Bi-beep! Bi-beep! Bi-beep! Bi-b—
—A lady in her forties smacked the alarm beeping across her bedside table with the palm of her hand.
Yawning, she rose from her bed and slid her feet into slippers.
Her bedroom was of a medium size.
The sheets that fell from her cookie print pyjama clad body were bubble gum pink.
A fish tank bubbled away peacefully beside her desk.
The surrounding walls were littered with posters of Timothée Chalamet, Justin Bieber, Henry Cavill …
… And Tom Holland.
Her pet cat Simon purred as she grazed her knuckles along his spine.
At 06.01 am, she began her morning routine.
Cheerios were scattered into her favourite bowl, along with some whole milk and diced fruit.
Over the past few years she had gained some weight - a lighter breakfast had been included within a readjusted diet.
She sipped a black coffee she wished contained sugar and cream.
She begrudgingly ate her unsatisfying start-of-the-day meal and watched the morning news on the television.
‘… We’ve got some really serious high level clouds rolling in, they’re always the precursor to a big storm, and that’s exactly what we’ve got here on this exceptionally mild Wednesday …’ the weather reporter announced.
She flicked through Holiday Homes magazine.
She wondered where she might purchase her next staycation property.
Last year it was Bali, a few months ago Alaska …
She showered, picked out a suit that still felt a size too small and then she combed her jaw length bob of blonde hair.
She swapped slippers for three inch heels and grabbed her pre-made tuna salad from the refrigerator.
She fed Simon, fetched her car keys, her handbag and then drove her Ford to southwest Hollywood.
She endured traffic, morning humidity and the need to pee.
Eventually, she arrived at her office; a giant mansion located on the outskirts of Beverly Hills.
At the gate, she pulled a white oval shaped, plastic mask from the glove compartment and attached it to her face.
She rolled down the drivers window and presented her appearance to a Masked Henchman, who scanned her from forehead to chin with a device that looked similar to a cellphone.
A simple nod, like the one actioned yesterday and the day before that, provided confirmation that she would now be allowed to drive through the open gate.
She drove her Ford to the side of The House, arriving behind another driver who had just gone through the same process she had.
Garage doors slid upward - a tunnel journeying into black would now be followed into a secret underground level located beneath the expanse of the giant home.
Once parked up, she switched off the engine, mask still attached to her face, where she then made her way, side by side by another masked person dressed in a suit, towards the elevator.
“How was your run?” The Masked Man asked.
The elevator doors opened, they both stepped inside.
“I lasted twenty minutes,” she admitted, “Thanks for bailing.”
The Masked Man adjusted his jacket.
“It was The Traitors finale, I had no choice.”
The elevator doors opened, they both stepped out.
He made his way to the left, she made her way to the right.
They walked into a gigantic office space; the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the desks, the cubicles, the lighting were all white …
Hundreds of well suited, masked personnel sat typing on computers, speaking into phones, carrying paperwork from one cubical to the next.
She passed a computer screen with Edvin Ryding’s face on it - his ticklish stats were being entered into the system, his location updated, the mission statement on how to capture him uploaded into the central intranet …
She passed another computer screen playing a video of Ryan Gosling, hog tied and tickled by The Clown - the content was currently being edited, ready to be sold to the many members who funded the organisation She worked for.
She passed the poll results for who should be blackmailed next, pinned to the office wall.
Taped to the poll results were dozens of sticky notes and four polaroids; one of Ncuti Gatwa training at the gym, another of Jacob Elordi barefoot by the pool, another of Noah Beck grabbing lunch in London …
She reminded herself to submit her vote, once she had finished her three o’clock meeting.
She arrived at her desk, booted up her computer, placed her fingertips on the keyboard and then—
—A Masked Man hurtled past her cubicle at full speed.
She blinked behind her mask, turning her head from side to side as a beat of silence filled the office.
Suddenly, another Masked Man ran in the same direction.
She rose from her seat slowly.
She jolted as flashing lights and alarm bells sounded.
She had not heard that alarm since the days of Where’s T—
—She hissed behind her mask.
“Son of a monkey!”
Owen, The Masked Man who occupied the cubicle to the left of hers, peered around the divider and grabbed hold of her wrist.
“Have you heard?”
She felt her throat tighten.
“H, heard what?”
He shook her arm.
“The Tom we have …”
She felt the panic and hysteria around her drop into slow motion.
“… It, it isn’t Tom …” he whispered.
