ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
“Miss Nacon! Mr. Riggs! Over here please!”
A producer calls from the other side of the crowd, her voice barely making its way over the hordes of clamoring fans and frenzied crew lining the concrete walkway. Catching their attention, Walking Dead costars Katelyn Nacon and Chandler Riggs begin making their way towards her, hand-in-hand as always.
They are in Atlanta, attending the local Walker Stalker Con, where they once again come face-to-face with the throngs of devout fans who follow their exploits to the umpteenth degree, be it onset or off it. Despite the tendency many of these encounters have at turning personal rather than professional, the stars have always enjoyed getting the chance to meet their admirers, for they alone are what is keeping the show on the air and, by extension, their paychecks rolling into their bank accounts. However, as both Katelyn and Chandler have unduly found, there are some fans that take their infatuation to the extreme.
It was six weeks ago that Katelyn found herself confronted by a crazed woman, one who proved more dangerous than your garden variety nut-job: infiltrating her apartment, hellbent on breaking up their relationship to ultimately secure Chandler for herself, the deranged assailant gave the poor actress a night she would not soon forget. Binding Katelyn to her couch, stripped of her shoes and socks, she inflicted a merciless tickle torture upon her bare and vulnerable feet, one which lasted hours much to Katelyn’s utter chagrin. What research she must have done into Katelyn’s one true weakness: the fact of her feet being abysmally ticklish beyond belief, as such information would turn out to be right at her fingertips in more ways than one. Ravaging her tender soles and supple toes with abandonment, ultimately forcing Katelyn to renounce their relationship just to make it all end, she left the poor starlet, disheveled and broken, believing for sure it would be the end of the power couple as she knew them. However, it was not to be, for not three days later were Katelyn and Chandler spotted walking down the red carpet, hand in hand, broadcast on live television for the world to see.
Through fingerprint and DNA evidence collected at the scene, police had identified the assailant as Lana Liebowitz, a recent escapee from a local mental hospital who had been deemed prone to extreme delusion. They uncovered recently taken photographs of the young starlet off her laptop, as well as a layout grid of her apartment, surely enough evidence to put her away for good. However, though they were able to track her down to the apartment of a known counterfeit handbag dealer thought to be her boyfriend at the time, police were unsuccessful in intercepting her as she boarded a greyhound bus out of Los Angeles, never to be seen again. Ever since, Katelyn has been constantly looking over her shoulder, no matter where she is or who may be with her, for fear of the moment of her return to seek revenge for reneging on their deal.
And Chandler, after getting word of their inability to apprehend her, has been overly protective of his Katelyn in turn: never leaving her alone in public spaces, checking in on her throughout the night, the usual of what would be considered smothering behavior. Such was endearing at first: her white knight protecting her from the dangers lurking behind every corner. However, come the convention, with an army of private security scouring the arena, and the cameras and inquisitive eyes all keeping close watch on them, his clinging tendencies had become more of a nuisance than anything else.
They approach the producer, a clipboard in hand, frenetically scribbling away as they arrive. “You have thirty minutes before the panel begins,” she says without looking up, pressing the left speaker of her headphones closer to her ear, listening in on the digital chatter on the other line. “Everyone’s identification in attendance has been verified, and security is present all around the stage in case anybody was to cause any trouble.”
“Can’t be too careful,” Chandler asserts, his eyes darting across the crowd, looking for anybody who might be acting strangely (other than the costumed zombies walking throughout the area).
“Could you point me to the restroom?” Katelyn asks, prompting the producer to point over her shoulder, a small indentation in the wall with a door marked STAFF ONLY. Striding her way over, Chandler close in tow, she reaches the front of the door, a burly security guard placed on its side on guard.
“I have to freshen up Chandler,” she insists, pulling at his hand, knowing she must not violate the sanctity of the women’s washroom merely due to his concern. Gazing tersely into her eyes, he respects her need for space (but only for as long as necessary as he has made clear).
“I’ll be right out here if you need me,” he asserts, stamping his feet to the ground, showing his stubborn resolve as Katelyn makes her way through the swinging door, just barely catching the tail end of Chandler’s voice as it swings shut. “Just yell if you need me!”
She enters the restroom, sighing a breath of relief despite its pungent odor. Placing herself in front of the mirror, she bows her head down, noting the slight corrosion at the bottom of the sink. Had her makeup not been in perfect form, she would have splashed cold water over her face, hoping to wash away the stress and worries that have plagued her for nearly two months. Though he meant well, there were sometimes when Chandler just went too far, trying to protect her from every little thing he believes could be a threat. She’ll have to talk to him afterwards, but for now, she has resolved to enjoy the rest of the convention, stalker or no stalker.
