Excerpt
Corrine’s transport was cramped, painful and done in utter darkness. She’d quickly given up trying to find a weakness in her bonds,
one simply didn’t exist. Besides, the only functioning tools she had available to her, were her ineffectual fingers (minus her bound thumbs)
and fluttering eyelids. Her cramped posture, legs folded and lashed together, then knees brought up high and wide to press against her
shoulders, made breathing difficult. This on top of the crushing ropes around her torso and her arms mashed together behind her back, well
up past her elbows.
The cargo straps fusing her to the interior of the plywood crate robbed her of the ability to even fidget. Which was probably a good
thing, since the only thing that would accomplish, would to be to grind her privates against the horrid wooden perch imbedded there. There
had to be a way out of this, though at the moment, nothing came to her.
After about twenty minutes (it had been nearly impossible to gauge time, her concentration otherwise occupied), her jolting ride
through downtown came to a stop. After a long pause, the truck’s rear doors swung open. Standing in the doorway, was not the kind-faced
policeman Corrine had been hoping for.
Although the immediate area was dark, there was enough moonlight for the reporter to see that Reggie had removed his stage make-up
and donned his usual upscale sports coat and bowtie. The aide dragged her container to the rear of the truck, until his leering face filled
her porthole. Then Corrine felt her tiny box prison levitate. Over his shoulder, the brunette could now see Reggie’s black Escalade EXT
backed up to the delivery van, its tailgate lowered.
Transfer to the other vehicle went smoothly. The aide hopped in back and used a pair of cargo straps to anchor his parcel firmly in
place. Hoping back down, he slammed the tailgate and returned to the delivery van. Corrine watched helplessly, as the van’s taillights
flashed briefly, then the vehicle drove off.
Abandoned, Corrine peered out the small window at the world around her. “Posh”, wasn’t exactly the word to describe her surroundings.
Trash littered the street and sidewalk, as did several abandoned cars. The few homes she could see in the distance appeared to be vacant,
their first floor windows and doors boarded up. Her heart leapt momentarily, when she saw a group of black youths standing under the
street’s only working streetlight.
Indeed, several of the young men looked her way, but then turned back to complete their drug transactions. The reporter realized she
wasn’t exactly excited at the prospect of them coming to the aid of an attractive, helplessly bound female, dressed only in her underwear.
She found herself almost wishing that a drug deal would go bad and that shots would be fired. This at least, would summon the police. But
the journalist in her knew, that response to this dangerous part of town would be lethargic at best. Besides, Corrine could almost picture
herself being towed to the police impound lot and left there to languish in her wooden sarcophagus.
Little did she know that in this part of town R. Reggie Ross was a champion of the people. Folks knew that he used his influence to
try to rejuvenate the area. If not for him, the whole neighborhood would have been razed long ago. So, it went without saying, that no one
here messed with “the Man” or his ride. Corrine could have been naked and tied spread-eagle in the back of the truck and not a soul would
have raised a finger to help (or harm) her. Not armed with this knowledge, the brunette’s morose deepened at the apparent nearness of
rescue.
And then she saw the unmistakable bulk of the Councilman’s aide turn the corner on foot. It dawned on her, that the delivery
service’s depot was just a few blocks away. Reggie must have returned the van (probably greasing someone’s palm in the process. Reggie knew
a lot of people) and come back to claim his prize. The reporter watched as he chewed the fat with the group on the corner, seemingly in his
natural environment. Then he walked toward her, sparing her a particularly unpleasant sneer as he strode past.
Then they were off once more. Peering backwards, Corrine was afforded an excellent view of where’d she’d been, but had no idea where
they were going. She was mildly surprised to see that they were taking none of the major arteries out of town. Her wonder increased, as they
turned on to Broad Street. Traffic was heavy, the reporter able to make out faces in the cars trailing behind her. Ironically, a police car
drifted in behind them and followed for several blocks. The helpless woman’s frustration grew at her inability to summon help.
Then the EXT turned off the street and headed down an incline. Corrine caught a brief view of City Hall, whose architectural exterior
had been lambasted by critics as “a cross between renaissance and wedding cake.” And then the improbability hit her.
“We’re in the parking garage of One Liberty Place!” She thought, dumbfounded.
As with any city native, she knew the city’s second tallest building well. And like any skyscraper throughout the world, it housed a
mix of residential, commercial and corporate tenants.
“Why bring me here?” She wondered again without answer.
She watched as a gate swung down, sealing off the “Reserved Parking” area from the general public lot. Moments later, the EXT came to
a stop. Reggie appeared shortly after, his “shit eatin’ grin” still on his face. He released and lowered the cramped reporter to the ground.
Corrine’s world pitched back once more, Reggie having apparently kept the hand truck.
The “ride” to the elevators was smooth. The brunette’s spirits were momentarily buoyed, as she thought that this whole scene must
surely have been captured by security cameras. But then she realized, that if Reggie had access to reserved parking, then he had every right
to be here. No alarms would be raised by the sight of him wheeling an innocuous parcel on to the elevator. Her supposition rang true, as no
uniformed guard came to question his presence.
The ride in the elevator was equally smooth. And it seemed to go on forever. Finally, the butterflies in her stomach (from the ride,
as well as her predicament) settled, as the car slowed to a stop. The doors parted and when her “window” shot skyward, Corrine caught a
brief glimpse of the number “54”. They were seven floors below the uppermost level of the skyscraper.
The last bit of her journey was no more than a few meters. When placed upright, the reporter could see the vast expanse of open floor
space. Scattered about, was a large assortment of cardboard boxes in all sizes.
‘No wonder our arrival didn’t raise any eyebrows,’ she thought despondently, ‘I’m just another parcel joining the collection.’
The beautiful woman could do nothing but wait miserably, as her wooden tomb was dismantled. Her apprehension, and anxiousness to be
released, were in equal proportion. She wanted out of this crypt, but knew not, what lie in store. When the lid of the box was pried off,
she could feel Reggie’s eyes burning in to the top of her motionless head.
“Well cunt,” he growled, “welcome to your new home.”
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