She yanked her arm away and spun on the spot.
“One of his team handed themselves in!” The Masked Man called out for her - she usually thrived on gossip, but this time her reaction was different, “Where are you going!”
She bolted towards an out of use office, struggling to make her way through Masked Men barging past her in a hurried frenzy towards the truth.
A broad chest suddenly blocked her path.
Evans sneered down at her.
“… You …”
She stumbled away, ready to stand before the consequences of her actions …
Relief washed over her when Evans said:
“… I need you to clean cum off the ceiling of Room 55. Logan lost it again, larger than last time, actually,” he sniggered.
She nodded frantically.
Evans strolled away, off to investigate the chaos, hands in his pockets, grinning …
She opened the out of use office door, closed it with her back and then locked it.
She pulled her iPhone out from her jacket pocket, her hands shaking.
Her unmanicured thumbs typed an urgent text to someone stored on her phone as ‘T.M’…
EYES: THEY KNOW.
Two Masked Men marched Harrison down a hall way.
A black velvet hood had been thrown over his head, a neon green ball gag strapped around his jaw, his mouth struggling to contain the circular wedge of plastic, his hands restrained tightly behind his back by cold, steel cuffs …
One Masked Man held onto his right bicep, the other Masked Man held onto his left bicep.
Behind them, The Major followed …
Harrison tripped over his own feet, “Mmphh!—”, still wearing the Puma’s he’d worn when standing at the doorway of The House, where he had betrayed Tom under the perfect blue of Beverly Hills sky only minutes ago.
Now those very Puma’s trod over carpet, then the unexpected challenge of stairs without sight, then the push and shove into an elevator travelling downward …
“Mppn! Mnn?”
He remained quiet and dribbling - despite the overwhelming feeling of guilt and sincere unwelcome, only one thought remaining inside his mind.
What have I done?
Palms pressed into his back.
He staggered forwards, the rubber of his trainers squeaking over a flat surface.
The hood was swiftly removed from his head.
He squinted, the clinical beam of the level known as ‘Sub Zero’ blinding him momentarily.
Before him sat the young man he knew as ‘Adrian’.
Dressed in only underwear with his feet locked in stocks and his arms strapped to extended leather pads, Adrian scowled at Harrison breathlessly, his toned body decorated in pinch marks and tiny red scratches, his abs structured and defined, most probably more so than before thanks to all the hysteria he had expelled since he had agreed to pretend to be someone else.
His big toes were tied back, his soles always lubricated with baby oil, the Spider-Man symbol tattooed to perfection over the arch of his right foot still believably real.
Positioned next to the tickle chair was a trolley containing a steel tray presenting a variation of tools; an electric toothbrush, a selection of differently shaped feathers, a blindfold, a hairbrush, individual lengths of string amongst other things …
He looked like the most tickled person alive.
The Major arrived beside Harrison, as one Masked Man removed Harrison’s ball gag, the other un-cuffing his wrists.
“You’re telling me …” The Major turned to the person he had apparently been fooled into thinking was Tom, “… This isn’t him?”
Harrison gulped, wiping saliva away from his lips with the back of his hand.
“I … I know it sounds daft, I… I know it’s nuts …” Harrison looked at The Major eagerly, “… But it’s all prosthetics. I swear! He’s just …”
Adrian growled, his attempts to leap out at Harrison contained within his bondage as Harrison said six degrading words:
“… He’s just a very expensive look-a-like …”
The tickle chair rattled as Adrian lost his temper; so far, he had used words like ‘oi’, ‘lads’, and ‘bloody hell’ as a way to protest, but this time, the anger deep inside of him refused to act.
“You bastard! What have you done! You fucking dumbass!—”
One of The Masked Men hurried behind Adrian and gagged him with their palm, the leather of their glove keeping Adrian’s shouts at the back of his throat.
“—Mnnnphh! Mnnnph! Mnnnph!—”
The Major remained tall, calm and statuesque, his jet black exterior and sparkly mask reflecting in the brightness of Sub Zero’s ceiling lighting.
He did not take his eyes off Adrian, causing Harrison to wonder if The Major believed him at all …
“Prove it,” The Major ordered.
Harrison’s eyelashes fluttered shut as he swallowed down the need to turn around and run.
Adrian continued to protest, his muffled growls kept behind the hand clasped over his mouth.
Harrison approached Adrian carefully, the young offenders rampant kicks and forceful pulls within the tickle chair now actioned with determined strength.