“You’d best yell quick dear,” a familiar voice asserts, right before an arm thrusts itself around Katelyn’s upper arms, and a thick white cloth is placed over her mouth and nose. Frantically Katelyn struggles, jumping to and fro, flailing her limbs about in desperate attempt to catch unto something for leverage. However, the moment Katelyn catches hold, she is swiftly pulled away from the small sink, her muffled screams drowned out by the cacophony of noise just beyond the bathroom door. Staring into the bathroom mirror, Katelyn can make out the rough silhouette of the black-clad woman currently taking her hostage.
“We have some unfinished business to attend to, don’t we?” the unknown assailant says, yanking herself backwards away from the doorway. Dragging Katelyn to the side of the restroom, the perpetrator bumps the wall with the side of her body, revealing it to be a doorway leading to a small stairway below much to Katelyn’s astonishment.
“Ah, just where I left it!” she says, jerking the petite starlet into the passageway, a grunt of frustration escaping Katelyn’s gullet with every step as the hidden doorway gentle closes shut. Glancing over her shoulder, Katelyn can make out an ominous sight: six meters into the room, illuminated by a single bulb above, lies a small wooden chair, very similar to the one Katelyn had been placed in during her unfortunate audition many months ago. In fact, the closer she is dragged towards the piece furniture, the more she realizes it is the exact same chair, with the exact small stool seated right before it, throwing her into a tailspin of wonder and bewilderment.
The woman tosses Katelyn atop the chair, surprisingly not moving one inch in any direction despite such force being thrust upon it. Taking Katelyn by the wrists in one hand, she reaches around behind her, taking out a strand of thick nylon rope, unwinding it to the floor as she yanks Katelyn’s hands behind the wooden panels.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” Katelyn demands, straining to regain the wind that has been knocked out of her. The force of the toss, combined with the exertion given in trying to escape, ha reduced her voice to strained squeaks of indignation, as she feels her wrists swiftly being bound together.
“You just couldn’t let things be, now could you?” the masked woman spurts, winding the length of rope around Katelyn’s wrists, binding them behind her to the back of the chair, triple knotting them in an overblown yet effective fashion. “You just had to go back on our deal, when we had such a mutual understanding right? Now you’re really going to pay, sweetie.” Katelyn, the moment she sees her, attempts to kick her kidnapper away, only to fall comically short: taking her ankles in a headlock, the masked woman loops the remainder of rope around her legs, pinning then down to the stool as she binds them down, completely nullifying any inkling of escaping on her own accord.
“Oh, I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere anytime soon sweetheart,” Lana dictates, gazing upon her captive’s subdued form, relishing in the simplicity of her plan coming to fruition. “Yes, there’s nothing better than some rope and a little bit of superglue to hold you, my pretty little thing. You do remember me don’t you?” Grasping her mask behind her neck, she slowly peels it off, revealing the same face Katelyn had born witness to on that fateful night: Lana Liebowitz in the perverted flesh.
“You sure don’t look that much better than your hospital ID!” Katelyn gushes, noting the most unflattering image of her she had seen on the news detailing Lana’s initial escape. Her face blushing in seething rage, Lana dips her head down, coming within three inches of Katelyn’s stalwart façade.
“You think this is a joke?!” Lana barks, a wave of fear washing over Katelyn, turning white as a sheet witnessing unfettered rage from her captor. “I told you to stay away from Chandler, and what do I see but you two trouncing about like nothing happened?! Well sugar, that’s not how things work in the real world!”
Katelyn is mute: staring evil right in the face, knowing for sure she can do nothing to escape her grasp. She has foreseen this very day, knowing exactly what Lana has come here to do to her, but she dare not utter its name, for she knows if she does it will become her ultimate fate. She’d do best to come up with an exit strategy, but her mind has gone numb, only focused on staring Lana down as long as she can. However, she can see the trek Lana’s eyes are taking, down her outstretched legs to Katelyn’s black pumps, lying precariously atop the stool, ripe for the taking. Suddenly, eliciting a yelp from Katelyn in the process, that is exactly what happens.
She lunges towards Katelyn’s shoes, prying them out of her possession. In the spur of the moment, attempting to curl her toes, anything to keep her protection from being ripped away, Katelyn is just barely unable to keep them on, watching her high heels flung clear across the room without a second thought. The sheen of her ruby red nail polish glistens in the pale light, betraying the knowledge of her one and only pedicure she had gotten since her ordeal being just yesterday, a rarity due to her obscenely ticklish feet but a necessity for such a high-profile outing.
“Aww, just for me?” Lana goads her, watching the color return to the girl’s face, a tint of red in a combination of embarrassment and rage towards her captor. “You really shouldn’t have honey, I was going to be just fine, but since you decided to give me some help, I ought to thank you.” She kneels before their pristine design, savoring every inch that she will soon find herself ravaging with hopeless abandonment.
