The Launch

Chapter Four

"Wake up."

I sit up straight in my seat and find that we are parked in the driveway outside my parents' house in South London. They live in a quiet neighborhood, their house a ranch style unit on a private cul de sac. In between the double garage on the right and gabled front windows to the left, two steps led up to a recessed front door with a stained glass insert. I rub my eyes, stretch and look at the clock: 4:12. Late enough that my parents' neighbors are very likely to be in bed and not watching the street and early enough that they're not quite awake, yet. We still have to be quiet. A lot of retired people here with nothing better to do than spy on their neighbors.

JC hands me the keys. "Are you awake, now?"

"Yeah," I say. "Let's do this."

I grab the bags from the trunk and open up the house while JC takes the chains off Ray's midsection. It's pretty quiet, with just a low shushing of cars and trucks coming from Wellington, a few blocks away to the East. There is a humid, damp smell of ice and snow that is like water that has sat around for too long. I come back around to the far side of the car and help JC lift our man up off the back seat and out onto the driveway. Between the two of us we push, drag, fireman carry and prop stumble him into the house and down the stairs to the basement. He groans and burps a few times and his eyelids flicker open and closed. It really feels as though he's drunk.

When we have him lying down on one of the couches, I get out the leg irons we got at the fetish store and we hook them up to Ray's ankles. I had previously cut a hole in the drywall and secured a length of chain to one of the metal support beams which is bolted to the concrete floor. I knew where it was inside the wall because I'd been here when they were doing the work, although I managed to avoid swinging even a single hammer. I padlock the chain to the leg irons — he'll be very secure here. We take a few pictures of Ray and some of us with Ray for future use and then lie him down under a blanket.

The house has a beautiful finished basement with a home theater in the den. Ray's chain will give him access to the couch in the den which is covered in a plastic shower curtain, the bathroom, a bookshelf and, incidentally, to a linen closet which is just outside the door in the foyer. We will bring him food and water. This is his prison.

My parents are probably sleeping right at this minute, but since they are down at their condo in Florida until April, it is unlikely that they will hear us bumping around down here in London, putting things in place.

JC looks at me and then around the room. "Is that everything we need to do tonight?"

"Yes," I say. "I'll take the first shift out here. You take the guest room. Go ahead if you want to use the bathroom first."

"I think I will," he says. "I feel like 8 pounds of tired in a 5 pound box."

He rustles through his duffel bag for his kit and then heads off to the bathroom. I sit on the other couch and take a look at our prisoner. I can hardly believe that we pulled this off. Yes, we did a lot of planning. Yes, we prepared for every contingency. But we actually knocked him out, stuck him in a car, stopped him from escaping, drugged him, shuttled him across the border and chained him to the wall in my parents' basement. Here he is. Snoring again. I take off his shoes and grab a bottle of water from the case under the end table, leaving it by his head for when he wakes up.

I sit back down and just about break my jaw yawning. Despite how tired I am, I have to remember that this is just the beginning.

* * *

"Where am I? What's going on?"

"We already did that one back in Syracuse, Ray. Stay with me."

Ray notices me on the other couch and sits up. "Oh, shit. It's you."