Chris English had worked in the morgue of Mercy Hospital for two years. It had its good points and its bad points. The bad points were the infinite boredom between patients, the antiseptic smell of the wing the morgue was that he could never quite grow used to, and the occasional depression he got from dealing with dead people so much. The good points were as numerous as the bad, but chief among them was Betty Freeman. Looking at that woman move could make any job a joy to work at. Just seeing her smile at him from her reception desk was enough to boost his stride. He could sit and watch her absently twirl that blonde ponytail while she filled out an effects report for hours.
Daryl always told him to ask her out. He wanted to, but the same thing always stopped him: What if she said 'no'? It would change their relationship inalterably. He'd be uncomfortable around her. He'd always wonder why she didn't like him. He'd be so embarrassed.
So he'd been working for weeks to be extra nice to her, hoping it might so endear him to her that she might just say 'yes'. From there, he'd trust the gods of providence, but he just had to get her to not think of him as reject date material. Chris rounded the corner.
She wasn't there. That was strange. He knew she was on duty. Maybe she was in the restroom. Maybe she'd ducked out to the pop machine. Maybe she was in the morgue, making passionate love to one of the handsome interns who always noticed her. Maybe he should just shoot himself now.
Then he heard it. A thud, muffled by something, was coming from-where? Chris listened closer. It was to the right. He listened for another, hoping to pinpoint it. There it was again, from the effects closet. He crossed over, with no idea of what to expect, and opened the door.
"MMMMMMMPPPPPHHHH!" cried Betty, sitting helplessly on the floor. She had been kicking the door with her black high heels, trying to attract attention through the only means open to her. Someone had wrapped her up in enough adhesive tape to hold three people. She sat at his feet, looking up at him with pleading, tear-stained eyes peering above a tape-covered jaw, her blonde hair tousled and dangling in her face. It was a fantasy come true.
Reluctantly Chris knelt down to Betty and began pulling the tape away from her wrists and arms. That was the cruelty of life. It gave you your heart's desire, but only when there was no way you could ethically, morally or legally take advantage of it.
"Oh, Chris, thank God!" gasped Betty after she'd torn the tape from her mouth with her freed hands. "Oh, I was afraid no one was ever going to find me! Thank you!"
And she flung her arms around Chris's neck and crushed him to her bosom. As she pressed her cheek to his, clinging to him for security and comfort, Betty heard a sigh escape his lips.
Susan Hitchcock fished her house keys out of her purse and inserted the key in the lock. Twelve hours on shift, then all of the questioning after from the police and viewing that CD were finally beginning to tell on her. Susan was picturing nothing more than crawling into her bed and sleeping for a good long time. The lock opened and the door swung at her push.
"Oh my God!" gasped Susan.
Someone had ransacked her front room and none too gently, either. Items were pushed off of tables. Drawers were opened and their contents strewn. Cushions were tossed. Someone had been looking for something, money probably. Fatigue receded and anger surged up.
"This is all I need," muttered Susan.
She stormed over to the phone, picked up the receiver and began to dial the police. Just then she felt a hand clap over her mouth. Susan started to resist her unseen attacker, but stopped quickly when she felt the hard, cold barrel of a gun push into the small of her back.
"Put the phone down, Cherie," a musical voice with a thick French accent whispered to her. Susan forced herself to move, replacing the receiver in its cradle. "Very good. We are going to get along, I think. Now I shall remove my hand. You may talk-quietly-but if you scream, I will be forced to shoot you, and as close as I am your blood will soil my clothes. I do not want that."
The woman's hand released Susan's mouth. She allowed herself an intake of air to steady herself.
"Take whatever you want," Susan said as evenly as possible. "I won't stop you."
"I know you won't, Cherie," the voice replied. "We will just make sure of this."
Susan was prodded into the dining room, which had also been ransacked. She was led to a hardback wooden chair and pressed gently into it.
"Cross your hands behind your back, please," the voice requested.
"Look, you don't have to do this," Susan said. "Just tell me what you want and..." She stopped when she felt the side of the gun, a small caliber flat automatic, press to the side of her head.
"No, Cherie, we will do this my way. Your hands?"