The Major watched on with interest as Harrison reached his hands towards Adrian’s face.
Adrian did all he could to stretch his neck in the opposite direction, his head twisting, turning, until The Masked Man forced it into a still hold.
Harrison bit his lower lip in focus as he pressed and nudged around Adrian’s neck and jaw, “It should be around …” where he tried to locate the edges of the covering, as if attempting to find the start of masking tape.
Once successful, he used his fingernails to lift it, “… Here …”
Adrian had no choice but to allow Harrison to remove the fleshy covering that had encapsulated his identity for what felt like forever.
Inch by inch, second by second, what looked like a layer of skin was gradually peeled off and away from Adrian’s face, revealing someone who now just very much looked like Tom Holland, but was not Tom Holland at all …
Harrison turned to The Major, the face covering dangling from his fingertips.
“There’s more,” Harrison declared.
The Major stepped closer, as Harrison discarded the covering as if it were a wet cloth.
He then pushed away The Masked Man’s hand and clawed his fingers around Adrian’s mouth, much to Adrian’s displeasure.
“Guuh, guuuh!” Adrian dealt with Harrisons strength like he was some kind of amateur dentist, pulling his jaw apart like he would if a dog had swallowed something bad for them …
He tried to bite down, to gnaw, but his mouth ached from being made to laugh so hard from all the tickling, that he had no choice but to give in.
“I’m sorry, mate,” Harrison kept Adrian’s mouth open with one hand, The Masked Man providing support with his own intense grasp …
Harrison retrieved a tiny disk from the roof of Adrian’s mouth, holding it on the tip of his index finger, whilst Adrian coughed and spluttered.
“See …” Harrison lifted his shoulders innocently, “… We tricked you.”
Adrian panted and wheezed, the skin of his cheeks tingling, his voice now sounding like his own; gone was the British twang, back was the Swedish accent.
“Just … “ huff, huff, “… When I was starting to enjoy myself … ” Adrian presented his real face to The Major, an electric and playful glimmer in his eyes, “… Din jävel …”
The Major stood still.
Harrison cocked an eyebrow as he awaited a response … Sub Zero became so muted you could hear a pin drop.
Suddenly, The Major dropped to his knees and breathed in quickly.
“—GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!—”
He punched the floor, he clawed at his jacket, he almost removed his mask.
Harrison jumped back, dropping the little disc in shock - he had never seen such an emotional outburst …
“—-GRAH! GRAAAAH! GRAAAAH!—”, The Major stood, “—GRAAAAH! GRAAAAAAH! RAAAAAGHHH!—”, he flipped over the trolley, “—GRAAAAAH! GRAAAAH! GRRRRRAAAHHHHH!—”, the tickle tools spilled everywhere, the tray crashed to the ground, “—GRAAAAHHHHH! GRAAAAAAHHHHH! GRAAAAAAAHHH!—”, he kicked the electric toothbrushes, the bottles of lotion, the gags and blindfolds away with his boots …
… And then he stood, gasping for air.
The Masked Man placed his hands over Adrian’s shoulders, Adrian’s eyes now bulging open as he watched The Major have a breakdown.
“Crikey,” Harrison chuckled, “Are you alright, mate?”
The Major dusted off his jacket and cleared his throat.
He made sure his mask was firmly in position.
He turned to Harrison and charged towards him, his booted feet thud, thud, thudding across the shiny floor …
Harrison took a few panicked steps back before The Major grabbed at the collar of his t-shirt and launched him off his feet.
“Oi, what are you doing!" Harrison had worked as a stunt double before, but this strength, right here right now, was something else, “I’m on your side now!”
The Major’s diamond covered face forced itself mere inches opposite Harrison’s mouth.
“You are going to tell me … Everything …” The Major growled.
“In a restless heart, the seed of betrayal lay …” - Bruce Springsteen
Harrison stood in the same warehouse he, Jake, Andrew and Tobey had tickled Tom in, back in July 2023.
The red chair Tom had sat on was still positioned in the middle of the wide, open, concrete flooring.
“Familiar?” The Major took a seat on the red chair as several Masked Henchmen readied lengths of rope.
Harrison chuckled nervously into the back of his hand.
“Yeah …” he could not hide the tremble in his voice, “… Why have you taken me here?”
The Major admired his minions handiwork as they threw rope up to the warehouse beams, looping them around pipes and the structure of the buildings rooftop.
