Chapter 26

Tuesday, little later.

I hear metal scraping, and it wakes me from my half sleep.  I see the brunette, sharpening a straight razor. She eyes me passively, then looks back to her blade.

She wears a barber outfit, complete with red bow tie and sleeveless shirt over a black shirt. Black short-shorts, with tan pantyhose, black heels. Her lower face covered with a thick mustache and foo man shoo.  In front of her is a cart on wheels. I see shaving cream, a metal pan, a tea kettle and white towel.

My body aches all over, my ass, my hips, my knees, my arms are all numb. The slightest movement causes ripples of pain throughout every point in my body.

I grimace but keep silent. She notices and eyes me with authority.

I say nothing, wanting to know what she's planning to cut, without having to ask. 

She hums to herself and places the knife on the cart. She bobs her head to the tune and pushes the cart over to me. 

I swallow and set up straight.  A bone pops somewhere inside of me, and she looks at me.

"Ouch. Someone is getting old!" She bubbles at me.

Saying nothing is getting me further than the quagmire my questions lead to. She notices I'm not responding and presses.

"Oh, silent treatment. Phooey!"

She shakes the shaving cream, and sprays a handful.

She squats in front of me, directly facing me.

"Whatever, shall, I do?"  Her eyes inches from me as she gently runs the foam across my face, studying me.  Her fingers are soft, nails gently grazing my skin.

She pulls the metal pan down, and sets it in my lap.  The towel, she stretches over my shoulder. She pours hot water into the pan from the kettle, instantly my legs feel the heat. 

"Are we ready?" She asks without wanting my response.  

Her hand gently lifts my chin up, and the blade comes close. I can't control my breathing, expecting the worst.  Her eyes are curious, as the knife touches my skin.

I close my eyes, waiting for her next move.

I feel that sharp metal point on my neck. The razor line of safety, and pain. She uses two fingers to hold my chin up.  I hear the metal scraping across my skin, filleting hairs from my face.  

Each stroke, scraping, peeling hairs off.  She cuts clean, without causing pain. She cuts left to right, in upward strokes. Never breaking skin.

I hold my breath, not wanting to move. Each couple of seconds I hear the scrape-scrape-scrape, then pause, water sloshing, the towel gently tugged at from my shoulder, then repeat.

The process goes, until I feel her move my head around. My neck feels bare, clean, and cold. 

She takes her middle finger and tilts my head down, "You can breathe."

I open my eyes, and her face studies mine. Our eyes lock for a moment before I think I sense a smile from under her facial hair.  

She pushes my face to the right with little effort and begins scraping upwards.

"What will it be today, Mr.?" She asks in a voice from the days of radio. "Mustache? Go-tee? Foomanshoo? Sideburns? Or we going clean?"

"Whatever cuts me the least." I shoot in.

She pauses, then continues in a cartoon barber voice, "The clean shave. Good call Mr."

Each stroke, I feel her eyes on me. My breathing relaxes, but my nerves are on edge.  A stranger with a sharp object to your face does that.

"I've had practice before. Can't you tell?" She asks her eyes on the blade.

My eye shifts to her. "Are we being serious now? Or is this just part of the game?"

She stops cutting, and looks to me, "She said you like to...pry. Pry into me...how do I have experience with a knife?"

I have to lick my lips and take a deep swallow before I start, "If you respond any way like she did, no thank you. We can just say I guessed, and was way-wrong and-"

Suddenly I'm facing her. Her right hand holds my face with force, then releases to gentle.

"No!" She cuts me off, "Pry, into me."

Her eyes are hypnotic and I can't seem to look away from her. 

"I...I really know nothing about-"

She slowly raises the knife to my field of view. Her gentle touch pushes my face to the other side. Her eyes are saying, "test me."

"It's easy...ask questions...maybe I'll tell you the truth, maybe I'll just play with you...Pretend like there is a stranger with a very pointy, sharp object close to your face...It might help that investigator in you."

Her eyes shift to the knife as it comes closer to my left cheek. 

"Ok, ok...ah, hands, arms to skinny, you're not military. You're young, too young to graduate from field work...smart, very smart, manipulative-"

The knife touches my skin, and she slowly begins the shaving process all over again.  Her eyes on the knife; her head tilts, mouth is focused, her tongue curls in concentration. 

"...You, you seem driven, you don't seem to have a problem using your body to further your mission...

She stops, "Are you saying I'm a slut?!" One eyebrow raised.

"No, no...you're confident, in your body, in your own skin...confident more-so than she is, in those outfits you wear...Why, is...those outfits...is that some new protocol for fucking with your abductee?"

She smiles to herself, then goes back to focusing on shaving my face, "There is no protocol for what we're doing...You are just, a good little boy, who got very, very lucky...Continue."

"East coast, I'm guessing North Carolina, maybe moved, I'm sensing New York, New Jersey. Smartest in your class. Ivy League, no! You stayed close...What's a New York college?...Rutgers? Probably didn't go out there for tech, but it was something you discovered you were great at."

