Best Laid Plans

Best Laid Plans…

It seemed like a great idea at the time, but now Brian felt like an idiot.  No, worse than an idiot.  He felt like an impulsive child, and that feeling embarrassed him more than any feelings of being labeled an idiot.  As the van drove away and left him by his SUV on the side of the interstate, Brian thought about what led him to this embarrassing place.

Brian Hunter was a 27-year-old police detective, who was currently assigned to the Missing Persons Unit in the Jacksonville Police Department in Jacksonville, Florida.  He joined the agency after he graduated from the University of North Florida with a degree in Criminal Justice and a minor in Psychology.  Brian was also a three-sport player all four years while at school, playing baseball, basketball and on the swim team.

Brian had been with the PD for six years, and he had recently discovered a string of disappearances that he believed were related.  Seven young men, all in their twenties or early thirties, had gone missing over the past two years and had not been seen since.  All were last seen or know to be located near Interstate 95, which ran through the east side of the city.  Brian was convinced there was a serial killer hunting in their city, and he brought his theory to his sergeant and lieutenant.  He was all but laughed out of the office.  

They not only did not agree with his findings, but they said there was not a shred of evidence linking the disappearances.  They said he had read one too many bad detective novels, his emotions had clouded his professional judgement and he was going to cause a panic if he was allowed to publicly voice his theory to the public or media.  

Brian protested and asked that they develop an undercover deployment to see if they could get a suspect to nibble at some bait.  His bosses denied his request.  They said they would not approve overtime for his “hair-brained schemes”.  When he said he would do it for free and would not put in for overtime, this was when his sergeant and lieutenant started to get angry at his persistence.  He was ordered to drop the matter in no uncertain terms.

Of course, Brian Hunter did not drop the matter.  He devised his own plan to see if he could make the suspect, that Brian was positive was hunting in Jacksonville, show himself.  He knew that all the previous men had gone missing between 7 pm and 3 am, all were last seen either driving on I-95 or stopped near an on ramp and none of their vehicle had ever been recovered as well.

Brian devised a plan to park his vehicle, a 2020 Jeep Cherokee SUV, on the side of the road with the hood up.  He would stand outside the SUV so people passing by would see the occupant was a young man and alone.  He would, of course, have his service weapon concealed just in case his theory proved to be true and the bad actor showed up looking to add to his collection.

Brian picked a Friday evening for his deployment because he would not have to get up early the next morning and the traffic would be relatively heavy and steady all evening.  Brian was a very attractive man and he was aware of this fact. He was six feet tall with an athletic frame and thick wavy brown hair that he kept cropped short.  Brian knew from many of his psychology courses in college, that most serial killers’ homicidal drives were related to a sexual perversion, Brian decided to dress the part.  He dressed in a form fitting white t-shirt, a denim jacket that was a little snug, dark blue jeans that were extremely tight and brown ankle-high boots.  In the small of his back, he concealed his Glock 43 – a compact, seven-shot, 9mm handgun.  In the cab of his SUV, he had his police ID, badge, spare ammo magazines and handcuffs in a backpack.

He figured it might take a while, so he packed a cooler in the rear of the Cherokee filled with water, Gatorade and a few power bars.  He parked the SUV in the center of the area all the men were last seen, opened the engine hood, put on the flashers and stood outside in plain view of anyone who drove by.

At midnight.  Brian had been there for almost five hours, and he thought he had met every oddball traveling on I-95 except his phantom serial killer!  At least ten vehicles had stopped to check on him.  Three state troopers, a slimy road ranger who seemed more interested in his boots than his broken down SUV and every guy who was not driving with his wife at that moment in time.  No women stopped, which did not surprise Brian in the least.  Most of the guys just asked if they could be of assistance but a few were pure lecherous! Unfortunately, none were more than guys with overactive imaginations or pictured themselves a good Samaritan.  A couple were hoping for a roadside hookup and/or fantasy fulfilled, but Brian did not get a vibe from them that told him they were the guy he was looking for.  He let them know his girlfriend was on her way to get him or that Triple A was responding, and most left without much urging.  A few needed to be told several times that he had help coming.  He had even gotten three phone numbers “just in case you change your mind….”