“I can still smell him,” he smirked as he shamelessly chose to ignore Harrison’s question, “His feet, his armpits, his ticklishness…”
Harrison frowned.
“Uh, oooo-kay—”, he scratched the back of his head, “I was hoping this would be a ‘sit down, have a cuppa and a chat’ sort of thing …”
The Major and the surrounding Masked Men laughed at Harrison, who sheepishly lowered his head.
“Let me get this straight, blue eyes,” The Major stood from his seat, “You thought you and your handsome face could just skip straight to our front door and blab everything related to The Tom Holland, to the biggest tickle-cult organisation on the planet, and we what?”
He tapped under Harrison’s chin, urging the young man to lift his head, “Would high five you? Shake hands? Give you a treat and rub your belly?” The Major noticed Harrison flinch as soon as the word ‘belly’ was said out loud, “Well, we’re most certainly going to do one of those things …”
Harrison suddenly found himself surrounded by four Masked Henchmen, all holding bundles of rope.
“Er, lads …” he turned in a circle, “… Please, I …”
The Major folded his arms across his chest.
“Begging already? Oh, I like you …” he tilted his head, “… What’s the matter? You sound anxious …”
Harrison felt the masked group close in on him, step by step …
“I er, I’ve never been tickled like this before …”
The Major removed his hat and placed it over the surface of the chair.
“Like this? How do you know what ‘this’ is going to feel like?”
Harrison held his hands up in surrender.
“Tom told me about you lot! You’re insane! Look, listen, how about we just—”
—The Major snapped his fingers.
“Boys, you’re scaring him,” The Masked Henchmen paused their approach, “I know you want him to understand, why Tom ran. He’ll learn, I’ll be sure of that. Darn! We’re all going to learn a lot over the next few hours or so …” he pointed at Harrisons jeans, “… Now, strip down to your underwear.”
Harrison ran his tongue across the roof of his mouth and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“No chance.”
The Major straightened his spine, the leather of his jacket, trousers and boots creaking as he did so.
“Strip …” The Major repeated, “… Or be stripped …”
Harrison pursed his lips.
He yanked off his Pumas and then whipped off his socks.
He pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a tanned and muscular torso.
A few pigeons in the corner of the warehouse coo’d as Harrison unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down to his ankles.
He stepped out of denim, placing his hands on his hips as his nipples began to harden, his bulge neatly contained in stretch cotton white briefs, his necklace hanging over his chest.
“What now?” He tongued the inside of his cheek, “You’re going to tie me down, play this little piggy, is that how it goes?”
The Major aimed his face towards the several lengths of rope now dangling from the warehouse roof.
“Actually, we’re going to tie you up …”
Harrison jumped as The Masked men began to knot rope around each of his wrists, around each of his ankles, around each of his forearms …
“I told you!” Harrison whined, struggling as he was manhandled, “You don’t have to tickle me, I’m happy to tell you everything!”
The Major paced around Harrison as The Masked Men began to create a harness around Harrison’s chest and stomach with their rope.
“Oh, I know,” he sneered, “It’s just funner this way …”
The Major stood beneath Harrison.
He removed his right glove, pocketing it inside his jacket.
He then extended his index finger and pointed upward.
Harrison felt his breath leave his throat as soon as The Major’s fingertip pressed against his stomach.
“No,” Harrison’s eyes watered, “… Stop …”
Harrison dangled in suspension bondage.
His wrists were knotted to the bottom of his spine.
Rope had been expertly tied around his shoulders, around his chest, over each thigh and ankle.
His pecs bulged, his nipples became swollen …
It had taken five of The Masked Henchman to lift and hoist his one hundred and forty pound weight, seven and a half feet into the air …
… The perfect height for The Major to easily pace under Harrison’s toned torso.
Harrison could not squirm in his bonds - he was tied too tight - all he could do was frantically twist and arch his back, kick his legs a little - any movement caused him to swing in mid air, but only a few metres each side - he was trapped, contained, strung up and prepared to be exploited …
… Tickled unlike ever before …
Not the raspberries over a stomach, not the delicate trail of ice around a belly button, not the playful tackle from those who he trusted, those who no longer trusted him …
The kind only inflicted by The House of White Feathers.
“… Like a helpless bug, caught in a spider’s web …” The Major purred, his choice of language purposefully ironic.
One Masked Henchmen placed a step ladder beside The Major.
