Rescued: Whether she likes it or not

By Rayron D'Olier







The scene opens with a shot of an old door of the kind that might be found in a building built before WWII; or long before. It is a heavy, wooden door with a tarnished brass knob and a hole for a skeleton key. The walls are white plaster and lathe and a little stained and cracked. The uncovered floor is wood. There are ornate baseboards.

We hear a rustling noise and the occasional muffled grunt or sigh from a female voice.

The camera pans to the right and on an old leather couch sits a young woman. Although she is sitting, we can see that she is tall for a girl; her legs are long and her upper body looks fit. She has a round face, auburn hair and large green eyes. He hair is long and straight with bangs over her eyes. She is about 30. The couch and the captive are in front of a window that is blocked by closed venetian blinds; old and dusty.

She is wearing what appears to be a classic little black dress; sleeveless, low-cut bosom and a little more than knee length. The dress is well-fitted to her upper body and the skirt portion is somewhat snug with slits just above her knees. Down the front is a row of largish buttons. Around her waist is a tasteful cloth belt that appears to be integral to the dress. She is wearing pantyhose or stockings; natural tan, sheer. Her shoes are black leather pumps with tiny one-inch spiked heels and very small bows over her toes. She has kicked off her shoes.

The woman is also tightly bound and gagged. Her hands are tied behind her back, there is rope around her arms and body just below her bosom. It is cinched between her body and elbows. Her feet are tied together with rope; cinched between the ankles. The ropes are neatly tied and appear to be quite snug. She has a thick, white, linen cloth between her dark red lips. It makes her cheeks bulge a bit and it traps her hair.

She is sitting quietly for the most part, her feet flat on the floor in front of her. She is leaning back against the couch and a little sideways as if to give her bound hands a little room. She is looking quietly around and occasionally struggling a bit; not so much to escape, but simply as a reflex or a way to stay comfortable. Her stocking feet point from time to time and pull and push at the rope binding her ankles.

As was mentioned, she will make incoherent verbal noises along with her intermittent writhing movements.

She doesn't appear to be frightened, but she seems to be exasperated and irritated. Her demeanor is that of reluctant acceptance of her plight.

The camera pans back until we can see most of the room. Opposite our lovely captive is an old desk and office chair. On the desk are a black winter coat, a black purse, a bunch of things presumably dumped out of the purse, a woman's wristwatch, a telephone, a small automatic pistol and a bottle of vodka. There is also a large old leather suitcase on the floor.

Then we hear heavy footsteps in the hall outside. A man is cheerfully whistling. Upon hearing this, the woman starts. She leans forward and attempts to stand. She seems surprised for a moment and twists her body and legs against the ropes; as if she forgot she was tied for a moment. She says something under her gag. She remains leaning forward with her stocking feet flat on the floor as if still planning to spring up and go somewhere. She watches the door. The fingers of her bound hands flex behind her. Her legs rise up on her toes.

The camera centers on the door while also allowing us to watch the bound girl tense up and watch the door.

The footsteps stop outside the door. We hear the knob being rattled and the door being pushed and pulled, but it is obviously locked. We hear a man's voice, "Jesus Hartwell Christ."

Then there is a deep booming crash and a tearing of wood as the door is kicked open; the door jamb splintering and scattering on the floor.

In walks a large man. He is wearing an ankle-length black overcoat. Under that is a black suit, white shirt, thin flowery tie. Incongruously he is also wearing engineer's boots. His head is thin and tall; his features aquiline. He is a good looking man, but a bit weathered; around 40 years old. His red hair is streaked with gray. It is almost a crew cut on the backs and sides but up top it is thick and wavy.

He is carrying an automatic pistol with a long silencer on the barrel. He stands in the middle of the room facing the bound woman. He grins a little.

Man: "Hmmm. Well how did that happen? You must be a keeper. We'll have a little talk in a minute, but I want to ask you a question and I'm going to leave that thing in your mouth for awhile so you can think it over quietly. Ready for the question?"