Brian was starting to realize why his supervisors had denied his request and thought his idea of a serial killer was fanciful.  He knew they were right.  He knew he had let his imagination and his emotions get the better of him.  He started to close the engine hood when a panel van pulled in directly behind his SUV.  The van had pervert written all over it and Brian’s senses went into overdrive.  The drivers’ door opened and the driver stepped out.

He was a large man – over six-feet tall and well over 200 pounds.  He was wearing a blue work shirt and pants with stained work boots.  His hair was shoulder length and dirty and his beard was unkept.  Brian knew that this had to be his guy!

“You okay, mister?” the big guy asked as he slowly approached Brian.

Brian bladed his body to the man and got ready to draw his pistol if needed.  “Yes, thank you,” he said.  “My truck just died.  I have Triple A coming.  Should be here soon.”

He nodded and looked at his watch and then at Brian.  “I can take a look at it if you want.”

Brian feigned looking at his watch and said, “Thank you but Triple A should be here soon.  I appreciate it.”

The man nodded and turned around.  “Suit yourself, pal.  Have a good weekend.”

He walked toward the open driver’s door of the van, and Brian kept expecting him to turn around suddenly and abruptly attack, but the big guy ambled up into the driver’s seat, closed the door and pulled into traffic.

Now here was Brian.  Watching the van pull into traffic and feeling childish and idiotic beyond words.  What the hell was I thinking?!?!? He thought.  

Brian decided right then and there that he was done with this Law & Order: SVU bullshit!  He was going home and was going to lock himself in his apartment for the weekend and drink a bottle of whiskey!  Angry beyond words at his own immaturity and stupidity, Brian spun around, intent on slamming the hood down and getting out of there as quickly as humanly possible with what little of his dignity he had left intact, and was staring eye to eye with a thin man in a yellow safety jacket.  It was the slimy Road Ranger guy who kept gawking at his boots hours ago.

Brian was so startled by his sudden appearance that he gasped and jumped back.  His right hand instinctively went to his chest and he uttered, “God dammit, man!  You scared the shit out of me!”

When the Road Ranger’s right hand extended toward Brian’s head, Brian noticed he was holding a small container.  The Road Ranger depressed the button and liquid sprayed into Brian’s eyes and on his face.  The pepper spray forced Brian’s eyes to shut tight and his face burned.  He unconsciously covered his face with his hands and tried to open his eyes.  Pain flashed through his orbital sockets and he was forced to keep his eyes tightly shut.

Before Brian could react, he was punched hard in the solar plexus, forcing all the air from his lungs instantly.  He collapsed to his knees and was immediately grabbed by the back of his neck and forced him face first into the grass beside his SUV.  His head impacted with the ground and he saw stars behind his shut eyelids.  

The man straddled him by sitting on the small of his back – directly on top of the concealed pistol in his waistband.  Though the pepper spray, the gut punch and the impact of his head to the ground had seriously dazed him, he reached his right hand back to attempt to retrieve the handgun.  His wrist was grabbed, something encircled his wrist and he heard a zipping sound and felt something tightly enclose his wrist.

Oh shit!, he thought.  Plastic handcuffs, flexcuffs, zipties!  This guy is trying to restrain me!!!

His right arm was immobile and held rigid by the plastic restraint around his wrist and was held away to his rear end.  He knew he needed to get that pistol, so he reached his left hand back toward the small of his back to try and get the weapon.  Brian tried in vain to get his left hand under his t-shirt and jacket and under the man’s rump to grab the handle of the Glock, but that wrist was quickly rung by a plastic loop.  A zipping sound echoed in Brian’s ears and then his left wrist was painfully and forcefully secured.

In desperation, he yanked at the plastic zipties securing his wrists, but they were torqued down excruciatingly snug and he knew he could not free himself.  He also knew he was not only right about a predator hunting in this area, but that he was in serious trouble because he was the guy’s next victim.

He felt the man nimbly spun around, grabbed both of Brian’s feet and pulled them up toward his rump.  Then, again, that loud zipping sound as his ankles were tightly bound together.  The flexcuff was just above the top of the low boots and dug painfully into his legs just above the ankles.  Brian pulled his legs apart, but his feet were wrenched firmly together.  His ankles were now as incapacitated as his wrists.  