“Now, I don’t think we need any introductions,” Lana says, making her way towards her crinkling feet, attempting to shrink away from what they know is impending. “So, let’s just skip the formalities and go right to the punchline, shall we?” Peeling the gloves off her hands, Lana reveals a set of midnight blue nails, freshly manicured into sharpened points, the sight of which makes Katelyn’s stomach drop right down to the floor. Gently, inch by agonizing inch, she begins her approach: wriggling her fingers in preparation, making sure she is at full speed by the time she lands on Katelyn’s hapless soles. Biting her lip, Katelyn can only silently watch on, through the corner of her eye, as Lana begins ravenously tickling her.
“Waaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha!” Katelyn crumbles, a full three seconds between contact and complete submission as Lana scrapes them into the delicate flesh of her soles. The combination of her poorly timed pedicure and Lana’s well-timed manicure had yielded a dastardly result, one of strained pleas and helpless cackles. “Noooooooooooo Doooooooooon’t! Stahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!”
“Don’t stop?!” Lana taunts the poor creature, savoring the power she wields over her flailing feet. “I had actually planned on it, but since you insist, I am happy to oblige!”
Katelyn, in her ballistic state, as Lana’s fingers devour her soles with wild abandonment, can’t help but ruminate on just what prompted such a fate to befall her: what did she do wrong? Why is she being punished in such a manner, having the protection stolen off her feet only to be tickled to oblivion again and again. Maybe it was the way she had been treating Chandler that threw her into this bind yet again. Maybe, had she been more considerate of Chandler, knowing he was just doing everything he could to protect her, then she wouldn’t be in this mess, her hair matting itself against the sweat collecting atop her brow, the culmination of physical and mental exertion taking its toll.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” she wails as Lana’s nails descend upon her toes, scraping deep underneath those delicate toe pads, extracting every last primal shriek from her gullet.
“Oh, we’ve got a live one here!” Lana exclaims, lost in the flurry of ticklish strokes she is inflicting upon Katelyn’s flapping feet, reveling every last shred of humanity she is playing with insider her captive.
“SOMEBODY!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” Kaelyn, in such a pitiful state, cries out in desperation for salvation, hoping with all her might tat someone would have caught wise to her absence, sending out a search party to scour the compound for her presence. Little did she know just how well Lana had planned for her capture: that this very spot had been designed as a recording booth before the entire establishment was gutted for a concert venue. She couldn’t have possibly imagined Lana choosing the perfect combination of peripheral noise, insulation, and isolation, all to make sure not one soul will hear her squeals no matter how desperate they are turning out to be.
“They can’t hear you sweetie!” Lana shouts, raking her nails them up and down her tender feet, from heels to her flailing toes, watching the white lines appear and reappear showing where she had made her mark. “They don’t care! They want you to get tickled!”
Tears begin free flowing down her cheeks, having absolutely no conception of time at this point, feeling as though moments are crawling by her like little eternities. How evil Lana must be, tormenting this innocent little plaything for her amusement, and how hopelessly abandoned Katelyn feels in return. If only she had not wished Chandler to give her space: had he just accompanied her in the time of most need, then she wouldn’t be faced with the ticklish touch of this crazed woman. However, none of that matters now, for all that matters is searching for that one iota of humanity that must be left in her captor, even though she has a hunch there will be nothing to be found.
Suddenly, Lana ceases, lifting her nails from the reddened flesh of her captive. Chest heaving, Katelyn can only gasp for breath being given such a precious moment of repose, no matter how short it will ultimately turn out to be.
“I hope you don’t think I’m taking it easy on you,” Lana states, leaning in to the disheveled starlet, addressing her in the same condescending tone as an adult would address an entitled child. “I just wanted to make sure you’re ripe and ready to handle these!” With that, she reveals a handful of fuzzy pipe cleaners, their neon colors bright under the dim light. Despite such an ignorance to the tools of the trade, Katelyn can only imagine the horrid result of those making contact with her feet. However, it was only to reveal itself much worse, especially the moment they make contact with their intended targets: her toes.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
Lana, frenetically and without an inch of mercy to behold, begins flossing the pipe cleaners in between her toes, as a hapless shriek escapes Katelyn’s gullet before dissolving into strained silent laughter. Such horrendous devices, with their fuzzy carapace, invading every nook and cranny as they crawl in between her flailing toes, just underneath the delicate toe pads, again and again. Had Katelyn one inch of leverage, she would have negotiated any fate other than that, but now she is locked in a perpetual cycle of heaven and hell.
“What was that dearie?! You want more?!” Lana asks before picking up her pace, sawing them in between her flailing toes, as Katelyn shakes her head side to side, hoping to rouse herself from this perpetual nightmare. Her mind going numb, she is slowly losing sight of herself, her identity being chipped away bit by agonizing but with every scrape of these dastardly devices in between her toes. It’s almost as though that was the plan: to syphon her humanity from her until she is nothing left, nothing but a giggling heap of tortured laughter, one which Chandler could never love, leaving her with Lana attached to his arm.
“STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAPPPPP!!!”