Reluctantly Susan brought her hands behind the chair back. She felt ropes tighten around her wrists, looping several times around and a couple of passes between her wrists until the cords constricted them tightly. Holstering her gun, the intruder began winding rope around Susan's elbows, drawing them tightly together. She winced, but kept silent. Pleading wouldn't do any good here. Instead she began surreptitiously surveying the room, looking for something she could use to get loose, should the opportunity arise.
"You are a nurse?" the intruder asked. Susan nodded. "Yet you do not wear those very sexy white uniforms with the tight dress and the white stockings."
"Nobody wears those anymore," Susan replied.
"Such a pity," the intruder replied as she looped cord over and under Susan's chest and through the slats in the back of the chair, anchoring her to the back. "You are very beautiful, Cherie. You have such pretty brown hair and with a figure such as yours, I can guess many men compete for your favors."
"Not so you'd notice."
"I am surprised. Perhaps you do not provoke them enough. Perhaps you should go back to the white dress uniform. You would do much justice to such a uniform," then her hand caressed Susan's chin, "and it would do much justice to you."
At once Susan was incredibly uncomfortable. She watched warily as the intruder crossed in front of her and knelt at her feet. Marie looked up at Susan and smiled as she wrapped cord around Susan's ankles. Marie's look could best be described as ripe. Close fitting dark clothes accented a very full figure. She wasn't fat; she was rounded. Her face was nothing more than deep, wide eyes, thick lashes on hooding lids, and a wide, generous mouth stretched in a happy smile. Her black hair was cut short and plastered to her head.
The ropes pulled tight and Susan winced again.
"Does it pinch, Cherie?" Marie asked, her eyes twinkling with delight. "It must, of course. That is all part of the game." She pulled Susan's ankles to the crossbar of the chair and anchored them to it.
"You think this is a game?" Susan asked.
"Life is a game. Some play to win. Others play not to lose. Some do not know the rules and some bend them to their advantage." Marie pulled the cords tight around Susan's legs above the knee so they dug into the material of her jeans. "This way you can have fun whether you win or not. Is this not fun?" She rubbed Susan's thigh. "It is fun for me."
Susan didn't respond.
"But enough fun," Marie said, rising and walking back into the living room. "I am searching for a CD ROM that was passed to you by the unfortunate man who died tonight. You have it, no?"
Marie returned with Susan's purse. She was going through it with as little regard for the contents as she had for the contents of the rooms she'd searched.
"Look, I..." began Susan.
"No no, do not spoil our relationship with lies," Marie grinned, sliding the jewel case out of the purse. "I do not blame you. I would do the same in your place. And you do not even know the value of this little disk, do you?"
"Value?" Susan asked warily.
"There are," began Marie, "certain concerns who will pay handsomely for this disk. I shall collect this reward." She pulled a wad of cloth out of a leather purse she had and moved toward Susan. "Open your mouth, Cherie."
Fed up with cooperating, Susan clamped her mouth shut. The move seemed to delight Marie.
"You wish to play?" she cooed. "Very well, we will play."
Marie's delicate fingers pinched Susan's nostrils closed. With her mouth clamped shut, there was no way to get air. Susan twisted her head, trying to pull out of the grip, but Marie rode with her and kept her nose pinched shut. The pressure on her sinuses grew. The air in her lungs began to get stale. There was no other way out of it. She had to open her mouth or suffocate.
Her mouth flew open with a loud gasp, expelling all of the stale air. Susan was just able to gulp in some air before the cloth wadding jammed into her mouth. Marie released her nose, now needing both hands to hold a long strip of cloth. It pulled between Susan's teeth, jamming the wadding further into her mouth, then tied behind her head. Marie gave the gag an extra tug to tighten it before knotting. Susan shook her head impotently. She was gagged and couldn't do anything about it.
"That was fun, no?" giggled Marie. "I wish I could stay and play more with you, but I must get this disk back and collect my money. Do not miss me too much."
Marie noticed that Susan's glance was not at her, but over her shoulder. Warned by this, Marie tucked the CD case in her belt and pivoted quickly. She found Shondra Lockwood behind her, holding a gun in her hand. Just as Shondra brought the gun up to aim at Marie, the French woman swatted hard and knocked the pistol out of her hand.