Then the man spun around again, facing Brian’s head.  A finger went into each of Brian’s nostrils and pulled upward.  Brian yelled in pain as a large wad of cloth was forcefully shoved into his mouth.  Next, Brian felt what he thought was tape being wrapped over his mouth and around his lower headseveral times, effectively gagging him.  Then he heard the tape rip off the roll again, and he covered his burning, locked-down, closed eyes with a strip.

“Just to be sure,” he heard him muttered, more to himself than to Brian.

Brian then felt the man scoot himself down to where he was sitting on Brian’s lower butt cheeks and lifted up the hem of his t-shirt and jacket.  The Glock was plucked out of his waistband and Brian realized this thing had gone from bad to worse.

“I was wondering what you had there, young man,” he said playfully.  “Pretty boys like you shouldn’t play with guns.  It’s undignified and rude, if you ask me.”

The man finally got off Brian’s rump and walked away.  It was hard to determine his location, with his eyes blinded by pepper spray and taped over and the traffic noise from passing cars, but he thought he went toward the rear of the Cherokee.  The traffic has lightened up since Brian first arrived around 7 pm, but there was still a steady flow.  Maybe someone saw the commotion and called 911, but then what little hope Brian had deflated.  He knew that what had happened was shielded from anyone driving along the interstate by his Cherokee.

He thought he heard the hatchback to the Cherokee open, and then the man was back at his side.  A few moments went by as nothing happened, but then the man grabbed Brian, pulled him to his feet and placed his bound form over his shoulder.  He walked quickly and he was dumped in what he realized was the open rear compartment of his SUV.

His ziptied ankles were bent back toward his fanny, and he felt the man lace something between the plastic strap around his bound feet.  Then his secured wrists were also pulled back and that infernal zipping sound as his ankles and hands were hogtied together with another ziptie.  He then heard the retractable rear cargo area cover shade being pulled forward and locked into place.  Brian knew this would ensure people in a large truck or semi would not be able to see him if they passed by close enough to view the rear cargo area of the Cherokee.  Then the hatchback door slammed shut.

Brian heard what he was figured was the engine hood being slammed shut.  Then he heard what he assumed was the door to the driver’s seat open and slam shut.  After a few moments, the vehicle rumbled to life.  His Cherokee had a push start, and his key fob was in his backpack which was currently sitting on the front passenger seat.  All this crazy bastard had to do was push the starter button and they were off to the races.  He felt the vehicle pull off the shoulder and into traffic.

Brian’s face was still burning from the douse of pepper spray he had taken to the face and eyes, but that discomfort was secondary to the anxiety that now overwhelmed him.  He struggled briefly to free himself, but this guy had wrenched the zipties so damn tight, there was no possible way he could slip free.

He rolled onto his side in an attempt to elivate the intense pain in his wrists and shoulders and bumped into the cooler he had packed.  He thought that maybe there was something inside that would help him get loose, but that optimism quickly diminished when he realized only plastic bottles, foil wrapped power bars and ice were contained inside.

Just beneath the fear that he fought to keep in check, unless it entirely consumed him, he chastised his own stupidity.  Not just on trying this unsanctioned, one-person police deployment against his supervisors’ orders, but how he reacted during the incident on the side of the road.  His mind was on other things when he spun around and came face to face with the Road Ranger guy.  He had startled his so badly that he had forgotten all his training and the situation he had put himself into.  Instead of going for his pistol, he had gasped and jumped in surprise.  He never realized what the pepper spray canister was until he was already sprayed.  Then before Brian knew it, he was completely immobilized.  He had not realized his hands were bound securely behind his back until the deed was done and the guy had already secured his ankles.  His face and eyes were on fire when the man pulled his nose painfully and the rag was shoved into his mouth.  After the tape completing the gag and blindfold were applied, Brian was completely inert and trying to catch his breath, when the man picked him up and tossed him in the rear compartment of his Cherokee and hogtied him.  The entire incident took less than five minutes when he first saw the Road Ranger to when Brian was hogtied in the rear of his vehicle.

His wrists were cut and chaffed where the tight plastic bands were biting into his wrists.  His ankles were saved from that because they were applied over his socks, but the soft cotton sock offered little protection between the zipties and his skin.  Unless he got a knife or scissors or someone came to his rescue, Brian knew for certain that he could not escape his bondage.

