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Fiction:  Kidnapped (Humour) - Deslea R. Judd

This piece was written in 1994 by the author for

personal entertainment.  It is copyright and may not be 
used or distributed (except for the purposes of private 
entertainment) without my written permission.

	When first I came to, after the struggle and the 
sudden jab of the needle, it occurred to me that I was 
not the only one to suffer in this way.  There were 
others contained, just as I.  Rows and rows of them, 
imprisoned behind bars like a jail for the innocent.

	The others were of all kinds.  There was nothing 
common to us all, not colour or sex or breeding.  But we 
were mostly young, and we all had families who would pay 
for our return.

	Strangely enough, it was one of the family, in 
my case, who had conspired to bring me here.  I had 
sensed something different in her voice, something 
purposeful and determined as she called my name.  On an 
instinct which I had not stopped to question, I'd fled. 
 But she had caught me from behind and bundled me into 
the car.   She had driven all around town, finally 
pulling up in a laneway and dragging me into a sparsely 
furnished room with a pretty, but somehow tired-looking 
girl at a desk.

	"Miss Harris?" the girl had said.  "Is this 
Thomas?"  At her assent, the girl had continued, "Lloyd 
will be with you in a minute.  He'll make all the 
arrangements."  She'd gazed at me with a gentle smile, 
and I'd had the feeling she hated all of this.  But - 
there was something sinister about the word 
arrangements.

	My mistress.  My very own Sophie.  When I 
thought of all the wonderful times we'd shared, the idea 
of her doing this to me seemed incomprehensible.  The 
days in the sun.  The nights, snuggled together on her 
bed.  How could she?  Why?  Why?  All this and more I 
had silently demanded of her as we sat and waited for 
this man Lloyd.

	He had finally emerged from an office and 
invited Sophie to bring me in.  It had been horrible.  
He'd manhandled me uncaringly, and when my struggles 
drew blood, he sank a needle deep into my flesh.  When I 
had woken, I'd found myself in this prison.

	I looked around me, taking stock of my 
surroundings.   It was, I supposed, not that bad for a 
cell.  There was a toilet and a bed and it was 
moderately clean.  But no food for some reason.  The 
others had food, but it seemed that I and a couple of 
the others were to be denied it.  Why?  I wondered.  To 
drive us into submission?  It wouldn't work, of that I 
was confident.

	There was a noise at the end of the corridor.  
The white door opened, and a rather large woman in a 
white tunic dress and flat white shoes strode in 
purposefully.  She yelled something to the pretty young 
girl who'd smiled at me when I came in.  I gathered her 
name was Fiona and she was new to all this.  She told 
Fiona off for crying.  Fiona quailed.  "Mrs Crombie, she 
was such a sweet little thing.  How can I not cry when 
she's dead?"

	Mrs Crombie was stern.  "You have to get a grip 
on your emotions, Fiona.  It's very sad, but these 
things happen in this business.  You have to learn not 
to take it so personally."  She turned on her heel and 
left.

	Fiona blew her nose rather loudly, finally 
whispering, "I'm not sure if I can."  She rocked 
mournfully in her chair.

	Another of the people, a young man dressed - 
like Fiona and Mrs Crombie - in white, came up to her 
and said not unkindly, "It's okay.  You'll get used to 
it.

	"Will I?"

	I tuned out then, ignoring the rest of the 
conversation.  I retreated to the back of the cell in 
horror as I turned over the exchange and its 
implications in my mind.  Someone had died.  These 
people were playing for keeps.

	The hours dragged slowly.  None of the other 
prisoners, I noticed, spoke to one another.  Most slept 
or stared into space.  A few sang to themselves.  It 
struck me as a terribly downtrodden group, unable to so 
much as share their trauma.  No-one tried to escape, so 
far as I knew, except when their cells were actually 
opened for some reason.  Then, temptation took control 
and they would without fail lash out or scratch at their 
captors in a bid for freedom, knowing it was useless, 
for they would be caught before they reached the door.  
I prided myself on having more dignity than that.  I 
wanted to get out, but I was going to do it with my 
brains.  None of this pointless scuffle for me.

	But when Mrs Crombie came and opened the door to 
my cell, some instinct took over me and betrayed me in 
this conviction.  Before I knew it, I was struggling and 
leaping free.  She chased after me, yelling something 
about being hurt.  I ran for the door.

	Fiona beat me to it, and she was grinning 
uncontrollably.  I thought it was because Mrs Crombie 
was hurt and hoped for a fleeting second that she would, 
in gratitude, let me go.  But she produced a needle, 
grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and sank it into 
me.  "Sorry, Thomas."

	This time, when I woke up, I felt shocking.  I 
didn't just feel sluggish like I had before.  I felt 
nauseous and my body wouldn't obey me when I willed it 
to do something.  I watched stupidly as I endeavoured to 
stretch my leg and it remained bent.  I wasn't actually 
paralysed, just mentally and physically exhausted.

	But something was different.  My entire lower 
torso felt strange.  The skin there was pale pink, as 
though exposed to the air for the very first time, and 
there was some kind of cut that had been stitched.  I 
wondered what they had done to me, and how they had 
managed to treat me.  But I couldn't remember.

	They had put food in the cell - perhaps to 
assist me in my recovery.  Perhaps my torture was to be 
postponed until I was well once more.  The idea of food 
was enough to make me sick, however, and I turned my 
back on it and slept fitfully.

	The next thing I knew, Fiona stood outside my 
cell.  "Thomas?" she said.  "I have a surprise for you." 
 She stood aside, and a familiar voice called my name.

	Sophie.  What did she want?  I thought bitterly. 
 I looked up at her, then closed my eyes once more.  She 
wouldn't take the hint.  "Thomas!" she squealed.  
"Thomas, darling, it's so good to see you!"  Fiona 
unlocked the door and opened it, but I was too tired to 
run.  I didn't even stir, except to open my eyes again. 
 Sophie continued, "Oh, Thomas, you poor dear.  You 
don't understand any of this, do you?  But sweetheart, I 
want you to know that I did this for you - for us!  Let 
me explain."

	She explained, and I still didn't really 
understand.  Much of it was over my head.  But it was 
clear that in her mind, what she had done was quite 
justifiable and completely for my own good.  She 
appeared quite confident that I had not been in any 
danger at any time.  I wanted to tell her about the one 
who had died, but somehow I couldn't find the words.  
She knew about me hurting Mrs Crombie, though; she found 
that highly amusing and laughed with Fiona at the fact. 
 I turned away bitterly, still not really convinced.

	Sophie held me against her then.  I couldn't 
find the strength to pull away, and she hugged me with 
great tenderness.  "Come on, darling.  I have a 
beautiful meal waiting at home.  Come with me and we'll 
put all this behind us."

	In my mind, I wanted to protest, but instinct 
was stronger.  I cuddled up against her.  She kissed me 
and took me to the room where I had met Fiona the 
previous day, asking as we went, "What do I owe you?"

	Fiona went to a computer and tapped a few keys. 
 "Well, the initial consultation was $30, the first 
sedative was $25, the anaesthetic was $65, and food and 
board was $10.  And the actual desexing was $30.  All 
up, you're up for $160."  She patted my head.  "You 
know, Miss Harris, you really have the most beautiful 
cat."

	Sophie smiled.  "Indeed I do."  Laughing, she 
carried me out and closed the door.