The bound woman's eyes are wide. It is apparent that her entire body would like to get up and run, but the ropes hold her fast. She has shrunk back in the couch and is gently writhing against the ropes.

Woman nods her head and says, "Eph."

Man: "Why do girls and women ALWAYS kick off their shoes? Don't get me wrong. I like it just fine. It looks cute and sexy. But you all are constantly kicking them off and putting them back on. I just want to hear your opinion. Is it for MY benefit, or is it some sort of unconscious instinct? But first things first. Keep your seat. I can find my way around."

The man flashes a warm grin. He does not project a creepy vibe. He does have an aura of serious menace however.

The woman relaxes a little and watches him go over to the desk.

A the desk the man lays down his pistol and rummages through the things on the desk. He looks at her driver's license and compares the picture with her.

Man: "Don't you hate the license pictures? Rhetorical question. Of course you do."

The man picks up the small automatic that was already there.

Man: "Is this yours?"

Woman: "Mo."

Man: "I bet it is, too. No need to lie to me. I'm your bestest buddy right now."

He paws through all the other stuff. He opens the vodka bottle, smells it and bubbles some of it down his throat. He says, "Ahhhhh. That's it."

He looks at the suitcase, opens it, peers in and whistles, "That's a nice one. I guess that ain't yours either huh? Well, we'll get to know each other now and see what's what."

The man rolls the office chair into the middle of the room so that it is closer to and facing the bound woman. He closes the door. He sheds his coat and throws it on the floor. He grabs the voda bottle, his pistol and the woman's driver's license and places them on the floor next to the chair.

He walks over to her. She shrinks back, but stares at him defiantly.

Man: "Simmer down sweetie. Sit up straight for me."

The woman sits up with a slight assist from the man. He takes a look at how she is tied; he pulls at the ropes and says, "Very nice. Not too tight. Not too loose. Looking good."

Then he unties the knot in the gag and unwinds it out or her mouth.

The woman exclaims, "Haaaa. Wow thanks. Umm."

The man draps the gag over the back of the couch and goes to the chair, sits down, leans back and picks up the vodka. The woman looks at him with a quizzical stare.

She waits until he has loudly chugged a few swallows and put down the bottle, "Offer me a drink."

Man: "You want some of this?"

Woman: "Obviously."

He laughs and goes back over to her and helps her with a few swallows. She nods her head, he takes the bottle away and then she leans back against the couch; again a little sideways to give her tied up hands some room. She signs loudly and tosses her head to get her hair in some kind of order. She points her bound stocking feet and rubs them on the floor a little.

The man takes a seat again. They look at each other for a minute, more or less expressionless.

The man looks at her driver's license: "So it says here that your name is Elizabeth. Mind if I call you Lizzie?"

Woman: "Yes I do. My name is Betsy if you don't mind."

Man: "Ha ha. Betsy. Cool. Full disclaimer: I know who you really are. I know your full name. I know where you live. I know what you do. I know your cover. It's no big deal though. I'll take you at face value. No sense muddying those waters."

Betsy looks at him with mild alarm, but then her face becomes inscrutable. Her body gives her away a bit by forgetting it's tied, resulting in a slight spasm of struggling.

Man: "I saw that. Hey, have you given any thought to the question I asked you?"

Betsy: "I gave deep consideration to your query. I gave it top priority."

Man: "And..."

Betsy: "If we become friends I'll be happy to discuss it at length. It sounds perverted to me."

Man: "Like I said. I am your total BFF. I'll grow on you. Believe me."

Betsy: "What are you even doing here? Who the hell are you? What's your stupid name? Do you have any idea how unsafe it is in here? For you? Obviously for me."

The man appears not to be listening. He is looking around the room: "This is an old, old building for sure. Man. It's a wonderment that such a big building is just sitting here entirely empty. You can call me Steve. It's a fake name. I'm here because you are here. I'm here because I saw your new friends go out for a sandwich. Except for the one sitting at the end of the hall. He got all killed. The rest are having some drinks with their lunch."