The gag was effective in its simplicity.  The only sounds that he could manager were “mmmppfff” and grunts.  More noise came from his nostrils as he attempted to breathe through his stuffy nose and the heavy residue fumes of pepper spray.  His blindfold, tape over the eyes, was grossly effective but unnecessary considering he had not been able to open his eyes since the pepper spray was applied.  Any attempt to crack his eyes open in the slightest was met with an intense burning pain like molten pins and needles being stuck in his eyes.  And because of his training with pepper spray, he knew his eyes would be locked down for at least an hour.

The Road Ranger guy?  He was the second person to stop at Brian’s faux disabled Cherokee.  He was a creep, but Brian never got the vibe that he was a danger to him.  He did not appear well built or strong.  He was at least two inches shorter than Brian, and he had a thin frame.  Yeah, he continually staired at his boots like a weirdo, but he was not the only person to look at him oddly.  Hell, two of the three state troopers who had stopped practically had undressed Brian with their eyes!  But he never thought this man was a threat.  He sized him up and figured he could easily take him one on one if necessary.  He easily dismissed him, but the guy had easily tossed him over his shoulder and carried him to the cargo compartment of his SUV.  And now Brian was hogied and gagged in the back of the Cherokee going to God only knows where with this mad man and no one would miss Brian for at least 48 hours.

After a long while, at least an hour, but probably more Brian surmised, the pepper spray went from an intense burn to a mild pain.  Like a minor sunburn.  His eyes no longer greeted him with fiery pain when he attempted to open them, but the tape made sure he could not see anything regardless.  Brian had stopped struggling long before the burn on his face waned because his wrists were in pure agony.  The plastic restraints were applied so tight that his hands had gone completely numb after only fifteen minutes in the hogtie.

He could tell by the Road Ranger’s driving, that they had finally pulled off the interstate and were traveling on local roads.  Then, after at least thirty more minutes, the road appeared to go from level and paved to unpaved with a noticeable incline.  Brian could not think of any place in Jacksonville, except for the numerous bridges, that had such a conspicuous ascent.  This ramped up Brian’s anxiety even more because he had no idea where the man had taken him, but they were nowhere nearJacksonville.

After at least another fifteen minutes on this unpaved and gradual ascent, the Cherokee finally stopped and the engine shut off.  He heard the driver’s door open and shut and then the hatchback opened and the cargo cover was moved back revealing Brian in all his glory.  At first nothing happened.  Brian pictured the guy just staring at his bound body and taking it all in.

Then the ziptie that had Brian in the hogtie was cut away, and his bound ankles flopped to the floor of the cargo area.  Brian moaned in relief and some of the discomfort he had been enduring had dissipated slightly.  Before he could do anything else, his bound ankles were grabbed and he was dragged out of the open hatch.  He was quickly and roughly flopped over the Road Ranger’s shoulder, as he heard the hatchback door slam closed and they started walking somewhere.

The Road Ranger said as he began to walk, “Please don’t give me any trouble unless you want more pepper spray and to get body slammed on the hard ground.”

Brian had thought about kicking but he was physically spent, stiff and sore.  Also, he knew he could not defend himself appropriately in his current predicament.  He needed to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to exploit an opening – assuming his captor would mistakenly give him that opening…

He felt himself being carried around on what seemed like uneven terrain, but then he heard a door squeak open on its rusty hinges.  The man carried him inside, and Brian heard the door close behind them.  He was walking on what sounded like a wooden floor.  Then they stopped, and he heard what sounded like three locks disengaging.  Then the sound of another door with rusty hinges opened.  Next, he was being carried down a flight a creaky stair.  Brian lost count of the steps after the tenth one but soon they were on level ground and the man carried him forward several paces and stopped.  After a few seconds, he heard what sounded like a steel cell door opening.  They walked forward and the cell door sound occurred again.  As if the door was now closing shut behind them.  While trying to process what was happening, Brian was gently placed in what felt like a plush, comfortable chair.

Scissors then cut away the tape that encircled his lower face and the wad of cloth was pulled from his mouth.  Immediately, a bottle was placed to his lips, and Brian drank the cold water greedily.  When the bottle quickly emptied, it was pulled from his lips and the tape was ripped from over his eyes.  The light was dim, so he did not have to wait for his eyes to become adjusted to the light.  He looked at the Road Ranger, who took a seat opposite him about ten feet away.

