Callie’s Last Dance

socks I’ve stuffed inside her mouth preclude her from making much noise. Nor can she spit them out, since I’ve placed duct tape over her mouth.

“I found a ski rope in your garage,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing it. I didn’t come in here with that thought, but when I saw this nice, sturdy beam in your den I figured it was the way to go. As for the nudity, you’ll have to trust me when I say my many years of experience have taught me that naked prisoners are more cooperative than those wearing clothes. I know that sounds self-serving, but it’s no less true.”

She looks at me through wide, terror-filled eyes, and makes muffled sounds of protest.

I say, “Connie. Listen to me. I’m willing to lower you part-way, so you’ll be more comfortable. Would you like that?”

She nods her head.

“Okay, then.”

I adjust the rope until her back is resting on the floor, though her legs are still vertical.

“I didn’t tie your hands on purpose, so please feel free to cover up whatever you wish.”

She covers the parts I used to enjoy looking at before I saw Callie’s. These days it’s all business. Connie’s body means no more to me than a slab of beef on a slaughterhouse meat hook.

“I’m willing to remove the duct tape on your mouth, and the socks, if you promise not to scream.”

She nods.

I remove my knife from its ankle holster and say, “I’ll hold you to that promise, Connie. Do you understand?”

She nods vigorously.

I remove the tape carefully, and manage not to tear her lips in the process. Taking the socks from her mouth triggers her gag reflex, which is rather gross, but it soon passes.

She says, “You hit me! You hit me and undressed me and tied me up! What kind of claims adjustor are you?”

“I’m not a claims adjustor, Connie.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Then why are you doing this to me? What do you want?”

“I’m doing this because seventeen days ago my girlfriend took two bullets in the back that were meant for you and Tom Bell. As a side issue, I could have also been shot, so for all intents and purposes, your husband attacked me. What do I want? Answers. Starting with why you cheated on your husband.”

“What are you, some kind of religious freak?”

“Do I look like a religious freak?”

“No. But you don’t look like a claims adjustor, either.”

“As I said, I’m not a claims adjustor.”

“So the company’s not denying my claim?”

For reasons I’ll never begin to comprehend, Connie has come to the conclusion I’m not planning to seriously harm her. She becomes-not comfortable, exactly-but somewhat relaxed, and conversational.

“Have you ever been married?” she asks.

“As a matter of fact, I have. But it didn’t last.”

“And have you never cheated?”

“Never did.”

“What’s it like being perfect?” she says, sarcastically.

“You think it requires perfection not to cheat on your spouse?”

She gives me a knowing look and says, “I bet your wife cheated.”

“There’s a happy thought.”

“If we’re going to talk a while, can you at least let me put my dress back on?”

“No.”

“Is this how you get your kicks? Punching women unconscious? Stripping them? Tying them up?”

She’s comfortable enough with my demeanor to transition from terrified to angry. Or maybe it’s not my demeanor. Maybe it’s this face Dr. P. gave me. I’ve always maintained the same demeanor when torturing women, and they always managed to hang onto their fear. Perhaps I should have Dr. P. add a terrifying scar to my cheek like I used to have.

Wait.

I can’t do that.

Not without getting Callie’s input first. It would be like her getting a Tyson tattoo on her cheek without asking me. I want to think about this some more, but Connie’s working herself into quite a lather.

“You have the gall to ask me questions?” she says. “You want to know about my affair? My fucking affair?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“You bastard! You punched me in the face! Maybe I’ve got a question or two for you!”

“I’ll entertain one.”

“Oh you will, huh? You’ll entertain one?”

“Is that your question?”

“My question, you sick pervert, is, are you enjoying the view?”

“You promised not to yell.”

“No I didn’t. I promised not to scream.”

“Let’s not split hairs. You’ll keep your voice down or suffer the consequences. To answer your question, if you’re referring to your nudity, no, I don’t particularly care for the view. I mean, you’re a very nice looking woman. But my interest in you has nothing to do with your body.”

“You’re sure about that? Because I could swear I caught you sneaking peeks at me.”

“All pretty women think that. And it’s possibly true. In the course of removing your clothes and tying you to the beam in the ceiling, I’ll admit I noticed your body.”

“Did it make you feel powerful? Like a big man? Ripping my panties off while I was unconscious?”

“Powerful? No. And you’ll be pleased to know I didn’t rip your panties.”

“Be honest. You liked what you saw. And still like it. You wish it was yours.”

I sigh. “Connie, I’m not a critical person. I think all women are beautiful. Having said that, I think you went too big on the implants.”

“Oh, really?”

“Just my opinion.”

“Anything else?”

“I feel you’re past the age of being able to pull off the completely shaved look. Again, that’s just me. I’m sure it worked for Tom.”

“I think you’re lying. I think you like the feeling of power. Seeing me naked makes you feel superior. Dominant. You’re meek and small on the inside. The only thing you’ve got going for you is your looks. Your social skills obviously suck.”

I pause a minute to look at my watch. Then say, “I’m sorry, Connie. I’ve allowed the conversation to get completely off track. Crazy as it sounds, you might be the exception to the nudity thing. It generally gives people a feeling of helplessness. But being naked seems to have empowered you.”

I go to the bedroom, pick out a nightshirt, bring it back, hand it to her. As she puts it on I say, “I’m going to rethink the idea of stripping women from now on when I question them. I’ll ask Callie what she thinks.”

I can practically see the light bulb go off in Connie’s mind. She’s thinking Connie, Callie, similar names. Maybe she can transfer my feelings for Callie onto her, get out of this situation by warming up to me.

“Callie’s your girlfriend?” she says.

Bingo.

The nightshirt can only cover so much while her legs are in the air, so I drape her dress between her legs and say, “I’ll bring this to an end as quickly as possible. I’m trying to find out why Callie nearly lost the use of her legs.