As if if reminding himself of something Steve takes another pull of vodka. He helps Betsy to another also. He resumes his seat.

Steve: "Who am I you ask? I'll tell you if we become friends."

Betsy: "I'm guessing you know more or less what is supposed to happen then?"

Steve: "I know enough. Bad surprise for you though huh?"

Betsy: "I'm a little embarrassed about it. I'm trying to forget it."

Steve: "That's a tough one. Looking good though, I'll give you that."

Betsy: "Thank you. I think. The guy at the end of the hall. Was he the one with the leather suit coat and the comb-over."

Steve: "I believe so."

Betsy: "Mercy killing."

Steve: "Yeah. We do what we can. We'll need more vodka soon."

Betsy: "I'm getting a little impatient with you. You just sit there like you're just hanging around the bus station shooting the shit. You're here. What are you going to do?"

Betsy leans forward to deliver this tirade, and her body strains against the ropes to participate. This results in a bit of twisting and hand waving. Her feet pivot up on her heels and then make a little thumping noise as the hit the floor a couple of times. Then she angrily falls back into the couch. Her face is in a bit of a pout. Her feet are awkwardly splayed out and tapping up and down on the floor.

Steve: "I hear you. What am I doing? I am enjoying my work. Everything's going great. You just need to relax. From here on out you are along for the ride, and that's pretty much it. We'll be getting out of here pretty soon though. Just take a deep breath. Cop a chill. I am in control. Feeling loose."

Betsy: "Pffft. You're not growing on me. Hey. I'll bet you are a smoker."

Steve: "That is correct. You guessed that because I am a studly, badass guy like a cowboy, right?"

Betsy: "Well in that case, you don't mind if I have a smoke then?"

Steve flashes Betsy a warm lopsided grin. He gets up to rummage through the stuff on the desk. With her cigarettes in hand, he grabs the vodka and his pistol and sits next to her on the couch.

Betsy is still limply reclining against the back of the couch. Her only movement besides her eyes, is a restless figeting with her bound stocking feet. She gently pulls and pushes against the ropes much like women do when they are playing with their shoes. One of her shoes is now gripped by the toes of one foot, and she is sliding it around a little.

Steve helps her toBetsy a drink out of their bottle, and then he finishes it off. He lights one of her cigarettes and one of his and helps her smoke hers.

Betsy: "God I hate cigarettes."

Steve: "Yeah, they suck out loud."

Steve snubs the butts out on the window sill behind them and goes back to his chair. Betsy giggles.

Steve whispers: "Hush up."

He is now all business. He creeps to the door and pulls it open. He looks down the hall and then relaxes.

Steve: "There's a rat out there. That's all. Cute little fella."

Betsy: "Ugh."

Steve sits in the chair slowly rotating it back and forth looking at Betsy. The chair creaks and squeaks.

Steve: "Here's another question for you. Why haven't you asked me to untie you? You haven't said a word about it."

Betsy: "I was waiting for you to take the initiative; waiting for you to be a gentleman. I guess you're not one of those though, huh."

Steve: "So what you're telling me is you're eager to be gagged again."

Betsy: "You'd like a straight answer."

Steve: "If that's at all possible. Do your best, but don't make yourself pass out or anything."

Betsy: "I could tell the moment you first um... entered the room and looked at me, that, number one, you expected to find me; number two, that you were quite happy to see me all tied up. Like I still am. I want another cigarette. If you untied me I could smoke it myself."

Betsy struggles to move as if to demonstrate that she is indeed tied up if anyone would like to know.

Steve gets up to get her a cigarette, talking as he does so.

Steve: "You are a perceptive young lady. I was also happy to see what you look like. I've been interested in you for a quite awhile. I pretty much expected you to be kind of a bull dyke. But you're all girly and cute. You ain't scared at all though are you."

Betsy: "As a matter of fact, I'm a little scared to death. You should be too. Oh!! That's good. They ARE coming back you know."