He was still dressed in is Road Ranger yellow reflective safety windbreaker and work pants.  He had a sardonic grin on his face.  Brian looked away from him and around the room.  He was in a 12x12 room with concrete floors and cinderblock walls.  The ceiling appeared to be wooden – possibly railroad ties – and there were no windows.  A single dim light fixture was inset into the ceiling and the two chairs were the only furniture in the room.  To his left, Brian saw a steel prison-type sliding cell door and behind that he could see the wooden steps that the man had apparently taken them down upon their arrival.  The cell door had a numeric key pad attached.  Brian would need the combination if he was to get through that door.

He looked back at his captor, who still sported the smile.  At the Road Ranger’s feet, Brian spied his backpack, which had been sitting on the front passenger seat of his Cherokee. Without looking at it, the man reached down and picked it up by one of the straps and placed it in his lap.  He saw a roll of black duct tape on the floor which had been concealed by his pack.

Brian was beyond frightened, but he tried his best to sound confident when he said, “You need to think hard about what you’re doing and let me go.  When the police get here, you want me to be able to say you had a change of heart and were not planning on hurting me.”

The man put his hand up like a traffic cop stopping oncoming vehicles.  Brian stopped talking because the gesture just seemed so out of place.

He cleared his throat and said, “I took the gag off so we could chat and you could get some water, but do not mistake my kindness for weakness or stupidity.”

“I don’t think you’re being weak or stupid…” Brian blurted.

He held up his hand again in that stop gesture, and Brianfell silent.

“I want to chat with you,” he said. “and you’re going to answer several questions.  Truthfully, I might add.  If you start to bother me with dumb, inane questions or you get belligerent, I’m going to gag you again.  Am I making myself clear?”

Brian sighed a ragged breath that he hoped did not show how scared he actually was, and then he nodded.

He smiled again.  “Excellent.  First, the police will not be coming to your rescue.  No one saw me take you and I destroyed your cell phone and threw it out the window right after we drove off.  There’s no way anyone can track you.”

Brian had not even thought about his cell phone, but apparently this man had.  The fear was building within him and it took all his will power to hold it together.  

The man continued, “I had the chance while we were enjoying our leisurely drive here to peruse through your backpack.  I found a lot of interesting tidbits in there about you, Mister Brian Michael Hunter.  That’s the name on your driver license.  That is correct, is it not?”

Brian nodded again.

“Your license was, as you know, in your wallet,” he said.  “Beside your keys and some personal items, I pulled out a pair of shinny mettle handcuffs.”

He reached into the backpack and pulled out the silver handcuffs.  He looked at them like they were the most amusing thing he had seen all day.

“I thought I had a kinky one on my hands,” The man said with a mischievous grin.  “Maybe I would have one who would thoroughly enjoy the fun times we were about to have together, because, unfortunately, most do not enjoy what happens here other than me.”

Brian swallowed hard involuntarily.

“I love the hinge-style cuffs,” he continued.  “As long as you place the keyhole facing away from the fingers, there’s no possible way someone can get them off.  Even if you have the keys, and your handcuff key is on your key ring.  Still, if you have one hidden on your person – and if you do, I will find it shortly – you still won’t be able to get them off without some assistance.”

“Mister,” Brian said in a voice that even sounded frightened to him, “you’re going to…”

The man shushed Brian and glanced at the duct tape at his feet.  “Do I need to gag you again?”

Brian shook his head.

“Good,” the Road Ranger said.  “Anyway, I figured you were just a kinky boy until I came across this.”

He placed the handcuffs back in the backpack and pulled out a billfold and opened it.  Inside was Brian’s police department ID card and his badge.

“I apologize for calling you Mister earlier,” he said.  “You are Detective Brian Michael Hunter of the Jacksonville Police Department.  Are you not?”

Brian averted his eyes as he nodded again.

He laughed.  “When I saw the badge, I started looking in the rearview mirror expecting to see blue lights as the police cruisers closed in…but nothing.  You apparently had no back up. You were out there alone.  By yourself.  Why?”

Brian pulled at his ziptied wrists involuntarily and then answered, “My Cherokee just stopped and…”

His hand went up again.  “I did say I wanted the truth, did I not?”

Brian nodded nervously.

“Let me tell you what I know for a fact, Detective Brian Hunter,” he said.  “I saw you this evening on the side of the road and knew I had to at least try to make you my newest toy.  I might have tried to grab you right then, but that muscle headed trooper showed up and was too busy checking you out.  He dismissed me and made sure I was leaving.”

