent and the chemical fumes come rushing back and I open my eyes. I am now fully awake. With disbelief, I am immediately confronted with three disturbing observations. A man dressed entirely in black leather, complete with a leather hood over his head is affixing an iron manacle to my right ankle. His back is to me but I see him pull his hand back which holds a large-end hammer and then strike something which causes my leg to violently shake. The second thing I am immediately aware of is that my hands and neck are secured in some type of wooden device, that consists of two pieces of wood about an inch and a half thick with three semi-circles cut into the sides of each one. A large circle has been cut in the middle with two smaller circles on either side. The two boards have been closed together with my neck in the large circle and my wrists in the smaller ones. A metal hinge joins the two pieces on one end. A large padlock secures the boards together on the opposite end. The wood extends about a half foot beyond my wrists. Even if I had the key, my hand would not reach the padlock. Locked together both boards are only about a foot wide, with the edge of the one in front lining up with my chin. Then there is the most physically discomforting sensation I am experiencing. Something is tightly strapped around my head, forcing my mouth wide open. My tongue detects a piece of hard rubber that seems to be circular that has been wedged behind my top and bottom teeth. Whatever it is, it is painfully tight, and I violently shake my head from side to side to try to dislodge it to no avail.

Those are the immediate observations but the next thing I see is the most disturbing. Sheree is leaning against the wall a few feet away on my left side, similarly restrained. She is nude. She has not regained consciousness, and her eyes are closed and her head is hanging down. But with the same wooden contraption locked around her wrists and neck, her head doesn't have far to go. Her head is trapped in what must be the same thing as mine, and looking at her reveals how this thing is secured on me. It is an elaborate leather harness. Her head is leaning forward in such a manner, I can't see the object in her mouth, but her mouth appears to be wide open. I assume it must be the same type of round piece of hard rubber that is keeping my jaws separated. A thick leather strap runs from the corner of her mouth which must be attached to the round piece of rubber. It goes around her head and buckles in the back of her head, connected to a strap that must run from the other side of her mouth. I feel a pressure on both cheeks and a pull on each side of my mouth. The thing in my mouth is obviously secured the same as hers. Attached to that strap is a separate one that runs up her face, beside her nose, at an angle to connect with a similar one from the other side of her face. Those straps connect to a small metal ring at the top of her nose. That explained the pressure I feel there that is more intense than a leather strap. It is a constant annoying pain right above my nose. An additional strap connects at the top of the ring and goes over her head then down the back of her head to buckle with yet another strap running up from the one going around the side of her face. A final strap runs under her chin and buckles there with a strap from the other side. That is the strap I hate the most. My jaw is being forced open unnaturally by the thing wedged in my mouth, pushing my bottom jaw downward into the tight strap buckled under my chin. I've felt that pressure since the moment I awoke. It never lets up. As if this harness device can be any worse, there are padlocks on each of the three buckles! Whoever put these on us doesn't intend for them to come off easily or anytime soon.

Her legs are free, but there is a pair of manacles lying beside her. They are identical to the ones being fastened on me. I also see a metal collar about an inch wide locked around her neck above the wooden boards. There is chain running from it to the wall. I twist my head to the side as far as I can and see a similar chain leading from my back to the wall. Both of our neck chains run through an iron ring bolted into the wall and there is a padlock securing them together. We are chained together at neck! And chained to the wall!

She is in the same nightmare situation as me, and there is nothing I can do for her.

One more pound with the hammer and the guy in black lifts my ankle by the chain now attached and tugs on it. Satisfied it is not coming off, he stands up, and I can now see him from the front. The black leather hood is snug over his face with eyeholes, a protrusion for his nose and an opening for his mouth. The overall effect is frightening. I hope he will not be the first thing Sheree sees when she first comes around. But then everything else around us is equally horrible. We are in a room with concrete block walls, a poured concrete floor with a drain in the middle of it. There are metal rings bolted into the wall at various heights and on the floor on the side of the room where we are chained. I hate what I see on the other side of the room. There are two cameras on tripods and studio lights on stands. There are a couple of chairs behind the cameras and lights. There also appears to be a work bench on the side of the wall beside me. I can't see what is on it which is probably a good thing.

When he stands up, the leather-clad guy has the hammer in one hand and what looks like an old-fashioned anvil in the other. He walks over to the far side of my left ankle and kneels down. He places the anvil next to my ankle and then retrieves something from his pocket and reaches for the other manacle attached to the chain and closes it around my ankle.

The manacle consists of two iron semi-circles, hinged on one side, just large enough to secure an ankle when closed together. Square metal tabs about an inch and a half in size extended out on opposite ends. The tab with the hinge has a chain attached which appeared to be around a foot and a half, maybe less. On the other side, there are two tabs that align with each other when the manacle is closed. There is a hole on each tab where a padlock can be inserted, locking the manacle around the ankle.

I grow more alarmed when I realize it isn't a padlock he has retrieved from his pocket. This is when I understand the hammering. What he has produced from his pocket is a small piece of metal about the size of a large bolt. But it isn't a bolt. It is a metal slug! He places the two end tabs of the manacle opposite from the chain on the anvil, and inserts the slug into the holes that are now aligned. When he bangs the hammer on the slug resting on the anvil, it transforms into an amorphous mess of metal that bonds with the iron manacle. Each pound of the hammer makes it more so. And more permanent a shackle.

