Erin in a Pickle Pt. 01

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It was three in the morning, but Erin didn’t know that. Her wristwatch and her cellphone had been taken from her when Jack caught her breaking into his house earlier that evening, and even if she still had the wristwatch she wouldn’t be able to glance at it restrained as she was. She kept time by watching the shadows fall with the streetlight that shone through the basement window, wondering if perhaps Kel had some kind of contingency plan ready to get her out of this pickle.

And what a pickle she was in. Erin’s heart was pounding. It was pounding from the moment that he felt his gun in the small of her back and took her into his custody and it kept on pounding from the moment she was marched into the room that would serve as her prison. She knew she was pushing her luck breaking into houses, but this was the first time she was caught. Now, Erin sat on a cold concrete floor with her knees drawn towards her in a room illuminated only by the glare of that single solitary streetlight with her wrists handcuffed behind her around a support pole. She tried to keep down the gnawing fear in her gut that she could potentially raped, murdered or both. Her ankles he kept free, and she wondered about the possibility perhaps of tripping him or kicking him in the face or testicles and making him drop the handcuff key like she had seen in so many movies and television shows. Her eyes darted around the room taking in the surroundings of her prison, scrutinizing whatever hope or possibility of escape could be found in a bare cellar full of dust motes and little else. Her captor had used the convenience of her own bandanna that she used as a hairband to secure her newly cut bob to cleave gag her with and even if she was not gagged she dared not to scream or make a sound. She grimaced at Ankara travesti the staleness of her gag as it moistened in her mouth. If anything apart from being free and out of this situation Erin wished that she was chewing gum instead.

Then she heard heavy footsteps upstairs approaching the cellar door. Erin heard the door latch open and then the wooden steps creak as it bore his stocky and ponderous movement. And then her captor was in front of her, and she looked up to see the man whose house she tried to burgle.

He pulled up a nearby chair in front of Erin and sat down in it. He folded his arms and took a few moments to regard his captive: Early twenties, short hair in a pixie bob, and clad in a pair of hiking boots, black jeans, a navy blue polo shirt and a black Patagonia fleece pullover.

There was a few moments of tense silence. “You look like a Cape Cod preppy.” After a moment more, he reached over and loosened her gag to let her explain herself. She moistened her lips as he poured a cup of water, but he didn’t offer her a sip.

“Probably makes you blend in, huh? Less suspicious while you case houses, right?”

Erin didn’t answer. He stared at her again, and she didn’t flinch in staring back. There was anger in her eyes, but he wasn’t dumb enough to fall for her act. She was shit scared as it is.

He produced a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his hunting jacket. He lit a cigarette for then offered her a drag. She turned her head away in a gesture of refusal. He put the cigarette to his own lips and drew it in deep, thoughtful drags while continuing to regard his prisoner.

“You’re going to sit here a while. Perhaps ponder your situation and then before long you’re going to account for breaking into Antalya travesti this house.”

Erin blinked nervously. “What if I make it worth your while?” Her voice wavered with the nervousness of uncertainty. She tried to sweeten it as best as she could, but her voice cracked with fear.

Jack smiled, and it was a smile that chilled her bones. “You already are,” he whispered. “And you will. In the meantime, ponder the futility of trying to escape. You may try, but you won’t.”

Erin lurched forward in desperation, chafing against her restraints. “Look. Just turn me over to the police! Press charges!” But Jack said nothing further, and stubbing out his cigarette with the heel of his boot he reached for the gag that sat underneath Erin’s jaw and pulled it back again between her teeth and securing it tightly. She looked at him in defiance, and Jack stepped back just in time to avoid her kick .

He went to the corner of the room and returned with a short coil of hemp and proceeded to quickly bind her ankles crosslegged. When he was done he grabbed her by the jaw.

“You do that again, and I will break your ankles with a fucking sledgehammer. And then you’ll wish you never came here.” Standing back up, he sauntered back up the stairs and shut the door behind him. Erin heard the engaging of locks and then the noise of his footfalls upstairs trailed off to the other side of the house.

With her captor gone, Erin at once began to test her handcuffs. She found them to be of the hinged variety, double-locked, and the keyholes facing upward. Erin had some practice shimming handcuffs when she was in a hacker collective back in her high school days, but only when the keyhole was accessible. She wondered if Kel saw him get the drop on İstanbul travesti her. Perhaps she could get the cops? Sure, she’d probably end in the same posture in the custody and charged with burglary, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry too much about being killed or mutilated by the likes of him.

Erin took a deep breath and told herself to keep breathing to maintain some semblance of calm. Though it was warmer than outside, there still was some chill in the room and she was glad she at least chose to dress for the weather. She knew that if there was any hope to escape, she would have to stay focused and exploit any opportunity to escape.

It was nearly an hour when Erin heard more activity upstairs and then heard footsteps on gravel. She turned to the window to see her captor walking out towards where the woods met the road. Realizing that this could be her chance, she steeled herself for the hurt that would follow from dislocating her thumb; the product of falling from a horse riding accident when she was much younger. Erin hated doing this, as it hurt like hell when she did it. It did allow her to escape handcuffs, but in order to avoid inconveniencing herself she took up lock picking so she wouldn’t have to injure herself repeatedly and eventually give herself a crippling hand injury. Taking her thumb in her other hand, she gave a quick jerk while biting into her gag causing an almost audible popping sound. Erin grimaced through the pain and grunted a little, then strained as the handcuffed chafed through her dominant hand’s wrist as she attempted to pull the cuff free past her wrist and knuckles, using a bolt stuck to the pole she was secured to as added leverage.

After a couple minutes of painful and exerted effort, the restraint peeled loose from her. Somewhat elated but still somewhat panicked, Erin quickly got her hands in front of her and began to work on the ropes binding her ankles. She was nearly done when her blood froze at the sound of gunshots from outside.


If someone wanted to illustrate feel free.

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