Brian remembered the encounter.  He had never thought this guy would have tried to assault him.  He gave off creepy vibes for sure, but he was not an imposing figure.  The trooper had seemed much worse. That trooper had been flaunting his sexuality and was more interested in getting a date instead of helping a stranded motorist.

“Still, I kept driving by to see if you had any assistance show up,” he said, “but no one ever showed up.  I contacted Triple A to see if a request had been made by someone at your location, but they had no record of a request.  No girlfriend showed up even after several hours.  I mean, how long does it take a girlfriend to arrive on the side of the road to assist her stranded lover?

“And I knew the SUV was running,” he said.  “Twice when I went by, I saw you sitting in the driver’s seat with the doors closed and all the windows up.  I assumed you were getting some air conditioning.  So, I knew the Cherokee wasn’t disabled, and I knew you were intentionally out there for hours.  I even parked my work truck at the lot and caught a ride nearby where I watched you from the tree line.  I saw you start the SUV up at least once while I waited.  I figured that you just wanted to meet me.”

Brian had no idea what to say.  He stammered, “I…I just…my car…”

His hand went up again and Brian fell silent.

“I was making my way toward you when that panel van stopped,” he said.  “You should’ve accepted his help, Detective Brian Hunter.  I was able to sneak right up on you with my little bag of supplies, and here we both are.”

Brian pulled at his restrained wrists again and stammered, “Please….”

He dropped his billfold into the backpack and pulled the compact 9mm from the front of his waistband.  He held it up to Brian and said, “You put this in the wrong place, didn’t you?”

Brian just stared at his pistol thinking about what the man just said.

“If you had it hidden in the front of your pants, this might have ended completely different,” the man said with a giggle.  “Unfortunately, I sat right on the gun and you, while groping for it, actually placed your hands right in the cable ties that I was trying to get around your wrist!  I honestly thought it would be somewhat difficult securing your wrists.  I mean, you’re not a small guy and in decent shape, but you were the easiest person I had ever bound their wrists while struggling. It’s like you wanted to be bound inescapably and taken by me…”

Brian shook his head side to side and cursed his stupidity.

 He leaned forward, as he placed the Glock back into his waistband, and said, “But my one question is why were you out there all alone?  Why did you intentionally park along the interstate and wait when there was no reason to do such a thing?”

Brian closed his eyes and tried to formulate his words.  Then it came bubbling forth in an unstoppable tsunami.  He told his captor everything.  He told him about the theory he had developed and when no one would believe him, he decided to take matters into his own hands.  At the end, Brian hung his head in defeat and tried his best not to start sobbing.

“Well, Detective Brian Hunter,” he said after a long silence, “I’m impressed with your deductive reasoning, but there have been more than seven men over that time span.”

Brian’s head snapped up.

He smiled.  “Far more.”

“What did you do with them?” he yelled.  “What are you gonna do with me?”

As Brian’s pent up fear and anxiety finally forced itself to the surface, he began pulling violently at wrists and tried to twist his booted ankles free of the ziptie, but all to no avail.  The man removed the handcuffs from the backpack, placed the pack back on the ground and picked up the roll of black duct tape.  He walked toward the struggling police detective, but Brian did not notice his approach because he was in full panic mode trying to get free.  

The man straddled Brian’s lap as he grabbed the damp wad of cloth off the floor.  He shoved the cloth back into Brian’smouth and wrapped the tape around his mouth, efficiently gagging him again.

Brian was begging the man to release him.  He was promising he would not tell a soul of what had happened, but nothing he said could be understood.  The man grabbed his face in his hands, kissed Brian on the lips over the duct tape and leaned into his right ear.

“I want you to stand up, Brian,” he whispered tenderly.

The man got off his lap and grabbed him by the right bicep.  He pulled Brian to his feet.  The man studied his for a few moments before saying, “I love your outfit, Detective Hunter, but I’ll need to remove your jacket.  I would like a better look at my new toy.”

He dropped the roll of duct tape on the chair and removed the denim jacket from Brian’s shoulders.  He pushed the thin jacket to where the zipties had Brian’s hands secured.  He gently spun Brian around and snapped the silver handcuffs on Brian’s wrists, just above where the jacket was bunched.  He then removed a set of shears from his work pants and cut away the ziptie.  The jacket fell to the floor, as the man tightened the cuffs to ensure Brian could not pull his hands free.  