“Okay, okay!” Lana exclaims, once again leaving Katelyn in her broken state. She gazes upon her captive, knowing she is getting that much closer to fulfilling her goal. Licking the saliva from her lips, she drinks in Katelyn’s suffering, feeding on her pathetic cries for what has turned out to be countless moments of cruel torments inflicted upon her, but she’s not done.
“I know what you’re wondering: just when is she going to make this end?” Lana mockingly imitates her captive, as Katelyn is forced only to listen, watching the tears fall from her cheeks unto her robins egg blouse below. “When is she going to let me go? How long is she going to punish me? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” Even in such a subdued state, Katelyn finds it in her to turn her eyes up to her captor, shooting her a glare of absolute loathing, one which would send a chill down anybody’s spine had they a soul. However, with the callous tone of voice renewed, it seems Lana is lacking such.
“Oh, feisty aren’t we?” Lana taunts, a wicked smile scrawled across her face, indulging in the fighting spirit still left in her captive, but not for long. “Well, let me tell you: there’s nothing you can say, or do, or promise, NOTHING that will keep me from taking you over the edge. That’s right, I’m going to break you: until there’s nothing left in that pretty little head of yours, until that flicker of light in your eyes are extinguished, and you’re nothing but a shell of little Katelyn is left, and once they put you in the mental hospital, having been driven crazy from our time together, I promise we’ll come visit you. Yes, Chandler and I, the new Hollywood power couple, will always make time to visit the downtrodden, I guarantee it.”
Suddenly, reaching behind her, she reveals a large hairbrush, its bristles topped with shining silver balls, a shiver rolling down Katelyn’s spine with the very sight of it. However, flipping a switch at its bottom, Lana reveals it to be a vibrating device, its ballpoints oscillating at hypersonic speeds. Nothing could prepare Katelyn for the horrendous torment such a device had in store for her, and as the device slowly approaches her paralyzed feet, its bristles vibrating the air in front of them, her mind is consumed with white noise as she descends swiftly into madness.
“Goodbye Katelyn,” is all Lana says before descending the device into her soles, sending a ear-splitting shriek echoing through the room, as Katelyn throws her head back in sheer ticklish horror. Mouth agape, eyes wide as saucers, she is forced to endure the full force of Lana’s torments, pressing the vibrating tips into her feet already having been tenderized to the point of hypersensitivity beyond compare. Nothing could even come close to this torment: it was hell incarnate, as though the entire world had conspired to deliver upon her the most horrendous tickling she couldn’t possibly live through.
She is finished: her body is limp, not having the energy to struggle anymore. Straining against her hapless cries, a hoarse voice emitting primal grunts of agony from time to time, Katelyn has lost all sense of herself: not the bouncing young lady she was but a broken young woman, taken down in the prime of her life by such a vile creature. The light slowly fading out of her eyes, she finds herself gradually descending into darkness, both a physical as well as mental one, losing grasp of herself in this world, accepting the fate she has been given as victimized by this insane creature. However, just as she is going to fall into the pit of no return, she is shaken back to reality, her white knight having finally returned.
“Katelyn!” a familiar voice echoes over her screams, as Lana gazes up to find Chandler standing in the doorway, a fleet of security guards right behind him. Panting for breath, Katelyn cannot answer his call, but only sheds a single tear of happiness for her rescue. Swiftly, throwing the dastardly device to the wayside, Lana attempts her escape, fleeing to another hidden path in the corner of the room but to no avail: she is apprehended by FBI agents waiting on the other side, tackling her to the ground as she grunts in indignation. Having fled across state lines, they were called in (by Chandler) to investigate her, uncovering enough evidence through their own means to put her away until rapture, even without the recent kidnapping charge she is surely to face. Wrestling the handcuffs unto her wrists, picking her up by the arms, they drag her away by the heels, but not before she can get one last word it to both Chandler and her captive:
“You’ll be seeing me real soon! You hear me?! You can’t escape me! Chandler will be mine! I swear it! Chandler, wait for me! WAIT FOR ME!!”
Rushing over to Katelyn, he slides unto his knees, frantically pinching at the ropes around her wrists. He unbinds her, grasping her hands as her head droops to the ground, keeping her face hidden from his view as the last shreds of rope fall to the ground. A clueless detective, not in tune with the literary moment this author s trying to establish, ruins the scene of rescue.
“We’ll make sure she’ll never bother you again,” an agent reassures her, tapping her on the shoulder as he walks away, having been subsequently written out of the scene.
“Katelyn, I’m so sorry,” Chandler whispers to her, being consumed by his guilt having not the power to stop Lana in her tracks. “I promise that I will never let this happen aga…”
Suddenly, she embraces him, locking her lips unto his, a passionate kiss after such a harrowing ordeal. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his chest.
“I’m just so glad you’re my boyfriend,” she whispers, as he embraces her equally so, much within the view of a distraught Lana Liebowitz being dragged away.