“This is the place you got to find out how sensitive he was …” The Major climbed the ladder, “… I can imagine that knowledge probably wasn’t news to you …” he arrived at Harrison’s left foot, where he pressed his pinkie finger against the arch of his sole, “… You know him better than he knows himself, after all, he’s your best friend …” The Major grinned behind his mask as Harrison wriggled and huffed within his bonds, “… Or at least, he was …”
Harrison hurtled into a panic kick, the rope creaking and squeaking as he spun and twirled through the air, The Major’s pinkie finger now actioning a determined scribble across creamy white flesh.
“No! Grr! Get off!—”
The Major took Harrisons left foot in an armlock, without hesitation - firmly standing on the step ladder, with Harrison’s sole cradled at his chest, The Major used all five fingers of his ungloved hand to mercilessly tickle Harrison’s sole, from toe to heel - an unbearable act to inflict, on someone who clearly did not like having their feet touched, let alone relentlessly tickled.
“Grr, please! Stop, get off!—”
After thinking he would never ask the question again, after being tricked and fooled by the stranger in Sub Zero, after being congratulated for what had now come to be false success, The Major said two words that were once exciting, two words that now summed up his failure.
“—Where’s Tom?—”
Harrison showed no reluctance in providing answers, that was the entire reason he came knocking, “Right now? I’m pretty sure he’s in Cornwall!—”, Harrison’s eyes watered, his muscular frame writhing in its taunt, roped up position, “We had tonnes of safe houses, all the addresses are on my phone!” Harrison twisted and curled his foot in a dire attempt to squirm it away from The Major’s ticklish infliction, “Geh, get my phone from my jeans! Untie me, so I can unlock it, all the addresses are ss, sstored in there!—”
The Major pinched each of Harrison’s toes individually, causing Harrison to yelp and jolt, “Retrieve his phone …” The Major glanced to the Masked Henchmen closest to him, “… And use face I.D …” The Major took his pinch up to Harrison’s heel, then towards his left leg, where he journeyed his infiltration towards the betweens of Harrison’s thighs.
Harrison had the chance to relax, his body swaying in its dangle as The Major tried to locate additional ticklish spots.
The Masked Henchmen picked out Harrison’s phone, stood under his head and aimed the screen at his face.
Harrison sighed, his non-ticklish thighs now explored by The Major, as his phone was unlocked and the safe house addresses were provided.
“I could’ve done that myself!” Harrison growled, “Come on, let me go!”
The Major felt a sinking feeling depress him, “Mm, this is disappointing …” so far, besides Harrison’s left foot, he had yet to locate an area on his body that would get him laughing to the desired extent someone with his skillset would prefer, “… Any suggestions, boys?” The Major turned to his team for advice.
The Masked Henchmen looked at each other nervously - their boss always had a knack for intimidating them, even if they had been working for him for the best part of a year.
“Uuh,” The Masked Henchman holding Harrison’s phone stepped forwards, “How about we test how faithful he is? Holland could’ve sent him here to throw us off course. If he tells us his most ticklish spot, and its true, then …” The Masked Henchman lifted his shoulders in a ‘what have we got to lose’ style shrug, “… We can believe whatever else comes out of his mouth.”
The Major stood beneath Harrisons chest, “What do you say to that, Osterfield?” He paced in a small circle, the top of his head just a metre or so below Harrisons bulge, “You tell us, truthfully, where you’re most ticklish. And then we’ll believe all you have to say …” he reached up to Harrisons right foot, his gloved fingertips brushing over the tops of his toes, “… And believe me, we’ll know immediately if you’re lying …”
Harrison tugged at his restraints, “—I’ll do anything—” he kicked his legs, “—I’ll tell you all you need to know! Just, untie me and—”, the ropes squeaked, his body spun, “—Ah! I’m getting dizzy!—”, he did not expect to be in this position, after so brazenly offering himself as a form of support, “—Can’t you just stick to the feet?—” if he ended up being tickled on his most ticklish spot, he knew he would lose his mind in a matter of minutes …
The Major picked a seagull feather out from the inside of his jacket pocket.
“You either spill the beans …” he stroked the feather around the side of Harrison’s right foot, “… Or we find it ourselves …” he then walked under Harrisons thrashing legs, taking the feathers stroke across his right kneecap, “… The latter option just takes a little more time …” The Masked Henchmen watched their master work, “… And time is a luxury everyone in this warehouse can no longer afford …” The Major paused as soon as the feather slid across Harrison’s stomach, causing Harrison’s entire body to suddenly scrunch into itself - a fierce implosion to witness, to say the least.
