The Training of C

AFTER DAY FOUR, BEFORE DAY FIVE, ACT ONE - RED DAWN

Despite the unmitigated success of the field trip, Girth warned me not to expect too much. Barriers deep within you had lifted briefly but, he said, would come down again. But the fact they’d lifted at all was excellent. Progress was being made.

It was two days after the trip. Girth said he’d let me know when he wanted us back, but it was important for C’s subconscious to process what had happened on some level. He said it might be a week. Maybe two.

I’m pottering about the kitchen, kettle on for some drinks, when I hear a crash from upstairs.

“You ok?” I shout, not overly concerned. We’re both of us clumsy buggers at times.

No reply.

“Yo!” I shout.

Still nothing.

The very faintest of alarm bells starts to ring at the back of my head. Part of me thinks about grabbing a knife from the block, but then I remember I’m not in some grim BBC police procedural and I just head upstairs.

Where I find you face down on the bedroom floor.

“C!” I shout, reaching for you.

Then someone turns the lights out.

- - -

I wake on what is clearly a bed. My normal morning wake-up routine consists of me not moving or opening my eyes until I’ve got a bit of a handle on the day’s events, and I do this now. But instead of trying to remember whether or not I’d promised to do some dusting today, I instead strain to pick up any information on just what the fuck is going on. But apparently it’s not fooling anyone.

“I know you’re awake, J,” says a voice I’d fervently hoped never to hear again. I open my eyes.

Dawn stands there.

“Hello. Lover.” she says with a degree of malice not commonly associated with those words.

Shit. Something tells me this is bad.

My brain is still rebooting and it’s only now I notice you. Dawn has you tied very securely to a chair in the middle of the room. Your head is forced upright so you’re staring at the ceiling, and I notice Dawn has fitted a ring-gag to to you, holding your mouth open.

I don’t like the look of this. I really don’t like the look of this.

I try to get up but nothing happens. I’m not restrained, and I can move my head, but my arms and legs aren’t obeying orders. That’s a bit worrying.

“You won’t be able to move for a while, J. Not after what I jabbed you with.”

“What the fuck is all this about, Dawn?” I ask.

“Payback.”

“For what?” I ask, genuinely confused. A wave of pins and needles rushes through my arms and legs, and I wince to myself.

“You fucking resisted me!” she screams.

What?

“I control men!” she shouts, “and I’m fucking good at it. From age 19 onwards if I wanted a man, I took him. He had no say in the matter. Half the time he wouldn’t even remember afterwards! But not you. Oh no, it took both me and my special pill to tip you over the edge. Your revolting loyalty to your wife made you resist me far, far past the point you should have been able to!”

“But you did control me, Dawn,” I remind her. “I may not have any clear memories of it but I know I betrayed C and shagged you silly.”

I hear you making noises that I interpret as you disagreeing with certain aspects of this, but I’m busy.

“Only once the pill was working on you. It shouldn’t have been needed! Remember when I said that by a certain point most husbands had me bent over a chair? Well I lied. It wasn’t ‘most’. IT WAS FUCKING ALL OF THEM! EVERY, SINGLE ONE! AND IT WAS EASY, AS IT FUCKING SHOULD BE! AND THE PILLS THEY HAD WERE JUST VIAGRA! YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE THAT NEEDED MORE!”

“Sorry,“ I say, “but are you seriously saying you’re doing all this because I tried - and failed, remember - to say ‘no’ to you?”

“Yes!” she hisses.

“Jesus, Dawn. Fucking get over it.”

“Oh, I will. After today.”

I don’t like the sound of that.

“Fun fact, J. The pill I gave you? The one I described as a ‘mad chemist's miracle’? I made it. I’m the mad chemist. Because that’s something else I’m fucking good at.

And I also made this one. Just for C.” She opens a case and removes a small, bright red pill. “I call it ‘Red Dawn’ and in about five minutes I’m going to force your wife to take it.”

I give Dawn a look of pure hatred, mingled with fear.

“In about an hour, J, you’ll get pins and needles. That’ll go on for about five minutes, and after that you should have most of your muscle control back. But it’ll be too late, because by that time I’ll have taken C from you. And you won’t be getting her back.”

She sees fear on my face.

“Oh, I won’t kill her...”

I look a little relieved.

“It’ll be far, far worse than that.”

I hear you making a sceptical noise, but something tells me your confidence is misplaced. I really don’t like the look of that pill. And I’m starting to get genuinely scared, because I honestly can’t see a way out of this.

