It struck you as you were sitting at your desk, trying hard to stay awake during what was undoubtedly the dullest Webex in the history of the world, and drinking a cup of far too weak coffee. Your wife was gone and had left in her place a demand for your few possessions and for a hefty percentage of your paycheck from now until the end of time. The box and whatever magic it contained was gone; destroyed by her in a fit of rage after your last return from the otherplace.
No longer would you go through time and space to have incredible sex with a beautiful woman or women after having spent an average of fifteen minutes in their presence; something that had been so far removed from your typical experience with the opposite sex as to make you began to doubt the reality of what happened and your sanity.
Yet surely if you were without reason and mentally inhabiting a fantasy world you would now be picturing yourself somewhere other than this messy office with a lukewarm cup of coffee in your hand. There had never been anything special enough about you to justify the remarkable turn your life had taken with the discovery of the box. But what was at first frightening, then curious and finally customary had become a part of you and you mourned the loss of it almost as much as if not more than the disintegration of your unhappy marriage.
So you wrapped yourself up in your work, and dragged yourself home each night: tired, listless and decaffeinated: cut off from all emotion; your life reduced to a mindless slog of going through the motions.
And time passed.
One night you ran out to the grocery store to restock a few items. Moisture saturated the air, making the balmy night feel velvety and smooth. A bright moon hung in the cloudless sky and you found yourself feeling glad to be alive. Not overjoyed or ecstatic or blissful but filled with enough positive emotion that you realized happiness was something you hadn't felt in a long time, even before the divorce. And that small amount of happiness was enough.
You made your purchases, throwing in a bottle of Yellowtail Shiraz, as a celebration of life returning and stepped out into the gentle evening air.
A truck was parked just in front of the door, with a large Krispy Kreme sign and enormously disproportionate glazed donuts. As you stepped behind the truck you noticed that one of the back doors was open and the pleasant smell of donuts was wafting out. Swinging your small plastic bag a little and thinking of how satisfying it would be to sit on the front porch and drink some wine later you stepped off the curb.
A dark figure appeared at your side.
"Into the truck."
"Hey, you can't..."
"Now. Into the truck." The command was punctuated with a sudden jab in your side of what might be a weapon.
You were about to twist and run when another figure appeared from inside the back of the truck and pointed a rifle at you. Definitely a weapon.
You clambered into the back of the truck, the rifle still pointed at you from close range, your heart pounding furiously and your spine icy cold with fright. The smaller figure with the rifle motioned you further into the truck and you took a few steps closer to the plastic racks filled with donut boxes.
The smell of fresh glazed donuts was strong and mixed incongruously with your fear.
The backdoor swung shut and you heard the steel rod slide to lock it shut from outside. Now you were trapped in the back of the truck with 2700 boxes of donuts and a mysterious figure coolly training the business end of a rifle on your chest. A dim light shone from the front, just enough to break the darkness but not enough to show any details. When the truck jerked away from the curb, it almost threw you off balance but you grabbed the nearest rack and held on. The smaller figure seemed to have the reflexes of a cat and held steady on two feet, the rifle barrel swaying only an inch of so – still steadily trained on your chest.
"Who are you?"
"Don't ask who I am, you're better off not knowing."
It was a woman's voice.
"Why have you kidnapped me?"
"Sorry, that's classified."
An eerily familiar woman's voice. Why would the voice of this (criminal? CIA agent? PETA person gone insane?) woman sound familiar to you? You racked your brain trying to place the voice and it helped to calm you enough that your breathing slowed to an almost normal rate.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Sorry. Classified."
"Look, whatever's going on I can help you. I'm a reporter. Tell me your story and I'll make sure everyone hears about it and understands where you're coming from."
"Really, Joe? How odd, considering that just a few hours ago you were an Office Manager."