Steve: "How'd you let them get the drop on you, and put the ropes on you?"

Betsy: "I'm fairly certain I was ratted out. Let me stress my earlier sentiment. We need to get out of here."

Steve: "Calm down. I'm not working alone today. If and when "They" come back, they won't even make it past the downstairs hall. But we will be leaving in a couple of hours."

Steve, still sitting on the couch next to Betsy, turns around and peers through the blinds to the street below.

Steve: "Nothing happening. Hang on, I'm gonna go talk to a guy real quick."

Steve grabs his pistol and takes of quickly down the hall. He leaves the door wide open.

Betsy struggles to her feet. She almost loses her balance, she sits down again and then stands again. She hops a couple of times experimentally, and then slowly hops to the side of the couch and wriggles her head beneath the blinds so she can see out the window. The camera switches to her point of view, and through the dusty window, she can see the street about four stories down. She immediately focuses on a man panhandling. We see though that the man is a large guy with a shaved head and sunglasses. An obvious tough guy.

The camera switches to viewing Betsy from behind. Her bound hands a flexing thoughtfully against the ropes. She is raising up and down slightly on her toes. She tosses the hair out of her eyes and hops to turn toward us.

Betsy carefully hops back from the window and looks around the room. She hops over to the desk, pausing to toss the hair out of her eyes a couple of times. She looks thoughtfully at all the stuff on the desk.

She sees a little flat penknife. With much difficulty she turns her back to the desk and fumbles for the knife. Finally grabbing it in two fingers, she then carefully, slowly slips it under her cloth belt near where her bound hands can reach it. She starts and almost falls when she hears the thumping of bootsteps in the hall.

Betsy hops quickly and with surprising grace back over to the couch. She doesn't have time to get back to her seat, so she just tosses her now extremely disheveled hair and stands near the couch as Steve wanders back in smoking a cigarette.

He glances at her, but seems to not really take much notice. Under one arm is a large laptop. He makes room for it on the desk, opens it and fires it up. He stands looking at it, taking a second to type in a password. The computer is facing the wrong way on the desk. Steve looks thoughtfully at all the junk on the desk. He turns the chair around so he can sit at the computer.

Betsy: "What are you doing?"

Steve: "Studying. What are YOU doing?"

Betsy, sweetly: "I just thought I would get up and move around a little."

Steve, mock offended: "Don't lie to me God Damn it. Mess with me and you'll find yourself hogtied naked."

Betsy: "I have to pee a little."

Steve: "Cool. Hang on a minute."

The computer seems all booted up and Steve opens something. Betsy sees that it's a live video image of the backdoor entrance to the building from a narrow alley.

Steve spins around in his chair and says, "Hop on over here."

Betsy looks a little nervous. She tentatively hops over to Steve.

Steve: "Turn around."

Betsy hops around so her back is to Steve.

Steve: "Stand still for a frisk... punk."

Betsy: "Tough talk. I'm just a little girl all tied up. Boo hoo."

Steve actually giggles. He runs his hands all over her. Under her dress, he pauses, "Ummmm Hmmmm!"

His hands emerge and he is holding a wicked looking little dagger. He throws it at the wall and it slams in point first with a healthy thump.

Betsy's face looks very nervous. She even bites her lip. She smiles a little when she sees the knife fly into the wall.

Steve bends down and unties her feet. Then he unties the rope holding her arms to her body, and finally unties her hands.

He carefully drapes the ropes on top of the desk so they are not tangled with each other.

Betsy stretches and gracefully walks around in circles.

Betsy: "Wheww."

Steve gets up and grabs her upper arm and gently, but firmly, marches her out the door, down the hall and into a fairly crappy-looking ladies room.

Betsy: "Ewwww. Do they even have the water on?"

Steve opens and closes a faucet which groans, but loudly spews out gobs of rusty looking water.