“—Mnn!—” Harrison squeezed his eyes shut, his lips pressing together, his cheeks flushing pink …
“Ahhh …” The Major dribbled behind his mask, “… It’s here isn’t it?—” he wiggled the feather across Harrison’s navel, “… The belly …”
Harrison nodded quickly, “—Yes—”, he tried to bend his knees, to arch his back inward, to curl himself into a protective ball, mid air, but his suspension bondage would not allow such attempts to take place, “—I’m sorry—”, he whined, “—I’m sorry!—”
The Masked Henchmen chuckled as Harrison’s desperation.
The Major tilted his head, the seagull feather continuing in its gradual stroke around his abs.
“Why are you saying sorry?” He enquired, “The people you should be apologising to are on the other side of the Atlantic …”
Harrison stifled giggles at the back of his throat, he could not give in just yet, “—I’m sorry for not coming to you sooner!—” he whispered, “—I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I promise …” having just a feather press against his stomach rendered Harrison senseless; he became submissive, owned, a strung up pet in less than thirty seconds, “—Please, just don’t tickle me there, I, I can’t stand it—” he felt so bewildered at how pathetic he sounded, whilst providing such a manic grin, “—How is this happening—”
The Major increased the speed and flutter of the feather, “Do you know someone on your team already figured you out?” He unapologetically teased, keen to explore Harrison’s stomach as well as his knowledge, “They wrote a note about you, ‘he can’t be trusted’ are the words we found …”
Harrison felt a large chunk of air be snatched from his chest, “—Oh my god!—”, he gasped, his muscular shape stretching into a strained flex as he tried to spin his torso away from the feather, “—I don’t know what you’re talking about!—”, it took Harrison a moment to understand The Major’s taunt, his distracted mind thinking back to the notepads he, Jake and Tobey had wrote down on, the note pads they had dropped, in this very warehouse amidst a panicked flee away from The Major himself, “—I’m serious!—”, Harrison panted, “—I have no idea!—” here comes the laughter … “—It was probably Tobey! He’s the brainy one! Gah! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha!—” The Major stroked the feather around his stomach, over his belly button, across his hips and waist, “—Ahahahah! Ahahahaha! Ahahahahaha! Mnn! Mnn! Oh, stop! Hahahahahaha! Hahahahahahah! Please, please! Mnn! Please? Why would I lie! Why would I, mnn, lie!—” he repeated, his throat filled with uncontrollable cackles, “Get off! It’s too ticklish! Oh, he was right, this is hell!—”
“—Just a feather—”, The Major turned to his Masked Henchmen, “And he can barely speak…” he loved to raise awareness of ‘lightning in a bottle ticklishness’, “… Care to have a go?”
The Major pocketed the feather and stepped out from under Harrison.
Harrison’s body swung from side to side, the rope creaking with every sway, “No! Not all of you, no!” He began to shout in protest, his pleas filled with desperation, “No, please, I’m begging you! I’ll piss myself, I swear!”
The Major folded his arms, “Oh, please do … The bondage position has a tendancy for making people do that …” (authors note: see ‘SQUEAL’)
Five of the seven Masked Henchmen made their way beneath Harrison, whilst two stood by the door and kept watch on the outside; the five ticklers then reached up and tickled Harrison’s stomach, their fingers, fifty in total, ravaging his belly with merciless strength, tickling Harrison in a way he had never been tickled before.
“Ah! Mnn! No, please, stop! Ahahaha! No, boys! Ahahaha! Not all of you! Please! Ahahaha, mnn! Mnn! Oh, no, no, stop it! Ah, uh, oh—” Harrison’s laughter was broken by groans and grunts, his reactions mostly arriving in the form of physical tugging, kicking, pulling and twisting within the rope keeping him in his dangle, a dangle that was now a speedy spin, “No, please! Ahahaha! Ahahaha! Stop, stop! Ahahaha! Aahahaha! Please, stop it! I’ll tell you everything! Ahahah, no, not my stomach! Ahh! No, please! Ahahahaha! Aahahahah! Stop! I’ll tell you everything!—”, he repeated, his voice now raising into a high pitched shriek that echoed out into the warehouse, “—THAT’S WHY I’M HERE!—”
Harrisons laughter and manic screams echoed through the warehouse, his body tugging, kicking, pulling at the rope keeping him in a dangle that was now a speedy spin, his stomach victim to so many wiggling fingers all at once.
