Author's note: All characters present for or witnessing any sexual encounters are 18+.
Teaching Her A Lesson
Part Three: Homeschooling
Deep breaths. Deeeeep breaths.
So that wasn't working. The garage door creaked shut behind me. And behind that...
The night was almost perfect aside from that. Mid-sixties, a gentle breeze to keep the mosquitoes at bay, crickets chirping, stars shining. It was the sort of night that made me miss my childhood, camping out in the woods by my parents' house, my friends and I pretending to be trailblazers braving the wilderness, yet conveniently in range to restock our supplies of junk food and flashlight batteries. Then, the worst thing I'd ever done had been hiding around the corner on the stairs and scaring my sister so badly she'd peed her pants; the hardest decision that had lain before me was whether or not to join band once we started middle school.
Oh, what a difference a couple of decades and a canister of black market neuroinhibitor made.
With a sigh, I made for the garage. My car was in the driveway now, the Stern girls' in the garage. I prayed nobody had seen her in the short window before I'd been able to hide her away. My house was on a four-lane street, plenty of traffic; anybody who knew either of us and simply saw the two of us standing together on the front lawn would likely have real questions. Not that those questions would scratch the surface of what they ought to be asking about this whole nightmare. In one week, I'd gone from breaking my bank to try to help a wayward student, to somehow making a teenage girl kidnap her own sister. It was so ludicrous, it was almost funny.
Heh, better get in there before Abbie took it to the next level and started waterboarding her in my kiddie pool.
Oh god. I quickened my pace.
There in the garage sat Abbie on the trunk of her car. Here indoors, Taylor's struggles from inside were much more audible, or perhaps she'd simply decided to kick and scream more now that she'd seen my face. That was a strange little knife in the gut, the idea that one of my students could be that frightened of me. Then again, I wasn't the one who had trussed her up like a Thanksgiving turkey and shoved her in my trunk.
Only now, she was in my garage.
"You cool now? Got the little bitch out of your system?" asked the unrestrained Stern sister.
"Abbie, we ought to have a talk, I think. No, make that
need
to have a talk. But right now, there's a young woman tied up in the trunk of your car that we need to get out of there."
The young woman did not, however, get out of the way. "Respectfully, Mr. C? That's fucking retarded. I guaran-fucking-tee you that the second that trunk opens, she's going to start screaming. That gag isn't exactly Abu Ghraib grade restraint."
"How in the hell do you know about Abu Ghraib?"
"Our uncle was stationed there when all the shit went down. Whole big thing." How did that not surprise me? "Anyway, your neighbors' houses are like five feet away. Y'all got fucking tiny-ass yards in this neighborhood."
Rudely stated or no, she was right. We'd already been lucky that nobody had overheard Taylor's brief outburst when Abbie first showed me what she'd stashed in there. On a night like this, too, there were decent odds that the Lawrences or the Maravans had their windows open, making it all the more possible they'd hear something.
There was, of course, the obvious way to make sure Taylor didn't scream. From the way Abbie was eyeing my mini gardening chainsaw, I supposed there were technically two ways. Jesus. No time to waste. In my paranoia that Taylor might disregard both brainwashing and blackmail, I'd opted not to leave the Serenex in my briefcase. Instead, I'd hidden it in the crawlspace under the house, nestled atop some of the exposed plumbing. Time to get crawling, I supposed. I secured a promise from Abbie that she wouldn't do anything crazy for a few minutes and got hustling.
When I returned via the door between the garage and the laundry room a few minutes later, marginally cobwebbier and no less horrified by what I'd unleashed, Abbie was bent over the hood. "... if you don't shut up, I'ma spray that shit right in your fucking eyeball, understand? God, you suck sometimes." She perked up at the sight of me. "Finally. You ready to do this? She's gonna kick out the tail lights pretty soon if we don't dose her."
I nodded. Envisioning the possibility that she could get a good scream out before the Serenex seeped into her bloodstream, I instead crawled into the backseat. The floor was littered with old fast food containers and other miscellaneous garbage, including, behind the center console, what looked to be a discarded condom.
Classy as ever
, I thought, before considering that maybe I ought to be a hair less judgmental as I prepared to gas my hostage. With a little rehearsal, I got the actions down. Lift the toggle, pull down the back seat, spray into the trunk, slam it closed. The effects hadn't taken long the last few times. After Abbie directed an exasperated stare at me through the window, I pounced.
Taylor did try to issue what would have been a truly bloodcurdling scream had it not been muffled by the sock taped in her mouth. I sealed her in, climbed back out of the car, and counted to ten. Fifteen, for good measure. At my signal, Abbie popped the trunk.
Taylor was still glaring, still trying to say something. Her struggling and screaming, however, was done. There had been no way to aim very precisely in my method, but I could see a yellowed spot on the shoulder of her white t-shirt from where most of it had hit. I'd used more than enough to soak through, though, and from the visibility of the dark tint of her bra, I was sure she wasn't wearing a second layer underneath. It was quite a transition, from mild-mannered workaday educator to someone who had to analyze the girl tied up in his garage to make sure he'd drugged her thoroughly enough.
"Gonna shut your gaping cunt of a mouth now, Tay?" Abbie thundered immediately, but I shooed her back.
"Taylor, I want to take the gag off and untie you. You promise you won't scream, won't try to run away?"
She mumbled something, but quickly conceded the necessity of answering with a nod. That would have to do. After all, the original manufacturer-stated purpose of this stuff was riot suppression. So far, this was as close as I'd come to use as intended. Great. Always reassuring when one finds oneself drifting into the lane traditionally reserved for authoritarian dictators and villains on cop procedurals.
As if I needed more reassurance that it was working, she didn't so much as flinch as I retrieved my boxcutter and moved it toward her. I cut off the duct-tape from her wrists and mouth, helping her out of the trunk as she worked her sore jaw around. "Thanks," she muttered as she struggled upright.
"Very welcome."
"I was being sarcastic."
"Me too. Are you OK? I mean, circumstance aside, but physically. Are you hurt, injured?"
"My shoulder hurts like hell, and I banged my head, but I probably won't die from it."
Abbie rolled her eyes. "If you didn't try to dive out like a re-re while I was closing the trunk, you'd be fine."
"If my own fucking sister didn't go psycho on me-"