Up until that moment, my focus had been on observing - looking for a way out. That is in line with my security training. But after observing my restraints, especially the padlocks on the gags, and seeing the goddamn cameras, and now, the fact that my ankles have been fitted with the equivalent of iron manacles

welded

in place, I panic. I shout something through my gag that even to my ears sounds incomprehensible. I know the words I'm shouting but they're not what I hear. When your tongue is the only functioning part of your mouth, your speech is severely impaired. I don't shout again, but I am no less panicked. I take several deep breaths. You can do that when you mouth is forced wide open.

As I begin to calm, if that's even an appropriate word given what I am experiencing, the damn hammer pounds again on the anvil. This time I don't scream or shout, I shake my head from side to side trying in vain to loosen in some way the restrictive and intensely uncomfortable harness around my head.

There is one more pound with the hammer - this time I scream silently. He tugs on the chain, making my ankle jerk around, then drops the chain, obviously satisfied that my shackles aren't coming off without the use of some sort of welding tool, or some industrial bolt cutter, neither of which I can imagine having access to.

He stands up, still without a word to me, and turns toward Sheree. This is what I dread. Listening to her awakening, with a serious hangover, finding herself restrained in the nude, tightly gagged, with a black hooded abductor shackling her ankles. With the first pounding of the hammer, she will regain consciousness and immediately become hysterical. And there's nothing I can do to help her.

I lift my right leg and feel the weight of the chain pulling on the manacle. The chain is heavier than I thought. Walking in these will not be pleasant. Until now, thankfully, I had never been placed in leg irons, but television footage of shackled orange jump-suited prisoners being perp walked depicted them walking fairly normal while leg ironed. Those must have a smaller chain because sometimes it's difficult to actually see the leg chain on television. Each link of the chain securing my ankles is about an inch in length and at least a quarter of an inch in thickness. I pull both feet toward me, raising my knees, and the chain makes a distinct jangling rattle as it moves across the concrete floor. I won't be sneaking up on anyone stuck in these things.

I feel something wet on my chin. I first think I'm crying, but no. I'm not crying. I'm drooling! The hard rubber ring wedged behind my teeth makes it hard to control the saliva. How will Sheree react when she awakes restrained and tightly gagged and sees the person she would be relying on to find a way out of this hellhole similarly restrained, tightly gagged, shackled and drooling on himself. And then sees the leather-clad, hooded guy! And then sees the cameras! Another silent scream.

The black leather-clad guy has knelt beside Sheree's right ankle and now places the anvil beside it. He picks up the manacle closest to him and closes each side around her ankle. He places the end tabs of it on the anvil, then retrieves another damn metal slug from his pocket. He inserts the metal slug in the aligned holes on the manacle tabs, and raises his hammer.

A few seconds after I hear the pounding of the hammer on the anvil, I feel a slight tug on the metal collar around my neck. Then I hear the first gagged screams from Sheree and my collar is pulled tighter. I try to scoot down the wall to get closer to her to allow more slack in the chain connecting our necks. There is another pounding, and the gagged screams increase in intensity. She is now thrashing around, and kicks at the leather-clad guy with the leg not being manacled. He pushes the leg aside with the hammer still in his hand, and looks at her. If that look is designed to intimidate her and stop the kicking, it's failed because she kicks at him again. He deflects the kick and pounds one more time with the hammer. He picks up the chain to see that the manacle is secure and the gagged screams get louder and she thrashes about more. She kicks him yet again, and this time he stands up. He doesn't pick up the anvil to move it toward her free ankle as I expect him to do; he walks toward the wall beside her and steps up to a canister about two feet tall containing thin sticks of various lengths.

She turns her head to her right and sees me for the first time. Her screaming stops and eyes get wider as expressions of surprise, then disappointment, and then despair move over her face. Then she calls out, "

Aey! Aey!"

That is apparently how my name sounds with a gag in your mouth. I know she's pleading with me to do something - her eyes are begging me. Tears are running down her cheek.

"

Il ga augh oah hiss

," I say through my gag. That's the one thing I am sure of. We will get out of this.

But Sheree is no longer looking in my direction. The leather-clad guy has walked back to her, now with a thin stick in his hand, perhaps around four feet long. He picks up the anvil, places the stick under his arm, then picks up the hammer and walks around her toward the leg that is not manacled. She begins a low mournful moan that escalates into gagged screaming. She is squirming against the wall and shaking her head from side to side wildly. She bangs the board behind her head on the wall. I feel another tug on my collar and try to scoot closer to her to get more slack on the chain. Moving your body while restrained in this manner is difficult. I have to move my butt, and then bring my legs around while dragging the chain. My upper body is useless, locked in these wooden boards.

When he tries to grab her ankle to put the manacle on it, she kicks at him. He stops and stares at her. Then he raises the stick and threatenly holds it in air between them. He has not said a word. After another moment holding up the stick, he puts it down and reaches for her free ankle. If I could communicate with her, I would say, 'don't kick him again.' But she does.