“—NO! NO! NO!—” Harrison lost his breath, he now wheezed between each expel of laughter, “—AH! AH! AH! AH!—”, he picked up a sweat, his contained frame distorting itself into various different shapes, the more he squirmed in his suspension, “—STOP! STOP! STOP!—”, he now understood what Tom had endured, why he forced himself off the radar, “—NOT MY FEET AS WELL!—” he shrieked as one Masked Henchmen hopped onto the step ladder and grabbed hold of his right ankle, tickling the sole of right foot, a sudden scribble arriving around the top of his arch, “—STOP TICKLING ME! I’LL DO ANYTHING!—”, Harrisons jaw widened, his eyes bulged, they did not blink as the veins either side of his head protruded; he glared down at his stomach, wishing, willing, wanting for it to not be as ticklish as it currently was, “—THIS ISN’T FAIR! I DIDN’T GIVE MYSELF IN FOR THIS!—” he whined.
The Major clapped his hands, just once.
CLAP!
His Masked Henchmen stopped tickling Harrison’s belly and feet, allowing the young ticklee to pant and huff, sigh in relief, his body twirling in the air like the puppet that it was.
The Major made his way to Harrison’s face.
As he arrived below him, gravity took Harrison’s necklace off his neck, where it landed at The Major’s feet.
The Major knelt down and picked it up, holding it in the palm of his hand.
“Present from a pretty lady?” He asked.
Harrison groaned, the ropes had tightened during his wild thrashes and passionate kicks.
“It’s fr, from Tom, actually …” Harrison felt that overwhelming sense of guilt sting through once again, “… He gave me it for my eighteenth birthday …” he sniffed.
“Hm,” The Major dangled the necklace in front of his face, “How does it feel? Not betraying the closest friend you’ve ever had in your life, I mean … The tickling …” The Major reached up to Harrison’s chest and drew a faint circle around his left nipple, “… How did it feel, to be tickled like that, across your tummy?”
Harrison struggled to find the words, “Mnn—” he winced, tugging at the rope around his wrists, “L, like a noise,” he explained, “Under my skin …” he blinked, not thinking at all, just speaking, saying, learning … “… A noise so loud in my body, that I couldn’t silence …”
The Masked Henchmen looked at each other, impressed by Harrisons declaration.
The Major pocketed Harrison’s necklace.
“This belongs to me, now,” he decided, with a tilt to the head, “Just like you belong to me.”
Harrison gulped, “… Look, listen to me,” he huffed, “I, I want to finish this, to get him to you, please, why are you doing this?”
The Major pinched Harrison’s nipples playfully, causing the twenty seven year old to whimper.
“I think the main question here, blue eyes, is why are you doing this?”
Harrison stared through The Major’s mask as he swung above him, the creak, creak, creak of the rope being the only sound within the warehouse as The Masked Henchmen watched on eagerly.
Harrison did not have to search too hard for an answer - he had wanted to reach out to The House of White Feathers months before he eventually ended up doing so …
“It was Halloween, last year …” Harrison began his explanation …
We were staying in one of the safe houses in The Cotswolds.
Tom was outside, playing basketball by himself. I’d left him to it, after he’d shot way more hoops than I had.
What can I say, I’m a sore loser.
Anyway, since all this began, I don’t know why but I’ve been getting hungry in the middle of the night.
Tobey had made lasagna that evening. I fancied some of the leftovers.
So, I crept downstairs, with the intention to hit the fridge.
Before I got there, I saw Tom, in the living room.
He had a spoon in one hand, a bowl of ice cream in the other.
A towel was on the floor, an Andrew was licking the ice cream off his stomach.
There was giggling, kicking, and I saw Tom get har…
He was enjoying it.
Why were we spending so much time, so much energy, on running away from something he enjoyed?
That’s when I knew I had to—
“—Andrew?” The Major stepped closer to Harrison’s face.
Harrison’s lips stretched into an entertained grin.
“Oh, yeah,” he giggled, The Major having to now hold his shoulders to stop him from swaying, “He’s been on our side from the beginning,” Harrison sniggered, “You lot aren’t very bright, are you …”
The Major’s right eye twitched behind his mask.
The surrounding Masked Henchmen stiffened into a shocked pause.
They were clueless, unsure what to do, unable to cope with such intense information …
The Major tore himself away from Harrison.
He picked up the red chair and broke it in two, by snapping it over his right knee.