The End
A producer calls from the other side of the crowd, her voice barely making its way over the hordes of clamoring fans and frenzied crew lining the concrete walkway. Catching their attention, Walking Dead costars Katelyn Nacon and Chandler Riggs begin making their way towards her, hand-in-hand as always.
They are in Atlanta, attending the local Walker Stalker Con, where they once again come face-to-face with the throngs of devout fans who follow their exploits to the umpteenth degree, be it onset or off it. Despite the tendency many of these encounters have at turning personal rather than professional, the stars have always enjoyed getting the chance to meet their admirers, for they alone are what is keeping the show on the air and, by extension, their paychecks rolling into their bank accounts. However, as both Katelyn and Chandler have unduly found, there are some fans that take their infatuation to the extreme.
It was six weeks ago that Katelyn found herself confronted by a crazed woman, one who proved more dangerous than your garden variety nut-job: infiltrating her apartment, hellbent on breaking up their relationship to ultimately secure Chandler for herself, the deranged assailant gave the poor actress a night she would not soon forget. Binding Katelyn to her couch, stripped of her shoes and socks, she inflicted a merciless tickle torture upon her bare and vulnerable feet, one which lasted hours much to Katelyn’s utter chagrin. What research she must have done into Katelyn’s one true weakness: the fact of her feet being abysmally ticklish beyond belief, as such information would turn out to be right at her fingertips in more ways than one. Ravaging her tender soles and supple toes with abandonment, ultimately forcing Katelyn to renounce their relationship just to make it all end, she left the poor starlet, disheveled and broken, believing for sure it would be the end of the power couple as she knew them. However, it was not to be, for not three days later were Katelyn and Chandler spotted walking down the red carpet, hand in hand, broadcast on live television for the world to see.
Through fingerprint and DNA evidence collected at the scene, police had identified the assailant as Lana Liebowitz, a recent escapee from a local mental hospital who had been deemed prone to extreme delusion. They uncovered recently taken photographs of the young starlet off her laptop, as well as a layout grid of her apartment, surely enough evidence to put her away for good. However, though they were able to track her down to the apartment of a known counterfeit handbag dealer thought to be her boyfriend at the time, police were unsuccessful in intercepting her as she boarded a greyhound bus out of Los Angeles, never to be seen again. Ever since, Katelyn has been constantly looking over her shoulder, no matter where she is or who may be with her, for fear of the moment of her return to seek revenge for reneging on their deal.
And Chandler, after getting word of their inability to apprehend her, has been overly protective of his Katelyn in turn: never leaving her alone in public spaces, checking in on her throughout the night, the usual of what would be considered smothering behavior. Such was endearing at first: her white knight protecting her from the dangers lurking behind every corner. However, come the convention, with an army of private security scouring the arena, and the cameras and inquisitive eyes all keeping close watch on them, his clinging tendencies had become more of a nuisance than anything else.
They approach the producer, a clipboard in hand, frenetically scribbling away as they arrive. “You have thirty minutes before the panel begins,” she says without looking up, pressing the left speaker of her headphones closer to her ear, listening in on the digital chatter on the other line. “Everyone’s identification in attendance has been verified, and security is present all around the stage in case anybody was to cause any trouble.”
“Can’t be too careful,” Chandler asserts, his eyes darting across the crowd, looking for anybody who might be acting strangely (other than the costumed zombies walking throughout the area).
“Could you point me to the restroom?” Katelyn asks, prompting the producer to point over her shoulder, a small indentation in the wall with a door marked STAFF ONLY. Striding her way over, Chandler close in tow, she reaches the front of the door, a burly security guard placed on its side on guard.
“I have to freshen up Chandler,” she insists, pulling at his hand, knowing she must not violate the sanctity of the women’s washroom merely due to his concern. Gazing tersely into her eyes, he respects her need for space (but only for as long as necessary as he has made clear).
“I’ll be right out here if you need me,” he asserts, stamping his feet to the ground, showing his stubborn resolve as Katelyn makes her way through the swinging door, just barely catching the tail end of Chandler’s voice as it swings shut. “Just yell if you need me!”
She enters the restroom, sighing a breath of relief despite its pungent odor. Placing herself in front of the mirror, she bows her head down, noting the slight corrosion at the bottom of the sink. Had her makeup not been in perfect form, she would have splashed cold water over her face, hoping to wash away the stress and worries that have plagued her for nearly two months. Though he meant well, there were sometimes when Chandler just went too far, trying to protect her from every little thing he believes could be a threat. She’ll have to talk to him afterwards, but for now, she has resolved to enjoy the rest of the convention, stalker or no stalker.
