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Under Evaluation Part 6
Cody Wisnecki tried to pull the blanket over her legs. As she awoke, she dreamily thought that she’d somehow gotten wound up in her bed covers. Her legs were uncomfortably cold, yet her arms and torso were hot and clammy. Strangely, even her head felt flush. Her arms seemed uncooperative this morning and she groggily opened her eyes.
Rather than being greeted by the familiar confines of her bedroom, her fuzzy vision beheld a puzzling field of grey. Clarity struck suddenly, accompanied by a startled “nnngff!”
She was tied up! As her mind rapidly cleared, she realized what an understatement that was. Her arms, hands and fingers absolutely refused to budge. She kicked her legs and they initially seemed to be unhindered, until they came to an abrupt halt, 18” apart. Cody looked down at herself, the shock temporarily masking the fact that her head had been restrained as well.
From what she could see (and feel), she was virtually naked, except for her arms and torso, which were encased in a pink, day-glo straightjacket.
“God, I hate pink.” She thought, distractedly.
By the look and touch of the garment, it was made of some kind of latex or rubber. That would explain why she felt so hot and sweaty. She flexed her arms, testing its security. In spite of what she’d always assumed, the composition of the jacket did not stretch like rubber. Her arms continued to bear hug her chest, crossing just under her breasts. Its cut and style was unlike anything she’d seen before.
For one thing, it wasn’t like the ill-fitting canvas contraptions she’d seen on TV. This one squeezed her every inch it touched. Its cut was unique as well. Rather than covering from hips to shoulders, the stiff, 3” wide hem stopped just below her ribs. A strap dove down the front, intersecting with a belt fastened low on her waist, insuring everything remained aligned. From there, the strap continued down between her legs. Cody felt slightly ill, when she realized it was holding something phallic-shaped inside both her vagina and rectum. The was no ignoring how the tight strap parted her butt cheeks on its way up to the back of the jacket. Not seeing a buckle in front, she assumed it was in back, her hopes of reaching it, nil.
Her inspection also revealed that her legs hadn’t completely escaped unscathed. Patent leather cuffs in the same garish, hot pink color as the straightjacket, were buckled around her ankles. Brass padlocks unnecessarily passed through the buckles on each. A pink leather strap connected them, allowing her perhaps eighteen inches of slack.
“hmmn nnghh uhnn…” her question of “What in the hell?”, was interrupted as she noticed her tongue had a roommate.
Something slick, firm and spherical was crammed in her mouth, allowing her tongue very little wiggle room. Cody tried working her jaw and that’s when she felt the all over pressure on her head. Something brutally tight squeezed down on her skull, jaw and lower face, locking her teeth against a hard rubber shaft apparently connected to the sphere. Whatever it was, it not only made speech impossible, but reduced the noise she could make to a whisper.
She glanced around at her surroundings, testing her bonds as she did. Her vision completely cleared, she saw that she was in an authentic padded cell. Grey colored canvas was quilted on the floor, walls and ceiling. Wire mesh protected florescent lights, which provided dazzlingly bright illumination. However new the lighting might have been, the cell itself spoke of age and heavy use.
Stains in assorted hues splotched the floor and walls. The rust colored ones could have only been blood, the browns and ambers, other bodily secretions. Their sight sent a chill up Cody’s spine. However, the PI wasn’t one to just curl up and die. Not seeing any sign of an exit in front of her, she rolled over to examine the other half of the room.
“grmmfff!” She yelped, as something hard and the size of a small brick jabbed her in the back.
She rolled off the object and resumed her scrutiny.
“Ah!” She thought, “There’s the door.”
The “door” as it were, could only be identified by the uniform, hairline seam that marked its perimeter. It had no knob, handle nor keyhole. In their place, was a ten digit keypad, mounted to a steel plate on the door. The keypad was shielded behind a clear pane of Lexan (Cody knew it wouldn’t be glass) and padlocked shut.
“So,” the private investigator thought, “All I have to do, is wriggle out of this unbearably tight straightjacket, pick the lock on the cover, enter the correct code (anywhere from 3, to possibly 9 digits) and waltz on out of here. Piece of cake.”
Her wry humor helped to keep the panic at bay. For the moment. A glance at the adjacent wall picked up an abnormality. What she had first thought to be a continuous field of padding, was interrupted by something oddly irregular. She rolled on to her stomach and pressed her forehead into the spongy floor.
Cody grunted as she worked her knees up under her. Whatever’d been shoved up her lower orifices, didn’t have a lot of ‘give’ to them. But the blonde wasn’t about to just lie on the floor, feeling sorry for herself. Trying her best to ignore the pressure thrusting against her inner walls (especially the one inside her virginal back passage), the PI lurched up to her knees. Thankfully, the hobble was long enough to allow her to get a foot planted. One more exertion, accompanied by a nasal “grrrmmnnnffff!” and Cody managed to get to her feet.