Disarmed, Shondra lunged at Marie and tackled her. The two women tumbled to the floor at Susan's feet. Susan watched helplessly, not knowing which side to root for. She knew she didn't want Marie to win, but she didn't trust Shondra enough to root for her. The two women continued to wrestle, muscles straining and the occasional grunt emanating from the pile.
For some reason, Susan flashed back to all the phony media "cat-fights" that she had seen. This was no delicate hair-pulling affair. Shondra was an impressive physical force and had no trouble using that physique against her opponent, while Marie was clearly a street fighter from way back. They didn't scratch, they punched. They didn't kick with their toes, they kneed. They didn't just grapple without reason, they used textbook self-defense moves. The thought of getting into a fight with either of these women did not appeal to Susan at all. She wriggled her hands within the confines of her bonds, trying without success to slip them.
The battle was very evenly matched for a long time. Neither combatant seemed able to gain any advantage. For a moment, Susan thought Shondra had taken the advantage when she rolled Marie on her back and kept her pinned to the floor. But she couldn't manage to get any clear advantage on the French wildcat. Marie, though, got her legs under Shondra and shoved her off. Shondra tumbled back and hit her head on the frame of the door. Her opponent momentarily stunned, Marie pounced. She straddled the black woman and punched her several times, taking the steam out of the woman. Shondra was still conscious, but couldn't muster any defense against Marie grabbing some rope out of her bag and pulling her quarry's hands behind her. Shondra tried to resist, but Marie got her wrists bound together.
"You are good," panted Marie.
Sitting in the small of her victim's back to keep her pinned to the floor, Marie looped rope around the woman's elbows and drew them together, dragging a grunt of exertion from her. She stumbled to her feet, disheveled and exhausted, and dragged another wooden chair over. Shondra tried to scramble to her feet, but a well-placed kick threw her back to the floor. Marie grabbed the woman, dragged her up and shoved her into the chair. Rope ran over and under Shondra's chest and through the slats of the chair back, pulling tight. It drew her blouse tight across her bosom, showing how endowed the agent was.
When Shondra was anchored to the chair, Marie crossed around in front of her and began tying her ankles. She pulled the ropes extra tight, looking up at Shondra with a devilish grin as she did so, then attached them to the crossbar of the chair. Shondra kept her face frozen in neutral, not wanting to give her opponent the satisfaction of knowing she'd hurt her.
"Oh, the American 'tough girl'," smirked Marie. She ambled slowly behind Shondra, then draped herself on the bound woman. One arm drew lightly across Shondra's throat while her head rested cradled in Marie's bosom. "Do you have a name, 'tough girl'?" Marie asked, playing the coquette. Her chin rested playfully on top of Shondra's head.
Shondra remained quiet. The only movement she made was with her hands as she tried to slip the ropes holding her. After a few moments, Marie sighed in frustration.
"American CIA agents," she muttered, pulling on Shondra's braids. Shondra's head pulled back painfully, her mouth opened reflexively and Marie stuffed a wadded cloth into it. "They must breed all the personality out of you. You are never any fun!"
Shondra tried to resist being gagged, but it was a losing proposition. Marie pulled the cloth between her victim's lips, gave it an extra tug to drive the wadding deep into the woman's mouth, then tied it off behind her head. She minced around, triumphantly looking first to Shondra, then to Susan. She wiggled over to Susan, who eyed her warily.
"I must apologize for my rude intrusion," Marie said, draping her arms around Susan's chest from behind and pressing her lips up to Susan's ear. "I have created such a mess in your nice home. I am sorry, really I am. You see," and she impishly licked Susan's earlobe, causing her to flinch, "I do like you-much more than our stiff playmate over there. I do not wish you to think ill of me." She stood up suddenly. "I must dash, but before I go, I will make it so no one will ever see the ugly mess I have made of your home." She leaned in quickly and gave Susan a peck on the cheek. "I enjoyed our time together. Perhaps you did, too?"
Not waiting for an answer, Marie strode to the center of the living room. She fished something from her bag, but her body concealed it and the two bound women couldn't see. Then she turned around. In her hand was a lit match. Susan and Shondra stiffened as one.
Marie grinned a psychotic imp's grin, winked at Susan, then dropped the match. As Marie walked out the front door, Susan and Shondra watched the match flame begin to kindle the fibers of the living room carpet.