"Why would I be the tech geek again?"

"One of you had to have info on me. Did the digging...the research. Probably even subscribed. Her arms, her strength is trained. Yours, are more recent. More for show, not for go."

"Hmm...That still doesn't account for the knife..." She postulates, still gently slicing hairs from my face. "...Your mouth is dry, swallow."

She pauses and allows me a moment before we both continue.

"So, N.S.A., or C.I.A...Moved up ranks quickly, you rode the wave after that prostitution ring was exposed last year...You went from what, second year agent to, admin?"

She doesn't look up, "Third. Special Council."

"Spe, special council?...Were you the center of the recent leaks?! Or just blackmailed...the president?"

She smiles. "Close enough."

"There, there is NO-WAY you are a day older than twenty-five-twenty-six, so rewind four years, you're twenty-two...you graduated in four years, and immediately went to government work?"

"Aww, thanks...who says I didn't graduate early...Both times."

I turn my head, double-taking her response. She immediately pushes my head back in place. I think I see her smile. 

"How old are you!?"

She pauses, "Didn't your mama ever teach you, it's impolite to ask a girl her age?"

"Yes, but you have more facial hair than I do now. How old are you?"

"You haven't guessed it yet, and I'm not saying it. Why is my age so important? What's it matter?"

"Oh, you know, this whole week, getting abducted for the first time in my life...the Stockholm syndrome I recently contracted. You said pry. I'm just doing as you commanded."

She stops and eyes me a second, "Yes, so you are. Well, I'm not telling you that."

I quickly face her, "You will."

She double takes and I move my face back in place before she can do it for me.

The pause before she responds makes me smile wide. I can feel her wanting to say more but she continues cutting upwards.

I stay silent as she carefully cuts around my mouth, and under my nose.  She turns my face in different directions

"You haven't explained my experience with a knife, care to guess, or should I taunt you some more?"

"I...I really don't have a guess...did you have some fascination with shaving dudes faces?"

It's then I look up her arm, I see the scars. Old lines, healed over years. My eyes run to hers. 

She sees the pity on my face. Her eyes drift from mine, to her arms, then back, "Years ago. Like she said, are you happier finding the truth?"

"I'm...never happy...but that doesn't mean the truth isn't worth searching for...The sooner it gets brought to light, the sooner you can heal."

She pulls her arm back, but my eyes want to see more. My whole body is in extreme pain, or the tingly numb that makes me constantly move.

"Some of us have survived this long without needing your light."

"Just survived?"

Her eyes answer me with impatience, before she fishes a key out of her pocket.

"I have more money in my bank account, a security clearance, a politician's healthcare, access to every American's private emails, search history-"

"Yeah-yeah-yeah, you get every-thing you want working for the bad guys."

"Yes, I do."

"But when you're alone at night-"

"I buy friendship."

"Do you buy someone who understands you? The true, weird, sexy, secretive you? Someone you don't have to have secrets from?! Someone whose there for you, regardless of what money you have, or what job you maintain?"

She looks down to me; I see her face digest my question with sincerity, before she responds, 

"Some times, you just...can't change your circumstances. No matter how bad you want something...or someone...Sometimes, life, only gives you moments..."

Her eyes look into mine, as she lifts the key to my wrists. I don't even look away. I almost don't care; I'm hanging on her words.

"...You have to enjoy those tiny moments, because...circumstances, control all the things you can't see..."

I feel the key go into one the handcuffs.

"Like, if I were to say to you, "We can be together, forever...but you have to stand, remove my mask, and kiss me like I know you mean it..."

I feel the handcuff go loose, and my right arm drops immediately to my side.

"...Prove to me that circumstances don't exist in your world, and I'll believe."

The click of metal and my left numb arm falls to my side. Both arms rush with blood and stinging.

She stands up over me, "Kiss me right now. Prove me wrong."

I try and move but my body is jello. Painful, stinging, jello. Cramps in my legs, my quads unable to lift my weight. 

She looms over me, her eyes unsympathetic. I repeatedly try to move, but look pathetic in my attempts.

From above I hear her ask, "Circumstance, you see?"

I want to yell and spit in her face. Looking up to her, I'm sure she sees in my eyes.

"Remember...it's the small moments."

Her eyes penetrate me; her hand reaches down, touching my face, breaking my anger. It's not pity, it's like she lacks the will of experiencing our "connection". 

She turns and pushes the cart towards the door. Out of exhaustion, I can only watch as she leaves the cell.   

I feel broken, exhausted. I can't even move like a human being, and I end up on fours.

"You still owe me," I hear from out of sight.

I look to the door, she's there.

"...for the shave."

Our eyes stay locked for a moment.

"Small moments." She smiles before the door closes.

I collapse to the cool concrete. I want a cigarette, but close my eyes instead.