Steve: "Looking good. I'll stand here while you have a sit down in the stall. I'll make sure nobody grabs you and does anything to you."

Betsy: "Sigh. You are such a gentleman."

She goes in a stall and closes the door.

Betsy from the stall: "So am I free to go after this?"

Steve: "I'll let you know. We'll be hanging together for a couple of days maybe. No more."

Betsy: "This is a really bad first date."

She emerges from the stall and inspects herself in the mirror. With a finger she wipes off some lipstick where it was smeared on her face by the gag.

Betsy: "Better. Not great."

Steve tickles her ribs and guides her out the door, down the hall and back into the office.

Steve: "Drink, smoke? Have at it."

Betsy: "What a pleasant surprise. I kind of assumed I'd be roped up again. I think you like that."

Steve: "True, but it makes me feel great to be kind and gentle. But if you try anything at all; and I mean anything, I'm going to hogtie you naked on this gross floor where there are cooties and shit. Got it?"

Betsy: "No. You need to expand on that. Your meaning was too subtle."

Steve: "Quit goofing around. Drink this. Go sit on the couch. Don't fuck up."

Betsy laughs and goes to the couch. She wriggles her feet into her shoes and sits down. She lights a cigarette. She crosses her legs.

Steve rolls the chair over to the couch. He sits off to the side but facing Betsy. He puts his boots up on the arm of the couch and leans back. They pass the bottle back and forth. They smoke.

Betsy: "I'm almost afraid to ask, but what are you planning to do with me?"

Steve: "As I said, we'll keep you around for a couple of days maybe, and then we'll cut you loose. We're also going to cut you in on our fee. It's not your fault you had bad timing. We had to punk you on your job though. Our gallant rescue from amateur goons required some ad hoc team building. Alpha Team deployed."

Betsy: "So I've been snatched. I guess I'll be tied up a bunch, huh."

Steve: "That will be necessary from time to time. Can't have you running around doing stuff. We might get all killed."

Betsy: "You're afraid of me? Pffft. And you a big rough man."

Steve: "I respect your professional skills. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Betsy: "What if I promised to not try to escape; be a part of your team. A buddy. A pal."

Steve: "I like you a ton Betsy, but I need to trust you. Don't know you that well. Tied up you are definitely trustworthy. You'll meet one of the guys. She's a girl though. Apprentice in training."

Betsy: "Should I feel jealous?"

Steve: "I like the way you think sweetie, but that one's a bit of a hog for other girls. She's a looker though. She's a waif. We found her and took her home with us. She's grateful. A quick learner."

Betsy: "So I get paid for doing nothing."

Steve: "It's a professional courtesy. We would like to establish a mutual, if loose, affiliation with you, and we feel profoundly guilty that we saved a scumbag from you. We need him to do something before we send him to his reward. But everybody involved will be either dead or happy in the end. Your happiness is of major concern."

Betsy: "You've got a funny way of showing it. Obviously you don't want to kill me. What if I don't let you tie me up again?"

Steve: "We'll do it anyway... or I will to be perfectly accurate. All fighting it will get you is less comfort and you'll get your dress all messed up. Hair too. Unhappy girl. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

Betsy: "Speaking of a messed up dress, I'm don't really have a change of clothes. Two days might be a problem. Just thought I'd bring it up. Guess you can't keep me now."

Steve: "Hadn't thought of that. I kind of assumed kidnapped girls might have more important things on their minds. But we'll figure it out. We'll deploy Team Beta to find a viable solution. Maybe you could just take all your clothes off and be naked for two days. We could just take all your clothes away from you."

Betsy: "It's very strange being essentially helpless."

Steve: "Never been tied up before huh."

Betsy: "No. At first my body kept urgently wanting to do stuff. Get up and go, go, go. After awhile I got weirdly relaxed. Where's a God Damned ashtray?"

Steve reaches out, grabs her cigarette, snubs it out with is fingers and throws it on the floor.

Steve: "Care for a sip of the old infuriator my dear?"

Betsy takes a long pull on the vodka.