“You’d best yell quick dear,” a familiar voice asserts, right before an arm thrusts itself around Katelyn’s upper arms, and a thick white cloth is placed over her mouth and nose. Frantically Katelyn struggles, jumping to and fro, flailing her limbs about in desperate attempt to catch unto something for leverage. However, the moment Katelyn catches hold, she is swiftly pulled away from the small sink, her muffled screams drowned out by the cacophony of noise just beyond the bathroom door. Staring into the bathroom mirror, Katelyn can make out the rough silhouette of the black-clad woman currently taking her hostage.
“We have some unfinished business to attend to, don’t we?” the unknown assailant says, yanking herself backwards away from the doorway. Dragging Katelyn to the side of the restroom, the perpetrator bumps the wall with the side of her body, revealing it to be a doorway leading to a small stairway below much to Katelyn’s astonishment.
“Ah, just where I left it!” she says, jerking the petite starlet into the passageway, a grunt of frustration escaping Katelyn’s gullet with every step as the hidden doorway gentle closes shut. Glancing over her shoulder, Katelyn can make out an ominous sight: six meters into the room, illuminated by a single bulb above, lies a small wooden chair, very similar to the one Katelyn had been placed in during her unfortunate audition many months ago. In fact, the closer she is dragged towards the piece furniture, the more she realizes it is the exact same chair, with the exact small stool seated right before it, throwing her into a tailspin of wonder and bewilderment.
The woman tosses Katelyn atop the chair, surprisingly not moving one inch in any direction despite such force being thrust upon it. Taking Katelyn by the wrists in one hand, she reaches around behind her, taking out a strand of thick nylon rope, unwinding it to the floor as she yanks Katelyn’s hands behind the wooden panels.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” Katelyn demands, straining to regain the wind that has been knocked out of her. The force of the toss, combined with the exertion given in trying to escape, ha reduced her voice to strained squeaks of indignation, as she feels her wrists swiftly being bound together.
“You just couldn’t let things be, now could you?” the masked woman spurts, winding the length of rope around Katelyn’s wrists, binding them behind her to the back of the chair, triple knotting them in an overblown yet effective fashion. “You just had to go back on our deal, when we had such a mutual understanding right? Now you’re really going to pay, sweetie.” Katelyn, the moment she sees her, attempts to kick her kidnapper away, only to fall comically short: taking her ankles in a headlock, the masked woman loops the remainder of rope around her legs, pinning then down to the stool as she binds them down, completely nullifying any inkling of escaping on her own accord.
“Oh, I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere anytime soon sweetheart,” Lana dictates, gazing upon her captive’s subdued form, relishing in the simplicity of her plan coming to fruition. “Yes, there’s nothing better than some rope and a little bit of superglue to hold you, my pretty little thing. You do remember me don’t you?” Grasping her mask behind her neck, she slowly peels it off, revealing the same face Katelyn had born witness to on that fateful night: Lana Liebowitz in the perverted flesh.
“You sure don’t look that much better than your hospital ID!” Katelyn gushes, noting the most unflattering image of her she had seen on the news detailing Lana’s initial escape. Her face blushing in seething rage, Lana dips her head down, coming within three inches of Katelyn’s stalwart façade.
“You think this is a joke?!” Lana barks, a wave of fear washing over Katelyn, turning white as a sheet witnessing unfettered rage from her captor. “I told you to stay away from Chandler, and what do I see but you two trouncing about like nothing happened?! Well sugar, that’s not how things work in the real world!”
Katelyn is mute: staring evil right in the face, knowing for sure she can do nothing to escape her grasp. She has foreseen this very day, knowing exactly what Lana has come here to do to her, but she dare not utter its name, for she knows if she does it will become her ultimate fate. She’d do best to come up with an exit strategy, but her mind has gone numb, only focused on staring Lana down as long as she can. However, she can see the trek Lana’s eyes are taking, down her outstretched legs to Katelyn’s black pumps, lying precariously atop the stool, ripe for the taking. Suddenly, eliciting a yelp from Katelyn in the process, that is exactly what happens.
She lunges towards Katelyn’s shoes, prying them out of her possession. In the spur of the moment, attempting to curl her toes, anything to keep her protection from being ripped away, Katelyn is just barely unable to keep them on, watching her high heels flung clear across the room without a second thought. The sheen of her ruby red nail polish glistens in the pale light, betraying the knowledge of her one and only pedicure she had gotten since her ordeal being just yesterday, a rarity due to her obscenely ticklish feet but a necessity for such a high-profile outing.
“Aww, just for me?” Lana goads her, watching the color return to the girl’s face, a tint of red in a combination of embarrassment and rage towards her captor. “You really shouldn’t have honey, I was going to be just fine, but since you decided to give me some help, I ought to thank you.” She kneels before their pristine design, savoring every inch that she will soon find herself ravaging with hopeless abandonment.