The sag in the floor beneath her felt weird and conjured up memories of the “Moon-Bounce”, at some long forgotten birthday party. Her struggles had turned her away from the anomaly, so she rotated in that direction. Greeting her, was a woman bound in an outfit of nauseatingly bright, Pepto-Bismol pink. Cody didn’t need subtitles to know she was looking at her reflection.
She also didn’t need Cliffs Notes to know that the 2’ by 4’ mirror was an observation window for the room next door. Given the room’s draconian interior, complete with observation portal, Cody surmised she was still somewhere inside the hospital. Exactly where in the hospital was still a mystery. Another puzzle, was she currently being watched and by whom? And of course, the 64 dollar question, why the hell had she been kidnapped?
Deciding her best course of action was to play dumb until she had some answers, the investigator examined her restraints in the mirror. It seemed like the natural thing to do, for a damsel in distress. She was hoping to spot a weakness she could exploit. Her initial analysis didn’t prove promising.
The straightjacket showed no signs of wrinkle nor pucker, gripping her body like a second skin. Her arms were pulled stringently tight in front of her, elbows well past each other, traveling in different directions. Secondary straps clenched her arms at bicep and elbows, making it impossible to slip her arms downward or over her head. She assumed the buckle for the straps at the ends of the sleeves was what was digging into her spine.
Her head and face had all but vanished beneath a suffocatingly tight hood of pink leather. An oval shaped opening revealed her nose, eyes and eyebrows and the lower half of her forehead. The squeeze of the helmet puffed her cheeks up over the lower edge of the opening. As if that wasn’t enough, a pair of matching pink straps encircled her head. The first passed over her missing mouth and buckled in back. The second, cupped her chin, then rose over the crown of her head. When it was secured, it caused her jaw to clamp unflinchingly down on whatever was stuffed inside her mouth.
The snug leather headgear enclosed her throat, traveling down to the base of her neck. Tight enough to make its presence known, but not restrict her airway. Turning her head slightly, she saw her golden hair spill out a hole near the top of the helmet. Someone had fashioned it into a long, single braid ending in, of course, a bright pink ribbon. That same someone, had also affixed a set of padlocks to all the exterior straps. Talk about overkill.
She followed the crotch strap down to the belt encircling her waist. The belt had been drawn tight enough to dimple the flesh it covered. The crotch strap itself revealed none of its secrets. Only Cody and the person who put them there, knew what was trapped inside.
Turning, the detective looked over her shoulder and inspected the back of the garment as best she could. She could see none of her skin peeking through the seam of the straightjacket. It was secured with what looked like a “belt and suspenders” mentality. First, the garment’s laces had been drawn tight. Then, at least twenty small straps running horizontally up her spine had been buckled closed. Each buckle sported a tiny brass lock. The fingertip straps of the sleeves encasing her arms were buckled securely, finished off with a VERY formidable looking padlock. Whoever held the keys to this outfit, must jingle like Santa Claus’ reindeer. Affixed to the hem of the ‘costume’ at the base of her spine, was the small, pink ’brick’ she’d rolled on to earlier. She hadn’t a clue as to its purpose.
Cody tensed against her pink leather and latex prison once more. She could barely get a ’creak’ out of it. She was royally and thoroughly, stuck. She walked up to the mirror and with no other alternative, gave it a light rap with her forehead.
“Ow!” She mumbled to herself. “Good thing I didn’t try to head butt it. The glass must be over an inch thick.”
Next, she walked over to the keypad on the door. Giving it a nudge with her hip, did nothing but cause the padlock on the clear cover to rock briefly. This was probably good news for her nose. No doubt she’d sprain it, trying to enter all the possible numeric combinations. She moved to the center of the room and did a slow 360. Aside from the mirror and the door, the room was depressingly without features.
She started to sit down, but thought better of it, as the prods twitched. Allowing herself a resigned sigh, she moved off to the corner opposite the door. Wedging herself in the corner, she did just about the only thing she was capable of. Wait.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, she was struck by a most unsettling sensation. Her bladder was starting to signal that it was full.
***
Once Lily’s wheelchair had been secured inside the van, Velma turned off the flow of gas. The effects gradually wore off, but the model’s situation remained unchanged. Her eyes glanced sideways despairingly, unable to turn her head. Rush hour was in full swing, the roads and walkways clogged with humanity. Lily fought her bonds like a maniac, but could do little more than shudder. The van’s tinted glass revealed no clues to her plight.
Eventually, the bustle of the city gave way to the more spacious suburbs. The van continued north, into neighboring Bucks county. As the scene outside her rolling prison became more rural, Lily’s anxiety heightened. At least in the city, there’d been the chance of a car accident or moving violation. Anything that would have brought attention to the van and its occupants. But out here, the raven haired prisoner felt completely isolated.
Suddenly, Lila’s twin sister perked up.
“This is the road leading to Byberry hospital!” She realized.
Indeed, the van had turned on to the two lane road which lead to the complex’s main entrance. As they did, Velma reached back and screwed a small canister to the control stem of the ‘oxygen’ tank. With the final twist, it released its contents into the plastic tubing. Lily had time to blink once, falling unconscious before Velma had turned back in her seat.
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