2
The first thing I feel is the heavy handcuffs.
The cold of the steel that cuts into my wrists.
The chains that lead from the handcuffs to the steel wall behind me don’t leave me much room and quietly rattle whenever I move.
I’m also as naked as I was when Sierra’s taser hit me with its fuses.
The darkness around me doesn’t provide any clues on where I am.
It smells strongly of disinfectant, which irritates my sense of smell.
Which brings my attention to the wolf’s silence.
To be precise, the beast isn’t even rumbling a bit.
He seems further away than usual.
So far away that I can’t get him to test the durability of the handcuffs and chains.
I pause.
Listen to myself.
No wolf.
Not even a sleepy growl, the stupid beast.
The absence of the beast makes me worry far more than the handcuffs and chains.
Scared shitless, to be honest.
Since my time among the hobos, I’ve always been able to, at least in some way, rely on the wolf saving my ass when push comes to shove.
We don’t like each other.
But we’ve always looked out for one another.
Until today.
What the hell is going on here?
*
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in the dark and looking for the wolf in vain. I spent so many days wishing he wasn’t there and now that he’s gone, I sorely miss him.
Suddenly, the door across from me opens.
I squint against the glaring artificial light that enters my cell and reflects off the steel walls.
Eventually, my eyes adjust to the brightness and I recognize a slender, curvy silhouette in the illuminated rectangle.
“Sierra,” I say in a hoarse voice.
“Hello, Jackson,” she says and enters the room
Her entire demeanor has changed.
This is her turf, I realize.
And I am her prisoner.
The chains rattle quietly as I change my position and lean my head against the cool metal wall.
“Bondage?” I ask and force out a contemptuous smirk. “Really?”
“Oh, you know the good stuff never goes out of fashion,” Sierra says and flips the switch near the door, turning on the neon lights along the ceiling of my prison.
I close my eyes.
I grimace.
Wait for the sting to wear off.
Then, the first thing I look at is Sierra’s new outfit.
She’s wearing a black top and dark, tight jeans.
Her hair is tied back in a ponytail.
She missed a few strands, which hang along the side of her face.
Could, of course, be intentional.
Looks good.
Otherwise, there’s not much to see, regardless of the light.
All the other walls, the ceiling, and the floor are also made of metal.
“What’s going on here?” I ask as coolly as possible, even though my balls are retracting out of fear.
But honestly…
What is she?
A serial killer?
And would that make this fate or irony?
Sierra doesn’t answer my question.
Instead she says:
“How’s our little wolfie?”
That hits hard.
I stay silently confused.
Sierra smiles with satisfaction.
She comes closer, squats in front of me, and tenderly strokes my stubbled cheek.
I stare at her speechlessly.
She knows about the wolf.
Still more.
She’s not afraid of me.
Which can only mean one thing.
She knows that he won’t come to help me because she’s the one who, somehow, sedated him.
Sierra looks at me with amusement as I frantically scan my arms.
The chains rattle with my movements.
I barely acknowledge it.
There.
Puncture holes.
Damn it.
My head jerks back in Sierra’s direction.
She pats my cheek one last time, stands up, and turns her good-looking backside toward me.
“I have to pee,” I say to her lovely behind before she quite reaches the door.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t put her off her stride.
She goes out and returns with a bucket.
Puts it in front of me on the metal floor.
I stare at the yellow plastic bucket.
First, I want to ask her if she’s serious.
Then I think of something better.
“Hey,” I exclaim and she actually turns halfway around to me.
Point for me.
“Hold it for me? For old time’s sake?”
Of course, no answer.
Not even an icy smile.
She hovers just outside of the room.
Before she goes, Sierra turns out the light.
Point for her.
I stew in the gloom between the plastic bucket and the steel wall.
“The hell with it,” I mumble at some point and try to find the best position despite the chains.
*
The door opens and I boldly kick at the bucket.
It lurches forward.
It topples over mid-flight