Betsy: "I feel like such a slut drinking out of the bottle. I feel naked too. Kinda sweaty. Gross. Guess I'll just go with the flow though. Don't expect any Damsel in Distress whining or begging though."

Steve: "Why naked?"

Betsy: "Oh you know. My body is sort of in your hands. I am NOT used to that. It makes me feel naked. I feel tied up just sitting here."

A long look passes between Steve and Betsy. Betsy's legs are crossed and she's dangling a shoe from her toes.

They both giggle and look away. Betsy shakes her head. She lights another cigarette.

Betsy: "Where are we going when we leave here."

Steve: "I have a place where I live. I work from home."

Betsy: "Do you throw cigarette butts on the floor there?"

Steve: "I'd like to, but I can't quite work myself up to it. I even drink out of a glass at home. That's one reason I like going out on a job so much. I get to channel my inner 12-year-old."

Betsy: "Why is that such a sinister thought?"

Steve: "I am a sinister guy. It's an asset in our business to be seen as a predator. How do you work around the fact that you don't project a menacing aura? Do you count on people underestimating you?"

Betsy: "I don't worry about it. It's not like we're going into the boxing ring or having a fair fight with knives or whatever. If you kill the ones that need to be killed, then you are fine. Of course today I have not been fine, but you take the breaks. I guess I sort of got rescued. But that was out of my hands too. I just sat here like a girl. Which I am, but you know."

Steve: "Yeah. Hey, let's make a list of the junk you might need, and I'll give it to our professional shopper."

Betsy starts to get up.

Steve: "Uh uh. Stay put. Ask before you get up. I mean that. Ask."

Betsy sits back down with a little smile on her face: "Fuck you."

Steve: "No. Fuck YOU."

Steve fishes a pen out of his shirt pocket and a business card from his wallet. He gives them to Betsy.

Steve: "This will come out of your end. Consider it your expense account report. Keep in under 200 items. No weapons allowed."

Betsy: "So unreasonable. Such a dick."

She writes for a while and hands Steve the card.

Steve: "Pen. Now."

She hands him the pen.

Without looking at it, Steve puts the card in his pocket.

Steve: "Have another cigarette. Take a nice big drink."

Betsy: "About that time, huh."

Steve: "Maybe."

Steve swivels around to look at the computer, but also sits a little sideways to he can see Betsy off to the side.

Betsy: "Are we gonna see?"

Steve: "Yes. Question. If you enter a room and there's a guy you want to kill, up close now. What do you do?"

Betsy: "One to the chest, one to the head. Then finish off if needed."

Steve: "Why that order?"

Betsy: "One to the chest because you can't miss. Then to the head to be sure, but if you miss, so what probably. I don't do what you said much though. Maybe twice total. And I can't kick down a door either. That was damned awesome when you did it."

Steve: "I must admit, I enjoy my work most of the time."

On the computer they watch as a woman faces the camera and flashes four fingers; then five fingers. Then she disappears.

Steve gets up and selects a length of rope. While he's walking over to Betsy he says: "Stand up, stand up."

Betsy sighs, wriggles her heel into her dangled shoe, stands up, turns around and crosses her wrists behind her back.

Steve: "That's what we like to see. Cheerful compliance. Acceptance of our plight."

Betsy: "Please top rubbing it in you goon."

Steve swiftly, efficiently ties Betsy's hands together behind her back; wrists crossed and rope cinched between. Then he goes back to the desk to check the screen.

Betsy stands and thoughtfully works her hands in the ropes. She pulls her hands to her side where she can look down and see them. She wriggles her fingers, she pouts, then relaxes, and clicks over to watch the screen with Steve.

Betsy: "I wish I'd thought to put my hair in a ponytail before you tied my hands. It's gonna drive me nuts."

Steve: "I'll do it. Where's the thing?"

Betsy: "The "thing?" It's right there on the desk. There. To the right."