“Now, I don’t think we need any introductions,” Lana says, making her way towards her crinkling feet, attempting to shrink away from what they know is impending. “So, let’s just skip the formalities and go right to the punchline, shall we?” Peeling the gloves off her hands, Lana reveals a set of midnight blue nails, freshly manicured into sharpened points, the sight of which makes Katelyn’s stomach drop right down to the floor. Gently, inch by agonizing inch, she begins her approach: wriggling her fingers in preparation, making sure she is at full speed by the time she lands on Katelyn’s hapless soles. Biting her lip, Katelyn can only silently watch on, through the corner of her eye, as Lana begins ravenously tickling her.
“Waaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha!” Katelyn crumbles, a full three seconds between contact and complete submission as Lana scrapes them into the delicate flesh of her soles. The combination of her poorly timed pedicure and Lana’s well-timed manicure had yielded a dastardly result, one of strained pleas and helpless cackles. “Noooooooooooo Doooooooooon’t! Stahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!”
“Don’t stop?!” Lana taunts the poor creature, savoring the power she wields over her flailing feet. “I had actually planned on it, but since you insist, I am happy to oblige!”
Katelyn, in her ballistic state, as Lana’s fingers devour her soles with wild abandonment, can’t help but ruminate on just what prompted such a fate to befall her: what did she do wrong? Why is she being punished in such a manner, having the protection stolen off her feet only to be tickled to oblivion again and again. Maybe it was the way she had been treating Chandler that threw her into this bind yet again. Maybe, had she been more considerate of Chandler, knowing he was just doing everything he could to protect her, then she wouldn’t be in this mess, her hair matting itself against the sweat collecting atop her brow, the culmination of physical and mental exertion taking its toll.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” she wails as Lana’s nails descend upon her toes, scraping deep underneath those delicate toe pads, extracting every last primal shriek from her gullet.
“Oh, we’ve got a live one here!” Lana exclaims, lost in the flurry of ticklish strokes she is inflicting upon Katelyn’s flapping feet, reveling every last shred of humanity she is playing with insider her captive.
“SOMEBODY!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” Kaelyn, in such a pitiful state, cries out in desperation for salvation, hoping with all her might tat someone would have caught wise to her absence, sending out a search party to scour the compound for her presence. Little did she know just how well Lana had planned for her capture: that this very spot had been designed as a recording booth before the entire establishment was gutted for a concert venue. She couldn’t have possibly imagined Lana choosing the perfect combination of peripheral noise, insulation, and isolation, all to make sure not one soul will hear her squeals no matter how desperate they are turning out to be.
“They can’t hear you sweetie!” Lana shouts, raking her nails them up and down her tender feet, from heels to her flailing toes, watching the white lines appear and reappear showing where she had made her mark. “They don’t care! They want you to get tickled!”
Tears begin free flowing down her cheeks, having absolutely no conception of time at this point, feeling as though moments are crawling by her like little eternities. How evil Lana must be, tormenting this innocent little plaything for her amusement, and how hopelessly abandoned Katelyn feels in return. If only she had not wished Chandler to give her space: had he just accompanied her in the time of most need, then she wouldn’t be faced with the ticklish touch of this crazed woman. However, none of that matters now, for all that matters is searching for that one iota of humanity that must be left in her captor, even though she has a hunch there will be nothing to be found.
Suddenly, Lana ceases, lifting her nails from the reddened flesh of her captive. Chest heaving, Katelyn can only gasp for breath being given such a precious moment of repose, no matter how short it will ultimately turn out to be.
“I hope you don’t think I’m taking it easy on you,” Lana states, leaning in to the disheveled starlet, addressing her in the same condescending tone as an adult would address an entitled child. “I just wanted to make sure you’re ripe and ready to handle these!” With that, she reveals a handful of fuzzy pipe cleaners, their neon colors bright under the dim light. Despite such an ignorance to the tools of the trade, Katelyn can only imagine the horrid result of those making contact with her feet. However, it was only to reveal itself much worse, especially the moment they make contact with their intended targets: her toes.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
Lana, frenetically and without an inch of mercy to behold, begins flossing the pipe cleaners in between her toes, as a hapless shriek escapes Katelyn’s gullet before dissolving into strained silent laughter. Such horrendous devices, with their fuzzy carapace, invading every nook and cranny as they crawl in between her flailing toes, just underneath the delicate toe pads, again and again. Had Katelyn one inch of leverage, she would have negotiated any fate other than that, but now she is locked in a perpetual cycle of heaven and hell.
“What was that dearie?! You want more?!” Lana asks before picking up her pace, sawing them in between her flailing toes, as Katelyn shakes her head side to side, hoping to rouse herself from this perpetual nightmare. Her mind going numb, she is slowly losing sight of herself, her identity being chipped away bit by agonizing but with every scrape of these dastardly devices in between her toes. It’s almost as though that was the plan: to syphon her humanity from her until she is nothing left, nothing but a giggling heap of tortured laughter, one which Chandler could never love, leaving her with Lana attached to his arm.
“STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAPPPPP!!!”
