The sleep was black, dreamless, suspended animation without a hint of passing time. When she opened her eyes it was God knew how much later, and she was in the same position. The nitrous tank and mask were nowhere to be seen. The bedroom door was closed. It was night.
Jesus Christ, she thought. She remembered floating, blackness, not much else. It was scary how much the gas had affected her thinking. With one of those masks hissing sleepy gas into her lungs she'd probably have come along with them willingly--no need to tie me up, guys, I'm not going anywhere.
She strained to move and found that she was still numb, though not from the effects of the gas. It was from lying so tightly bound in the same position for so long. She strained and grunted and twisted herself off the bed, onto the floor, kneeling again. She wiggled her fingers and toes until she could feel them again. She had to get out of these goddamn zip ties.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the metal prod fell out of her hand onto the floor. Her eyes widened and she went for it. It fit neatly into the opening in the latch part of the strip around her wrists. She kept it turned backwards, pressing it into the zip harder and harder until she thought it wasn't going to work.
Then it did.
The tie let go and all of a sudden her hands were loose. She "mmph"-ed a cry of triumph and brought her hands around to the front as quickly as possible, the undone plastic strip flying across the room and landing on the carpet, still curved into the open figure-eight shape of her joined wrists. And the metal prod went flying, too. It went behind the dresser and clinked down into some unseen radiator grate. She could hear it rolling down through the ventilation shaft.
No time to worry about that now. She had to get free. The strip around her upper body was easy enough to push off and throw aside, but the ones around her ankles and knees were harder. Too hard, in fact. They wouldn't come off. They needed to be cut, or unlocked. She messed with the one around her ankles for a frustrating five minutes before coming to this conclusion.
"Shit," she said, and it came out sounding like her mouth was taped shut, because of course it still was. She plucked at her cheek until she found the corner of the tape and then peeled it from her mouth in one steady, grimacing, stinging motion. It felt like it was going to take her lips with it, but all it took was the kiss outline of her lipstick and lipliner, freshly applied before she'd been taken captive that morning. She stretched her lips out and pulled them back from her teeth, relishing the feel of a mouth that could actually open. "There we go," she said. Her first intelligible words in how long?
The picture frame support was gone, down a vent behind the dresser. She pulled it out and knelt beside it, tried to remove the wide-gapped grate but couldn't. There was also nothing left inside the drawers. The closest thing she could find was a pencil, but the lead broke off when she tried to free her legs with it.
"Christ," she said desperately, sitting on the floor with her bound legs in front of her. Then she heard the sound, floating down the hall on the other side of the bedroom door: a muffled call for help, the sound of someone--someone female--bound, gagged, and in trouble. A position Tiffany was now very familiar with.
"Hello?" she called. "Is someone else here?"
"Mmm..." came the response. It was enough for her; she had to hope there would be something to cut her free with elsewhere in the house.
She struggled to her feet and leaned against the doorframe. The door was surprisingly unlocked. They must have thought she'd sleep the whole time. And how long ago was that? They could be back at any moment.
The hallway was relatively short, unlit except for a lamp in the front room. "Hello?" she called, scared despite herself.
"Mmmm!" was the frantic reply. Whoever this was (the housesitter they kept referring to?), she was as scared as Tiffany. Tiff hopped down the hall, guiding herself by clinging to doorknobs. The sounds were coming from behind the door at the other end of the hall.
She passed the front room where they'd sorted their money. Some of it was still stacked next to an empty bag behind the front door.
She put a hand on the knob and, absurdly enough, knocked twice. "I'm coming in," she said.
She pushed the door open. It was a master bedroom, made up and neat, with a king-size bed against one wall. There was a computer desk with a metal straight-backed chair. Sitting in that chair, bound tightly with what looked like a dozen plastic zip ties, was a cute young girl with frosted, styled, semi-curly hair hanging around her shoulders. Her eyes were huge and she wobbled back and forth as she exhorted against the strip of tape that sealed her mouth. The line of her lips could be seen beneath the taught, shiny surface of the duct tape.
"Aw, hon," Tiffany said, and nearly tripped trying to take a step toward the girl. "I can't get my legs," she said. "So I can't really walk. But I'm going to come over there and try to get you free. Hold on."
She crouch-walked, moving her legs together and balancing on her unshod, nylon-clad feet with each step. She made it to the girl and held onto her chair. The girl was straining hard against her bonds.
"Calm down," Tiff told her as soothingly as she could manage. "I can't cut these things. I had something to unlock them with but I lost it down a vent in the other room. So I can't cut you free yet. Is there anything in this room to cut them with?"
The girl nodded forward eagerly, pursing her lips beneath the tape gag. Take it off, she was saying.
"Oh, sorry." Tiffany found a corner and pulled it off. As it came reluctantly away from her skin and unsealed her lips from one side to the other her muffled protests became a coherent cry of pain. Tiffany yanked the tape the rest of the way off in one quick motion.
"Ahh!" the girl cried. "Damn! Ohhhh that hurts. Thank you thank you thank you. I was afraid I was gonna die here. Who are you?"
"I'm Tiffany."
"Where did you come from?"
"Those guys," she replied. "Those guys did this to you. They did it to me too. I work at a club they were robbing and I saw them so they tied me up and brought me here."
"Oh God. Did they gas you?"
She nodded.
"They did me too. They put this rubber mask over my face and just turned it on and stood there until I felt it so bad. I couldn't do anything but pass out."
"When did you wake up?" Tiff asked.
"Just now. You too?"
"Not long ago."
"Oh God, I don't want this. We have to get out of here. There has to be a pair of scissors around here. Maybe the kitchen, I don't know."
"Is this your house?"