A voice at the back of my head is trying to tell me something. Something I’ve heard in the recent past is important, but I’m not sure what or why.

“This pill,” Dawn says, gazing at it lovingly, “makes the one you took seem like a fucking Tic-Tac. It’s sort of the female equivalent, but boosted a thousandfold and near as I can tell the effects are permanent. Or close enough, anyway. An hour after taking this, any woman will start to feel horny. And it’ll only get worse.”

She looks at you.

“You can wank all you want - and you will, trust me C - but it won’t do you any good. At first you’ll get some relief, but it won’t last and you’ll need to wank again. And again. And again. A day after taking it you’ll be shagging anyone…anything...with a dick. You’ll have to. You’ll need to. You’ll have no choice in the matter whatsoever, and J won’t be able to help you. You won’t even want him to because all you’ll be craving is the next cock, the next wank, the next release. You’ll be lost in your own lust, trapped in a body that needs sex all the time and will take it from whoever or whatever it can. Forever. It’s pure, unleashed nymphomania, boosted with some other stuff to make it so very much worse. Everything that makes you you will eventually be gone. Lost inside the animal.”

 She looks at me. “I bet you’re one of those people who thinks nymphomania is a really fun condition, eh? ‘Bet she’s fun at parties’ sort of thing?”

I’m not, as it happens, but I doubt Dawn would believe me.

“It’s a fucking horrible condition. People with it are utterly slaves to their own bodies. I’ve only ever known two genuine nymphomaniacs in my life, and one of them suicided when she was 22 because of it.”

“And the other?” I ask, in the voice of someone who has a nasty feeling they already know the answer.

“You’re talking to her,” Dawn says.

My brain finally homes in on the vital bit of data I’d missed, and for the first time since I woke up I feel a slight - and hopefully not misplaced - glimmer of hope. Because I realise something: Dawn’s made a mistake somewhere. She said I should have pins and needles in about an hour, but I had them just now. And they’ve worn off. I surreptitiously test my arms and legs, not trying to actually move but just to gauge what would happen if I made the attempt. And best I can tell, I’ve got at least some movement back. Fuck knows how much but something is better than nothing. Either Dawn messed up the drug she used on me, or it doesn’t work on me as well as it should.

The situation is still chronically bad, mind.

She comes over and hauls me into an upright position. “I want you to watch the next bit closely, J. I want it seared into your stupid little mind. I want it to haunt you for the rest of your miserable life. And it will be miserable. Trust me.”

She walks over to you and I’m aware that you’re making distressed noises. You’ve seen what one of Dawn’s pills did to me so you know she isn’t bluffing. I can see you trying to move your head but you’re far too firmly strapped to the chair. You’ve got no movement at all. And now the ring-gag makes sense.

There’s a small set of steps next to the chair you’re secured to, and Dawn climbs them, standing high over you. She raises the hand holding the pill as high as she can get it.

“C? Are you listening to me? I’m going to drop this into you. Partly so you can’t spit it out, but mostly so you’ll see it coming!” screams Dawn.

And I realise she’s made a second mistake. Her first mistake with the drug, coupled with her need to be cruel, has given me an edge-case way out of this providing I do everything exactly right. And have a shit-load of luck, I concede. Because somehow I know that in every other version of reality, I lose you here.

Well, fuck that.

I laser-focus my eyes on the hand holding the pill. I know for a fact that Dawn won’t miss. I’ll have exactly one chance and one chance only to save you. Do not, I think to myself, fuck this up, J.

“Dawn!” I shout, playing for time. I don’t know how much mobility I have, but the longer I can draw this out the more I’ll get. Every little helps, as Tesco The Wise once said. And when you need to draw a conversation out and buy some time, there’s only one almost-surefire to do it: I deploy the Cheese.

“Don’t do this! Please! Hurt me if you must, but not C. Not my wife. I’m begging you Dawn. Please! I love her! I can’t live without her. I’ll come with you! Let you hurt me any way you want, for as long as you want! Just don’t hurt her, please! Hurt me!”

The thing about horribly cheesy dialogue is that people feel compelled to respond to it. Well, more often than not.

And Dawn does.

“But I am hurting you, J. I’m going to make you watch helplessly while I force your wife to take this, and then you’ll watch helplessly as it takes effect. You’ll watch the woman you love turn into someone, something else. And you won’t…be able…to stop …it” she sing-songs, and grins in an utterly unhinged manner.

Christ, I hope that’s enough time, I think, because I don’t think I can delay Dawn any longer.

Dawn looks down at you, fear of what’s coming making you sob. Then she looks at me, her face a picture of victory and spite.