“Okay, okay!” Lana exclaims, once again leaving Katelyn in her broken state. She gazes upon her captive, knowing she is getting that much closer to fulfilling her goal. Licking the saliva from her lips, she drinks in Katelyn’s suffering, feeding on her pathetic cries for what has turned out to be countless moments of cruel torments inflicted upon her, but she’s not done.
“I know what you’re wondering: just when is she going to make this end?” Lana mockingly imitates her captive, as Katelyn is forced only to listen, watching the tears fall from her cheeks unto her robins egg blouse below. “When is she going to let me go? How long is she going to punish me? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” Even in such a subdued state, Katelyn finds it in her to turn her eyes up to her captor, shooting her a glare of absolute loathing, one which would send a chill down anybody’s spine had they a soul. However, with the callous tone of voice renewed, it seems Lana is lacking such.
“Oh, feisty aren’t we?” Lana taunts, a wicked smile scrawled across her face, indulging in the fighting spirit still left in her captive, but not for long. “Well, let me tell you: there’s nothing you can say, or do, or promise, NOTHING that will keep me from taking you over the edge. That’s right, I’m going to break you: until there’s nothing left in that pretty little head of yours, until that flicker of light in your eyes are extinguished, and you’re nothing but a shell of little Katelyn is left, and once they put you in the mental hospital, having been driven crazy from our time together, I promise we’ll come visit you. Yes, Chandler and I, the new Hollywood power couple, will always make time to visit the downtrodden, I guarantee it.”
Suddenly, reaching behind her, she reveals a large hairbrush, its bristles topped with shining silver balls, a shiver rolling down Katelyn’s spine with the very sight of it. However, flipping a switch at its bottom, Lana reveals it to be a vibrating device, its ballpoints oscillating at hypersonic speeds. Nothing could prepare Katelyn for the horrendous torment such a device had in store for her, and as the device slowly approaches her paralyzed feet, its bristles vibrating the air in front of them, her mind is consumed with white noise as she descends swiftly into madness.
“Goodbye Katelyn,” is all Lana says before descending the device into her soles, sending a ear-splitting shriek echoing through the room, as Katelyn throws her head back in sheer ticklish horror. Mouth agape, eyes wide as saucers, she is forced to endure the full force of Lana’s torments, pressing the vibrating tips into her feet already having been tenderized to the point of hypersensitivity beyond compare. Nothing could even come close to this torment: it was hell incarnate, as though the entire world had conspired to deliver upon her the most horrendous tickling she couldn’t possibly live through.
She is finished: her body is limp, not having the energy to struggle anymore. Straining against her hapless cries, a hoarse voice emitting primal grunts of agony from time to time, Katelyn has lost all sense of herself: not the bouncing young lady she was but a broken young woman, taken down in the prime of her life by such a vile creature. The light slowly fading out of her eyes, she finds herself gradually descending into darkness, both a physical as well as mental one, losing grasp of herself in this world, accepting the fate she has been given as victimized by this insane creature. However, just as she is going to fall into the pit of no return, she is shaken back to reality, her white knight having finally returned.
“Katelyn!” a familiar voice echoes over her screams, as Lana gazes up to find Chandler standing in the doorway, a fleet of security guards right behind him. Panting for breath, Katelyn cannot answer his call, but only sheds a single tear of happiness for her rescue. Swiftly, throwing the dastardly device to the wayside, Lana attempts her escape, fleeing to another hidden path in the corner of the room but to no avail: she is apprehended by FBI agents waiting on the other side, tackling her to the ground as she grunts in indignation. Having fled across state lines, they were called in (by Chandler) to investigate her, uncovering enough evidence through their own means to put her away until rapture, even without the recent kidnapping charge she is surely to face. Wrestling the handcuffs unto her wrists, picking her up by the arms, they drag her away by the heels, but not before she can get one last word it to both Chandler and her captive:
“You’ll be seeing me real soon! You hear me?! You can’t escape me! Chandler will be mine! I swear it! Chandler, wait for me! WAIT FOR ME!!”
Rushing over to Katelyn, he slides unto his knees, frantically pinching at the ropes around her wrists. He unbinds her, grasping her hands as her head droops to the ground, keeping her face hidden from his view as the last shreds of rope fall to the ground. A clueless detective, not in tune with the literary moment this author s trying to establish, ruins the scene of rescue.
“We’ll make sure she’ll never bother you again,” an agent reassures her, tapping her on the shoulder as he walks away, having been subsequently written out of the scene.
“Katelyn, I’m so sorry,” Chandler whispers to her, being consumed by his guilt having not the power to stop Lana in her tracks. “I promise that I will never let this happen aga…”
Suddenly, she embraces him, locking her lips unto his, a passionate kiss after such a harrowing ordeal. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his chest.
“I’m just so glad you’re my boyfriend,” she whispers, as he embraces her equally so, much within the view of a distraught Lana Liebowitz being dragged away.
The End
