John Locke: Box

“Are these the same handcuffs?”

“Yup. I felt they was appropriate,” he says, helping me to my feet.

He places the noose around my neck and tightens it. Then kicks me in the nuts so hard I fall to the floor and nearly pass out. When I come to, I’m in a world of hurt, gagging, choking. He helps me to my feet and kicks me in the nuts again.

By now my pain receptors are numb with adrenalin, so the pain is palpable. Still, it’s enough to make me fall to my knees, retch, and start dry-heaving.

He helps me to my shaky feet a third time, and tosses the other end over a beam I now notice is situated directly above his chair. He makes me stand on the chair, then on top of the chair back. Then he takes up the slack, and ties the rope to one of the stall doors.

“You’ve got good balance,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“If you slip, you die,” he says.

“Got it.”

He watches me a minute, then says, “What sort of name is Box, anyway?”

I start to answer, then say, “Does it really matter?”

“Not really.”

He watches me some more, then says, “I can go ahead and kick the chair out from under you if you’d like.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll try to balance a while and see how it goes.”

“Any last words?”

“Four.”

“Let’s hear ’em.”

“It was worth it.”

“You wanna share what you mean?”

“Trudy Lake was awesome! Her tits are perfect! Feeling her up was one of the highlights of my life!”

“Worth dyin’ for?”

“And then some! Her nipples were like pencil erasers. Her breath, her tongue, sweet as condensed milk.”

“Condensed milk? What the fuck type of degenerate mother-fucker are you?”

“The kind that would haul Trudy Lake off to New York City and give her ass a daily pounding. I mean, be honest, Scooter. Can you just imagine what it would be like to get some of that?”

“She’s barely eighteen!”

“Which means I could fuck her for ten years and she’d still only be twenty-eight!”

He comes around to look at me. He’s red-faced, furious.

“You’re jealous,” I say.

“No.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“She’s my daughter, you miserable fuck!” he yells, then kicks the chair out from under me.

Trudy Lake.

Thirty Minutes Earlier…

We had a moment at the fence when I wasn’t sure I could trust him, but now Doctor Box is kissin’ me as if kissin’ would put out a forest fire. I’m hooked to the fence and his hands are on my boobs like a blind man huntin’ a braille tattoo.

I saw Daddy watchin’ us from the bathroom window a minute ago, when I put my back to the fence. I figured he’d let it go. Then again, he questioned our age difference when I pointed Dr. Box out to him while he was drinkin’ his laxative coffee.

“Let me get this right,” he said. “You want me to let him steal my handcuffs?”

“I dared him to try.”

“Why?”

“I’m just messin’ with him,” I said.

“There are easier ways to land a man, Trudy.”

“He’s not a man, Daddy, he’s a world-famous doctor.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t like it.”

I threw a pout and said, “You never let me have any fun!”

“Fine. Whatever,” he said, and left the cuffs where they could be stolen.

When the fun started between me and the doc, I saw Daddy sneakin’ up on us. I figured he was just gonna scare Dr. Box and we’d all have a laugh, but Daddy punched him in the back of the head.

“Why’d you hit him so hard?” I yell.

“He was molestin’ you!”

“Oh, fiddle,” I say.

“Where’s the key?”

“In his pocket.”

He gets the key out and unlocks me and says, “Fiddle? What the hell are you talkin’ about, girl? You got more action just now than I did on my weddin’ night!”

“You’re crazy. Doc Blanchard gets more titty durin’ my annual physical.”

“If that’s true, I’ll be payin’ him a visit after this.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s a routine medical procedure. And anyway, they’re both doctors.”

“Does your annual physical with Doc Blanchard include the kind of kissin’ I just witnessed?”

I frown.

We’re standin’ over Dr. Box, who’s laid out on the ground like a possum pelt.

“Look what you’ve done!” I say. “How hurt is he?”

“Why do you care? I’m gonna kill him anyway.”

“You’ll do no such thing! He’s my way out.”

Daddy sighs. “Pumpkin, there are easier ways to get out of this town. Plus, you just met him. He’s probably married, with six kids.”

“He was gonna give me a big tip tonight.”

“Let’s see.”

Daddy goes through Dr. Box’s wallet and pockets, finds some bills, counts them out. “How’s eighteen hundred sound?”

“He’s carryin’ that much?”

“He’s carryin’ thirty-six hundred, to be exact.”

“You’re takin’ half?”

“Seems fittin’.”

“Why?”

“He’d bribe me at least eighteen hundred to escape an attempted rape charge, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. But I don’t want you to run him off, Daddy.”

“Trust me, this guy’s scum.”

“He’s rich, and he likes me.”

“He may be rich, and he may like you for a night or two, but you need to take this eighteen hundred, get yourself a car, and drive to a better place so you can start a new life.”

I frown. “Eighteen hundred ain’t but a start for that type of plan. I’d need twice that, at least.”

He sighs. “Fine. Here. Take it all. But when you go, don’t look back.”

“What about Dr. Box?”

“I’ll send him packin’. After we have a little talk.”

“You’re gonna tell him to never see me again.”

“That’s right. And someday you’ll thank me for it.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Wait here and call Kennon to cover your shift. I’ll be right back.”

He circles the restaurant to the parking lot, drives Dr. Box’s rental car over to where I’m standin’. Then he pushes Dr. Box into the back seat and tells me to drive to Jake Thatcher’s old barn.

All the way to Thatcher’s, I think about drivin’ off with Dr. Box, but Daddy’s behind me in his squad car, and I’d never get away. But I’m also thinkin’ how I’m gonna write Dr. Box a message about how to contact me after Daddy throws him out of town.

When we get to Thatcher’s, Daddy drags Dr. Box inside, handcuffs him, and starts tying him to a chair.

“This where you interrogate your prisoners?” I say.

“It is. Now go out to the car and wait. And do not come back in here.”

“Can I ask a favor?” I say.

“What?”

“Before you let him go, kick him in the nuts.”

“What?”

“Twice. And don’t hold back.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

“You never fail to surprise me, Trudy.”

I do have my reasons. I aim to drive out of town with Dr. Box later tonight, and don’t want sex on his mind for at least a day or two while I decide what I want from the relationship, if anythin’.

While Daddy’s tyin’ Dr. Box up good and tight to the chair, I climb in the rental car and dig a pen and paper from my purse and start writin’ him a note. I hear the sound of a trunk slammin’ shut and look up to see Daddy carryin’ a long rope into the barn. I finish writin’ the letter and put it in the console between the seats, figurin’ Dr. Box will check to see if there might be somethin’ in the console he can use to stop the bleedin’ Daddy’ll cause durin’ the course of his interrogation.

Two minutes passes, then I hear a terrible noise. It’s dark, but I can tell half the barn roof has come crashin’ down!