This is not sweet reluctance, this is creepy, dark, non-con, and a work of pure fiction.
*
Louise was not happy. This had been her third day working late. Real late.
Somebody must have told him what I said.
All the lab technicians knew what she had said about Dr. Andersen --their boss, Louise's immediate boss.
Somebody must have told him, and now he is out to get me.
Her feet were killing her, luckily she didn't have far to go and the seat at the bus stop was sure to be free.
At least overtime pays really well,
Louise reminded herself and tried to feel happy about her situation.
And he will have to give me extra time off eventually, else the union will tear him to shreds.
That thought was comforting. An extra vacation.
Past midnight, the industrial area which her workplace was in was completely desolate. The night-bus driving past the border of it wouldn't be passing until 3:00 am.
Louise was fairly sure that her boss was aware she had about one and a half hour's wait for the bus when working late like this.
Asshole.
Even soft shoes sounded loud in the deserted area.
I'm not the only one working late,
thought Louise, noticing a van parked next to the fence surrounding one of the smaller companies. The van was parked halfway onto the sidewalk, halving it.
Or maybe its a company car.
Her eyes strayed to its license plate, halfway expecting the yellow plate marking a company car.
Polish plates?
Louise turned her eyes to the company on the other side of the fence.
Illegal or legal?
she wondered. It happened that companies tried to keep foreign workers unaware of their monetary rights when working in Denmark. Such as the minimum wage for their field of work as well as exactly how much higher the wage was at night.
Her eyes returned to the van and she decided that if she saw it again, at late night, she would put a note under the hood, in English briefly describing who to call if they weren't getting the full Danish wages.
She'd be sure to add a reminder that such demands could also be raised in retrospect. She expected that many foreign workers wouldn't feel comfortable raising a spectacle in the beginning of a temporary contract, but that most would be happy to receive an extra --possibly thrice as large-- pay-check, sometime after having returned home.
The thought of someone's asshole boss being kicked around by unions, almost made Louise forget her sore feet. A slight smile played at the edges of her mouth when she reached the van and moved closer to the fence to pass it.
Waiting for the bus wouldn't be so bad, she had...
With an involuntary, small, shriek of surprise, Louise jumped a step back as the van's front door opened right in front of her. For a split second, she prepared to laugh off the shock.
Someone was in the car.
But, then a second shock hit her as the someone pulled a gun on her.
Open-mouthed, Louise stared at the man who looked like a bad imitation of something she had once seen in an action movie. She heard the backdoor of the van opening but didn't spin to look behind her.
She felt cross-eyed staring at that gun which was now less than an arm's length from her face.
It's a joke.
"Søren?" asked Louise and wrestled her eyes from the gun to the man holding it. He didn't look one bit like Søren. Besides Søren wouldn't do something like this.
Someone grabbed her from behind, reached an arm above her shoulders and across her throat. Louise's hands flew to the arm, grabbed it. But she didn't fight.
Søren wouldn't arrange something like this. Would Brian?
The man with the gun was wearing a ski-mask, it had big round holes for his eyes and mouth.
"Vil i ikke godt holde op nu?" said Louise, - Please stop. Things like this just didn't happen for real, not in quiet little Denmark, so it had to be a joke. It had to.
The gun-pointing man raised his gun-free hand and held one finger to his lips, soundlessly mouthing, "Sssh."
Actually, none of the men Louise knew would even consider arranging a surprise for her, not after what had happened last.
The man behind her put something over her face and mouth, held it in place with the arm he didn't have around her neck. Louise held her breath and crossed her eyes to see what it was.
Transparent plastic? It's a face-mask. Why would they gas me? What gas?
It could be anything.
Louise started struggling.
"No," said the gun-holding man, in English, regaining her full attention with a single spoken word and a clicking sound from his gun.
The safety,
thought Louise and ceased struggling.
That was the safety. He unlocked the safety on his gun.
In spite of her fear, her body was already complaining about the lack of air.
Louise dared not struggle lest she be shot, but she dared not breathe either lest she inhale a poisonous gas. So, staring at the gunman, she just stood still in the gas man's hold.
The gunman rounded his lips in a big exaggerated O and took a deep noisy breath in, then exhaled. Then moved his other hand across his gun, making it click again. Louise still held her breath, so the gunman stepped forward and pressed his gun against her forehead.
Again, he rounded his lips, and started breathing in noisily. Terrified, Louise copied his action. The gas had a slightly sweet taste.
The gunman exhaled and so did Louise. For another deep breath, Louise mimicked, and another.
He really does look ridiculous,
thought Louise. Like Boondock Saints doing Lamaze-class. Louise giggled. The situation wasn't really all that frightening anymore.
The gunman even smiled at her a brief second, before again forming a big O and inhaling.
Like Pavarotti singing backwards,
thought Louise, mimicking the funny man. Her exhale came out as hysterical laughter and her knees bent below her.
Gunman put his gun in his pocket.
I knew it was a joke,
thought Louise and smiled under the face-mask. Gunman and gasman helped each other keep her on her feet.