Steve gathers Betsy's hair and more or less competently makes her hair into a nice ponytail high up on her head.

Betsy shakes her head to feel it.

Betsy: "I would have done it low on the neck."

Steve: "But you aren't able to do that stuff because your hands are all tied up. Quit whining. I'm a nice guy. Until I came along you were in deep shit. Now it's all cool."

Betsy looking at the screen: "Look at that. They're drunk."

Four men enter the hallway on the computer screen. They are shoving each other and laughing. Then suddenly they all four simultaneously fall to the floor. There are bloodstains everywhere. A man walks among them shooting each in the head. He then turns to the camera and flashes a fist pump. Then two men join him and they leave out of the door.

Steve closes the laptop. He motions Betsy to go sit on the couch. She does so.

Steve hits a number on a cell phone.

Steve: "Yeah little buddy. Come on up here and grab everything you see that's not furniture. Right. Throw it in the van. They'll be another package in there waiting for you. I'll follow you most of the way, but I have to stop for a minute. See you then. Start dating redheaded boys. Fuck you too."

Steve looks at Betsy grinning, "Kids these days."

Steve sits on the floor and ties Betsy's feet together. She leans over and watches.

With the longest rope, Steve then sits next to Betsy, makes her turn her back to him and he ties her arms just above the elbows. He doesn't make her elbows touch, but they are drawn more sharply behind her than before. He doesn't wrap any of the rope around her body, but he does leave a longish rope dangling behind her back after the knot is tied.

Steve: "Open up."

Betsy, understanding immediately: "What? Why? It's all wet."

Steve: "Are you ticklish?"

Betsy opens wide and Steve gags her with thick wrappings between her teeth and the knot tightly tied behind her head.

Betsy, greatly muffled: "Bamm oo, oo phom uph uh vish!"

Steve: "Hey fuck it sweetie, you looking GOOD!!"

At that moment a girl in her early-20s glides into the room. She is carrying a large tote bag.

She is about 5 ft. 8 in. and has the body of a dancer. Her face is sweet and pale. She has large blue eyes. Her hair is almost black and is cut in a cute pageboy, but without bangs; just parted in the middle. Her demeanor is apathetic.

She is dressed in a simple, flowing print dress that's mostly blue and white; ending just below her knees. She has on sheer white stockings and very low-cut, simple, black leather flats, and incongruously a short, black leather jacket.

When she sees Betsy she stares for a moment: "Hi. Bet you're relieved huh."

Betsy rolls her eyes and wriggles in the ropes involuntarily.

Steve: "Betsy, meet Caroline. We call her Deedee. Caroline, Betsy. No time for girlish chit chat."

Deedee: "Hi. All this stuff?"

Steve: "Everything."

Deedee: "Sure thing bossy man."

Steve picks up Betsy and draps her over his shoulder; her head facing his back. She emits a surprised, incoherent protest.

Steve marches out of the door, down the hall, down four flights of stairs with Betsy trying to talk or grunt or squeal. They head for the back door of the building past the bodies of the Betsy's kidnappers. They emerge into an alley where there is parked a van.

Steve places Betsy in the van. He pulls her legs up behind her and with the length of rope he had left hanging from her elbows, he threads and ties it to the rope binding her hands and then attaches the end to the rope binding her feet. She is in a loose hogtie now with her legs bent at about right angles.

Steve: "Sorry to treat you like baggage sweetie. Ha ha, well not too sorry. Relax. You can spend some time with Deedee.

Betsy: "Ah aph oo vuphs."

Steve: "I know. We'll make it all better."

He shoves her on her side and shuts the van door. He looks around and heads for a black BMW parked in the alley. He sits and waits.

Deedee emerges from the building carrying the large, and now heavy, tote. She has on Steve's long overcoat. It makes her look like a deranged monk. Deedee flings the bag into the back of the van next to a struggling Betsy. We see that she has lost a shoe. Then Deedee hops in the driver's seat and takes off down the alley.

(C) Rayron D’Olier, 2013







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