Chapter 2

Fit To Be Tied

Mike knelt down and tried to flip his father onto his back, but the floor was slippery, and every time Mike pushed, his father slid away.

Callie came in through the kitchen door from the adjacent garage with a prodigious coil of thin rope in her hand. "This was the only one I could find. Is it enough?"

"I think so. Here, help me with this."

With Callie’s help, they turned their father over.

“What now? Tie him up here?” Callie asked.

“No, we should tie him to a chair. The less freedom of movement he has, the better.”

Mike grabbed a chair from the kitchen table, and dragged it over.

“We don’t want him hopping around once he’s awake.” he said, “Grab his arm so we can lift him.”

Mike took one arm and Callie the other. Together they heaved their father up onto the chair and sat him down, only to have him fall forward like a sack of potatoes.

“Uhh…let’s try that again.” Mike said.

On the second try, the chair skidded away upon taking his weight, and slammed against the opposite wall. Mike and Callie looked at each other and, in spite of their peril, burst into laughter.

Then their father groaned, and they both jumped.

“Okay, let’s hurry it up!” Callie said, “Third time’s the charm.”

It was. Their father remained seated this time. Callie held him in place while Mike tied him up.

When he finished, Mike realized that it would not be enough.

“We need something else, Callie. I don’t know if this is going to hold him for long. We need to be sure he won’t be able to wriggle out of it.”

Callie gnawed on her thumbnail; her ritual for focused thought.

“We need…something like…” she mumbled, then snapped her fingers, “Duct tape! How many rolls do we have on hand in the garage?”

“Lots.” Mike said, “Dad’s a junkie.”

“Get ‘em all. We’re gonna tape him down.” she said, “And bring the dolly up here too, while you’re at it.”

Mike ran out the kitchen door and into the garage, which housed the station wagon, a work area, numerous rusty tools, and junk that had accumulated throughout the years. The garage door had been busted forever and remained always open, so it was all well lit and ventilated. Mike used a box of metal hinges to keep the kitchen door open, and picked out several rolls of duct tape scattered throughout the disarray. He wasn’t sure what Callie wanted with the dolly, but he went ahead and dug it out from under a morass of broken electrical fixtures and other such flotsam.

With the rolls of tape tucked in one arm, and the dolly pushed by the other, Mike re-entered the kitchen. He dropped the rolls at Callie’s feet.

“Let’s get to work.” he said.

When Charles Longstreet came to, he found himself strapped down tight. Only his head, fingers, and feet were free of tape.

He struggled and squirmed against his bonds, but they did not slacken. They had rolled him chair and all, with the dolly, over to the living room, facing the wall; so he could see nothing of their movements.

“MICHAEL! CALLIE!” he bellowed.

Mike appeared before him. “Ah, you’re awake.” he said, “As you can see; we’ve pretty much fused you to that chair. This is so you don’t follow us.”

“Follow you? Where do you think you're going?”

“Away from you…from here...anywhere.” Mike said. He removed the last nine inches of tape from the last remaining roll.

“You two aren’t going NOWHERE!” Longstreet roared, “NOW UNTIE ME WHILE YOU STILL HAVE A CHANCE OF---“

“Discussion time is over, pops.” Mike said, and slapped the strip of tape over his father’s mouth, “You can cram it.”

As Charles Longstreet yelled and cursed under the tape (which muffled his words into gibberish), Mike noticed the ring on the middle finger of his father’s left hand. It was the ring that had cut Callie’s face. The band was of some questionable metal that had once shined like silver, but had since degraded into a blotchy copper color, like a corrupted penny. The only thing interesting about it was its shiny black stone. It was set like a tiny black pyramid; its tip pointy and sharp.

The bastard had punched Callie in the face with that ring.

“I’ll bet Callie would love to have that as a trophy.” Mike said, “Mind if I borrow it?”

Without waiting for a reaction, Mike pulled the ring off of his father’s finger, and it slipped right off with unexpected ease (considering that his father had had it on as long as Mike could remember). Now, only a band of pasty white skin remained, to mark where the ring had been.

His father fell silent.

Mike put the ring in his shirt pocket and glanced down again at his father. There was something different about him now, though Mike could not say what; a sinister aspect about him that made every hair on the back of his neck rise. Nerves. Mike thought, and shook it off.

“Well, Dad. Gotta go get ready.” he said, “By the way, we’ll be taking your wagon, your wallet, as well as the cash you had hidden away in that hidey-hole under your bed you didn’t think we knew about.”

No reaction. His father just sat there and stared at him.

No, more than that. 
Was it possible his father was smiling at him, from under the tape?

Mike walked away. He considered slapping his father on the back in a final mocking gesture, but was now loathe to touch him for some reason. He went and rejoined Callie in their preparations.