“Say goodbye to your wife, J.” she whispers.

And releases the pill.

- - -

Time slows as my senses accelerate enormously. I know that sounds like utter bollocks - I’m a normal, slightly unfit bloke who’s getting on a bit, not some sort of superhero - but, in my defence, I’ve got an enormous incentive to operate outside my normal bounds. And so I move.

I move fast.

It’s hard to say who’s more surprised: You, me, or Dawn.

I’ve done my best to take all of my normal damage inhibitors - those parts of me that try to stop me doing stuff they know will hurt - firmly offline, because I can’t afford to hold anything back, no matter the cost. And there will be a cost, I know. I’m fuelled by adrenaline and fear - so much fear- but the energy won’t last long. I have to make this count.

My eyes track the pill descending towards you. Some part of my mind that’s good at this sort of thing, and operating purely on automatic, calculates its speed, acceleration, distance from you, then compares it to my own. And comes to an answer it doesn’t like. I’m not that far away but even so I’m not going to make it in time. Blind panic and despair flows through me, and I commit everything I have left and surge forward. A tendon in one of my legs flares white with agony. My right arm snaps ahead. Literally, it feels like something breaks. Something in my shoulder definitely tears and I shout in pain, but I drive my arm desperately towards you and just barely catch the pill.

Around me, all the other realities - the ones where I lost you - collapse into the quantum foam of Chaos, as I make this reality real.

Holy shit that was close, some part of me thinks, and I utter a sob of ecstatic relief, realising just how close I came to losing you. But I didn’t!

Right. My turn.

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE ATTAINED, a voice in my head intones. SECONDARY GOAL NOW IN EFFECT. This is how my mind copes with stuff. It’s weird, yes, but roll with it. What can I say, I consume a lot of sci-fi.

I’m still moving, momentum being an utter bastard, so I pivot awkwardly, off-balance, to avoid careering into you. It would be ironic if I saved you only to snap your neck by being a clumsy bastard, some part of me thinks, a little hysterically.

I feel something in my groin protest angrily at this manoeuvre - more pain, yaaay, tomorrow’s going to be just lovely I can tell - and alter course directly for Dawn, who is still processing the should-be-impossible fact that I’m mobile. She hasn’t had time yet to process that I‘m also extremely hostile.

And armed.

I knock her off the steps and, using two fingers, jab her in her throat. She opens her mouth to gasp and I slam my other hand, the one holding the pill, over it. Hard.

Time stops. I feel the first echo of the price I’m going to pay for the last…er… (four-point-eight seconds, my brain cheerfully supplies)…of activity.

Time starts again.

“No!” Dawn whispers. “No!” She kneels down and sticks two fingers in her mouth, but nothing happens. Either it’s a quality of the Red Dawn that she neglected to mention, or her gag reflex simply doesn’t exist any more.

She looks up. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’VE JUST DONE TO ME?!” she screams.

“Well, yes,“ I reply, “you were quite comprehensive and explicit about the pill’s effects. You went into quite a lot of detail. But if you weren’t prepared for the ride, you shouldn’t have bought the ticket. Is there an antidote?”

She doesn’t reply, lost in some darkening world as the reality of the situation, the shockingly abrupt change in circumstances, crashes down on her. I grab her by her hair and haul her upright because I’m really not in the mood for this. “IS. THERE. AN ANTIDOTE?” I shout at her, already knowing the answer. If there were she’d have taken it by now.

She shakes her head.

“Then I’d say you’ve got about twelve hours to formulate one before you’ll be incapable of thinking straight, ever again. If you’re as good as you claim to be then that should be enough time. And if not?” I smile spitefully at her for a change, “ Well…I bet you’ll be fun at parties.” As hurtful quips go it’s not great, I admit, but I’ve had a bit of a day.

I throw her towards the door, or at least try to, forgetting the damage I’ve taken. Pain makes everything go red and blurry, and I may have passed out for a second. When I can function again I’m on the floor and Dawn is nowhere to be seen. I crawl over to you, painfully, and release you. Takes a while. I’m not good at knots at the best of times, and these…are not the best of times.

You hug me hard and fucking hell it hurts. I whimper, manfully.

“Are you ok?!” you ask desperately.

Part of me is dimly aware that I’ve damaged myself quite badly by doing little more than getting off a bed too quickly. It’s too much and I laugh. Which hurts.

“I hope not, “ I reply, “I’d hate to feel like this and be ok. But I think…” I say, weakly, “I think you’d better drive, dear.”

-END-

…Dawn will return. Because of course…