That shuts you up and you concentrate instead on maintaining your balance and keeping your fear to a manageable level. You assume that whatever their destination it will be nearby but the truck careens speedily about for what feels like hours. You exchange no more words with the woman holding you captive. She is quiet but alert and the barrel of her rifle never wavers from you. You study her as best you can in the dim light, but her face is hidden by a dark Ninja mask. Her body is slender but not petite. Her clothing reveals nothing other than her general size.
The truck finally slows to a stop and the back doors open. The woman motions you out and you jump down from the truck, sucking in large breaths of the night air, relieved as the scent of aquatic decay replaces the overly sweet smell of donuts, now forever linked in your mind with alarm and misery.
The woman and driver lead you into a nearby building, large and looming, and as you step inside the driver stays back but the woman follows you in. The cavernous inside is inky black except for a pool of yellow light from a desk lamp. And behind the desk is a figure, enigmatic, genderless and unknowable.
It's kismet. Suddenly everything clicks into place, like tumblers falling in a safe and your fear departs.
You walk steadily towards the desk and wait. The woman follows you and stands just behind you and to your right, you can see her motionless form from the corner of your eye, her rifle now relaxed and pointing towards your knees.
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE BOX
"It no longer exists."
THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE
"My ex-wife destroyed it."
IT CAN NOT BE DESTROYED
"She attacked it with a hatchet and then threw it into a trash dumpster. It's gone."
YOU MUST RETURN IT
"I can't."
The figure motions to the woman. She nods and once more raises her firearm.
"Go that way." She says and points towards back towards the front door.
"Oh not the fucking donuts again. Come on."
When you hesitate she pokes you with its steely tip. You turn to argue and a sudden pain erupts in your head. Your last thought is "What the..." as you crumple to the floor.
---------
You come to, groggy, and find you can't move your limbs. At first you think you're still unconscious but quickly realize that you're bound. You are spread-eagled on your back with your ankles and wrists tied to bedposts and you're completely naked. You feel vulnerable and exposed. Cool air from a register in the ceiling flows over you, chilling your skin and heightening your awareness of your exposure.
The pain in your head is thankfully gone and you spend a few minutes wondering who hit you. It can't have been the woman, she was in front of you when you turned; it must have been the driver.
Testing the smooth ropes that bind you, you find that pulling against them is of no avail. You wonder how long you will have to wait until someone comes into the room with you. You wonder what their plans are for you. You wonder who removed your clothes and tied you up. Was it the woman? You hope it was she and not a man.
Oh God
, you think,
please don't let a man walk in here with me naked and tied up
. Your mind pictures a beefy, rock-faced brute walking in with a smile on his face as he unzips his pants
You're scared again. Scared and very worried about what will happen next, the fear highlighted by your helplessness and nudity. You start wishing you could somehow pull your cock and balls into or under your body instead of having them up there and so...easily available. You start picturing large metal objects with sharp blades and realize that you're very close to panicking but your struggle against the ropes that bind you only succeeds in tightening them.
The door opens. In walks the ninja woman and your relief is palpable.
She walks to the side of your bed and looks down at you, silently, her head turning as she takes in every inch of your body, slowly, head to toe. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you feel vulnerable yet strangely excited too by her perusal of your naked body.
"You refused to give the location of the box."
"No, I told the truth. My ex-wife destroyed it and threw it away. It's probably at the city dump by now."
"You refused to give the location of the box and now you have to face the consequences."
"Wh-what consequences?"
"Effective consequences." She leans over until her eyes, still hidden from you behind her mask, are inches from yours and slowly runs one hand down your chest, over your navel and your lower stomach until she reaches your penis and slowly circles the tip with her finger. "You'll sing like a bird before I'm done with you."
Your testicles try to shrink up into your body. Somehow you knew it was going to have something to do with your penis.
Please don't let her cut it off, please don't let her cut it off
you begin praying.
"This is your last chance. Tell me know what we want to know and I'll release you. Otherwise..."
She straightens up and pulls off her hood in one motion, revealing her lovely face as her long brown hair tumbles down past her shoulders. Her blue-grey eyes meet yours and you whisper her name.