"No, I was watching it for Mr. and Mrs. Martinez. The guy with the longer hair, he knocked and pretended to be from the electric company."
"I'm gonna look for scissors. Hold on."
She laughed a little. "Oh don't worry, I won't go anywhere." She bit her lip. "God, I hate this. I'm claustrophobic. I can't stand being confined like this. My mouth hurts too...they really had me gagged good. I couldn't even make a sound at all."
While she talked, Tiffany wobbled around the room on her zipped-together legs and searched drawers. She found clothes and papers but not much else. The picture frames had cardboard backing.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Kelley."
"I'm Tiffany, Kelley. It's nice to meet you. We're going to be out of here before you know it."
"They searched this room when they put me in here," Kelley said. "You might as well head for the kitchen."
"Okay, I'm going to do that. I'll have you free in a minute."
As she left the room and hopped down the hall to the kitchen archway, Kelley called to her. "Be careful! And hurry, please! I can't take this much longer."
"You and me both."
With legs bound together she rounded the archway and began pawing through drawers. There were spatulas and soup spoons, mixers and measuring cups, even a drawer full of flatware with butterknives but no REAL knives. She knelt, feeling the pinch of plastic at her knees and ankles, and dug under the sink. Cleaning supplies, bug spray, brillo pads.
Through the front windows, headlights filled the front yard, growing in intensity. The gravel out front was crunching. The robbers were home.
"Fuuuck," she whispered, eyes cast out the window. The van was out there. She heard its engine shut off. She was determined not to panic and not to alert Kelley, who would certainly panic. She seized a can of Raid way back under the sink and pulled it out, hoping to stumble across a lighter as well but finding nothing. Then she looked up, serindipitously, and saw the kitchen knives lined up in a neat row on the wall, stuck to a magnetic mount. She snatched the biggest one and the littlest one and sat down on the floor to cut herself free.
"Tiffany?" Kelley called. "Do you hear that?"
The van doors slammed outside and Kelley went into high gear, screaming as quietly as she could, almost crying, completely panicked.
"TIFFANY! They're here! Hurry up, please."
"Okay, I just found a knife and I'm cutting myself free. I can't get to you but I'm going to make sure you're all right. Just sit tight and tell them I escaped about an hour ago, okay?"
"What about me? Please! Shit, shit, shit, shit. Please cut me loose!"
"I'm sorry! There's no time! SHHH!"
They had to be walking to the door now. The small knife's serrated edge finally bit through the knee band and she went to work on the ankles. After an agonizing ten seconds, that one snapped too. She grabbed both discarded plastic bands and dropped them in the trashcan.
It had never felt so good to use her legs. She bolted for the master bedroom, where Kelley was bobbing back and forth in a frantic attempt to free herself. She closed the door.
"Tiffany, please don't leave me like this, not with them--"
"Listen! I'm going to hide and when they come in here I'm going for them. I'm serious. I'm a fourth-year kickboxer, been taking it since I was seventeen. Tell them I left half an hour ago. I'd re-tape your mouth but it's all crumpled up."
"Cut me loose real quick and I'll help you."
The front door opened.
"No time," Tiffany whispered, and receded into the closet. On her way she saw the most miraculous thing on top of the dresser, in a corner she hadn't examined: a pink plastic cigarette lighter.
From the rest of the house she heard them walking down the hall to the guest room, opening the door, shouting. She got the lighter ready in front of the little pinhole in the nozzle of the can.
Footsteps rushed back in the opposite direction. The bedroom door burst inward. Kelley had her head down and looked like she was sobbing.
It was Steve. He took one relieved look at their other hostage and started in on her. "Where is she?" he demanded. "Huh? Where the fuck is she?"
He stepped forward and shook the corners of her chair. Slapped her across the face. Tiffany didn't waste any time. She stepped out of the closet and flicked the lighter while she depressed the nozzle on top of the can. The lighter emitted a flame that was quickly caught in the blast of roach spray and turned it into a blue-edged fury that she focused right in old Steve-O's ugly, bearded face. He took a surprised blast of it full-on, then grabbed his face and danced backward on the tips of his toes, light as Fred Astaire, head thrown back. He hit the wall and was about to go down hard on his big fat ass but Tiffany was all over him. She tossed the bug spray aside as she thrust one foot into his gut, pretending to be going for the wall and kicking through him, knocking the wind completely out of him. His "UFFF" was immensely satisfying.
She didn't know where old John Lennon was, but she knew she had very little time before he came running. She pulled the big knife out of the waistband of her skirt and pressed the tip up so hard under Steve's jaw that it began to bleed immediately. His hands pulled away from his pursed-up face and tried to pull at the knife but she pushed harder and cautioned him. "NO, Steve. I'll put it into your windpipe, I swear. Put your hands down."
"Oh God, hurry up Tiffany," Kelley said. "Good job, good job, Jesus, hurry."
Steve's face was a mask of agony and surprise. He opened his slitted eyes. For all the drama his face didn't seem to be injured--except for his watery eyes, which couldn't have seen much of her.
"Don't kill me," he said, sounding far more pathetic than she was prepared for. She wanted to spit in his face.
"Don't make me. Now give me your weapon."
This was a bluff, but as it turned out, it was a lucky one. He put his hand into his jeans and pulled out a folded-up telescoping night baton. Tiffany slung it out to full length, stood up, and clocked Steve in the left temple with it. It was an ugly sight, but it got the job done; Steve was down for the count with a blood-blistered and dented forehead. She wondered briefly if she'd killed him.
She used the big butcher knife to cut Kelley's hands free and then left her with the knife.
"Where are you going?" Kelley asked.
"I'm going to look for the other one. We have to get out of here."