Relief was intense and immediate as blood flow returned in a somewhat normal fashion to Brian’s hands.  He moaned in relief now that the zipties were finally cut away.

The Road Ranger stepped back and admired Brian from different angles.  He slowly whistled and said, “I love the outfit you chose for me.  It’s very sexy and complementary to your gorgeous physique.  You might be the most beautiful toy I’ve ever acquired.  That shirt suits you well, and so do those ridiculously tight jeans you are wearing.”

He tried to plead with him but nothing coming from his gagged mouth was decipherable.  

“You know,” he continued, “I normally remove my new toy’s shoes as soon as I get them here, but I must confess.  I have somewhat of a boot fetish and those boots look so good on you.  I think I’ll let you keep them for a little while.

“And, in case you’re wondering,” he said, “your handcuffs were placed on you with the keyhole facing away from your fingers.  You’re not getting them off even if you have a key somewhere hidden on you person.”

Brian’s eyes were wide with fear.

“I know you’re scared, Brian,” he whispered.  “No shame in that.  I feel terrible for you, but I’m willing to make a deal.  Are you interested?”

Brian stared wide-eyed and nodded.

“My dungeon, so to speak,” he said. “has one escape route.  It’s not easy to find but it’s there.  I’ll give you fifteen minutes.  If you find it, I’ll let you go.  No strings attached.”

Brian nodded vehemently.

The man smiled again.  “Excellent.”

He stepped toward Brian and knelt at his feet.  He removed the shears from his pocket again and cut away the ziptie around Brian’s ankles.  He stood up and checked his watch.

“You have fifteen minutes,” he said.  “Good luck.”

Brian ran unsteadily through the only other doorway in this room and entered a gloomy hallway that went forward approximately fifty feet.  There were two closed doors on the right side and one on the left, and an arched opening farther down on the left.  He quickly made his way to the closest door on the right side.

The door appeared to be made of sturdy wood, and there was no knob.  Only a deadbolt low and high on the door.  Brian knelt down with his back against the door and was able to disengage the lock.  He stood up and bent over in an attempt to reach the lock which was situated higher.  His cuffed wrists were just short of the deadbolt.  Brian grunted in frustration and tried to lean on the door with his rump and get on his toes.  

That’s when someone started banging on the door from the other side and a man yelled in a frantic voice, “LET ME OUT!!!!!  PLEASE, JUST LET ME OUT!!!!  I WON’T TELL ANYONE, I SWARE TO GOD!!!!”

Brian lost his balance and fell to the concrete floor.  He stared wide eyed at the door as the man on the other side beat on it and begged for his release.

The Road Ranger appeared in front of Brian.  He bent over, reengaged the deadbolt Brian had unlocked and turned toward him.  “Another of my toys.  He’s very dramatic, but don’t worry.  You’re so much prettier.”

Brian stared at him in fear and dismay.

“He glanced at his watch.  “Twelve minutes, Detective Brian Hunter.  Times a wasting…”

Brian struggled to his feet.  Just as he turned to run, the man grabbed Brian by the t-shirt.  He pulled away ferociously and the shirt began to rip down the seem.  Brian pulled harder and the fabric gave way.  He stumbled down the hallway shirtless.

He looked at the closed doors to his right and left and they were the same as the one with the other captive behind it.  Assuming they were cells for this sick bastard’s abductees, he made his way through the archway to the left near the end of the hallway.  As he entered the archway, he heard him say, “Eleven minutes, Detective Hunter.  Tick tock…”

The room before him caused Brian to stop and stare.  The room was 15x15 and filled with all sorts of fetish, bondage and torture devices.  Chains hung from the ceiling and all sorts of whips, paddles and crops hung from all the walls.

He saw another archway at the far end and ran through it.  He was in another hallway similar to the first one he was in.  The only difference was there were two wooden cell doors on each side and an open archway to the right and left at the end of the hall.  He figured the cell doors were occupied and there was no way he could reach the upper deadbolt with his hands securely cuffed behind his back.  So, he ran to the end of the hallway and looked through the opening to his right.  It was another torture chamber but with a multitude of different items and devices.  A Saint Andrews cross and a rack were at the center of the room.

Brian turned to his left and saw nothing but gloom.  He walked into that room tentatively and the dim lights turned on, apparently from a motion sensor.  He froze at what was before him.  Along the walls, there was shelving that protruded from the walls.  They appeared to be made of wood and steel reinforced.  There were nine on each wall, and each one had a mummified body wrapped in thick plastic.

“These are my toys that no longer work,” the man said from behind him.

Brian spun around and almost fell again.  He knew he was close to hyperventilating and tried to slow his breathing through his nose.  Brian could notice a slight scent of rot and decay in the air.  It was not overbearing but it was there.

“I keep them here so I can remember all the great times we had together,” he continued and the looked pointedly at his watch.  “Nine minutes, Detective Hunter.”

Brian yelled something unintelligible into the gag as he ran by the man and into the torture chamber across the hall.  There was an opening on the far side of the room which opened into yet another hallway.  There were three cell doors on each side of this hall, and an archway at the far end directly facing him.  He ran down the hallway and through the arch.  He found himself in a smaller room, probably 6x6, and a small door was against the far wall.

The door was only three feet tall and two feet wide.  Brian had no idea what the door could be used for, but figured if this was the access to the outside, he would be able to squeeze through no matter what.

He approached the small access and saw there were three deadbolts with the turn latch facing him.  Brian squatted down and was able to reach the upper most deadbolt.  He gripped the turn switch and disengaged the lock.  He had to sit with his back against the door to reach the other two.  He grabbed the middle lock and it turned easily, but the last one did not budge.

“Fuck!” Brian yelled in frustration but only a grunt was audible.  He gripped the turn latch again and turned with all his remaining strength.  At first, nothing happened, but then, slowly, the lock began to move and disengage.  He readjusted his grip and turned with the last bit of his remaining stamina.  The lock squeaked and then gave way with a loud clank.  The final lock was disengaged!

Brian stood up, squatted and grabbed the top lock latch with his hands and opened the door.  He spun around, dropped to his knees and prepared to crawl as best he could through the opening, but there was only a cinderblock wall directly behind the door.

Brian stared in disbelief at the concrete wall in front of him.

“You’d be surprised how many of my toys actually think there’s a hidden escape route,” the man said from behind him.

Brian spun around and fell to his rump.  He leaned back against the cinderblock wall behind him and looked at the man standing at the entrance to the room.

The man shrugged.  “I guess you fellas just want to have hope.  Hope that there is a way out of this predicament…but there’s not, Detective Brian Hunter.  You’re here until you join my broken toys…”

Brian unconsciously shook his head from side to side.  The man began to approach and Brian began kicking out with his feet in an attempt to ward him away.  He connected with the man solidly twice but he eventually grabbed Brian by the legs and pulled him away from the wall and on to his back.  The man, a lot stronger than he looked, rolled Brian over onto his belly and bound his ankles together with a ziptie again.  

He rolled Brian onto his back, pulled out the shears and began cutting away his skin tight jeans.   “You got me good twice, Detective.  That’s why I usually take my toys’ shoes, but these boots are just so sexy.”

When the jeans were cut off and were a pile of rags on the floor, he cut away Brian’s boxer briefs.  “No need for these anymore.”

The man unzipped Brian’s boot and removed them along with the socks.  Then the man stood up and hoisted Brian on to his shoulder.  The man had his arm draped across the back of Brian’s knees while Brian’s head faced his captor’s back.  He carried Brian down the hallway a short while and stopped in front of one of the wooden cell doors.  He disengaged the two deadbolts with his free hand and opened the door.

He delicately placed Brian down on the cold concrete floor and stood up.  The cell was 10x10 and had concrete floors, cinderblock walls and the wooden railroad ties along the ceiling.  The only thing in this cell was a bucket that sat in the far corner.

“You will be in bondage from now on, but you won’t be secured to this extent forever, Detective Brian Hunter,” he said as he stopped at the open door.  “But I think you need some time to cool your jets and think about your situation.  The sooner you come to grips with what your life has now become, the easier the transition will be.  Just lie there and contemplate your new life.  You now live to serve me and make me happy.  Get some sleep.  I’ll be down tomorrow after work and we are going to play all evening.  Good night, my dearest Detective Brian Michael Hunter.”

As the man slammed the heavy oak door shut and engaged the two deadbolts, Brian screamed into his gag.