CRACK!
He threw the pieces into the warehouse, he ran towards a nearby concrete pillar and began to punch its surface.
“GRAH!” —PUNCH— “GRAH!” —PUNCH— “GRAH!” —PUNCH— “GRAH!” —PUNCH—
The concrete crumbled beneath each punch, the leather across The Major’s glove began to rip off, his knuckles became bloody and torn.
Before he could action another punch, one of his Masked Henchmen removed their mask and grabbed The Major’s hand.
“Stop!” Peter urged.
Harrison blinked quietly in his suspension, as he watched The Major lose it for a second time today.
The Major snatched his fist away from Peter and turned on his heels, his diamond mask now inches away from Peter’s face.
Peter kept his cool, standing confidently on the spot.
“We need to tell Miller right now, that Andrew is—”
“—Go!” The Major pointed to one of his Masked Henchmen, “Send out the biggest team yet, get them to Cornwall, immediately!”
Peter sighed - once again, just like last week and the week before that, he had successfully stopped The Major from erupting to the point of a catatonic state.
He turned and ran, joining the other Masked Henchmen, who readied the van to be driven back to The House.
The Major shook some debris away from his fist and then calmly reached into his jacket pocket.
He aimed an electric toothbrush at Harrison’s navel.
“You’ve changed everything …” he admired, “… What do you want, from what you’ve done?” He switched the electric toothbrush on.
Click! Bzzzzzz …
Harrison twisted and thrashed within his suspension, “I, I want him to know!” He had squirmed so hard all of his muscles had toned up, the light from the warehouse windows shining over his body in all the right places, “I, I want my money back, I want what I’m owed, I want him to realise what I’ve had to sacrifice to—” The Major gagged Harrison with his left palm, “—Mnn! Mmpph! Mmph?”
“—I can give you it all …” he began to tickle Harrison’s stomach with the electric toothbrush, causing Harrison to squeal and giggle into his hand, “… But if you want it done properly, you must become me …”
Harrison had been tied in the knelt position, wearing only jeans.
Black rope had been knotted around his shoulders, back and chest, producing his second harness of the day.
His arms were strung behind him, his ankles and feet lifted and bound to the same rope looped around his torso.
His view - a window, not much else …
“I, I’ve told you all I know …” Harrison muttered, “… Literally, all I know! …” he bit his lower lip as The Major paced around him, a polaroid capture of Harrisons current circumstance held between his thumb and index finger, “… How, how long are you going to keep me here be, before I get to—”
“—For as long as it takes,” The Major opened the door to the room and stuck the polaroid to the front of it, “You need to realise the severity of your actions. You’ve betrayed a person, Osterfield. Do you have any idea how awful that is? You’ve disrespected their trust in you …” he then stepped towards Harrison and pressed his fingertips against the sole of his left foot, “… You have done the unthinkable. You have violated the friendship you had with him …” Harrison’s foot twitched, “… Earlier in the warehouse? That was our chance to learn. After today, it will be your chance to learn too. Now, however … This?”
The Major walked away from Harrison and left the door open, for all of the other ticklers currently occupying The House.
“… Consider this your punishment …” he announced.
CRASH!
Jake sent the heel of his boot into the front door of Safe House X, the safest of properties funded by Robert.
The door exploded open, it came off its hinges, splinters flew out into the hall …
Jake stepped onto floorboards as rain tumbled behind him.
He raised his gun and aimed it towards the living room.
He wore a black hoodie, with the hood pulled over his head.
His face was covered with a mat black mask.
Jake carefully edged down the hall as lightning caused the insides of the safe house to briefly flash white.
There were no empty pizza boxes, discarded trainers or evidence that Tom, Tobey, Harrison or Jake had ever stayed here … This was the last port of call, the last un-used property …
… The last chance.
He spun through open double doors and aimed his gun into the kitchen, just as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Besides the microwave, a piece of paper had been folded in half with a white plastic masked placed over the top of it.
Jake held his gun with one hand, the fingers of his other pressing into his right ear.
“They left us a present …”
Jake reached for the letter and picked it open.
< ktshh >
“What does it say?” Tobey asked.
Jake read out the letter.
“… ‘I am relentless. I am chaotic. I am dignified. I am unstoppable. I will make you pay for what you have done’ …”
< ktshhh >
“Sounds like that’s not a message for Tom,” Tobey’s voice crackled within Jake’s ear, “Sounds like it’s a message for—”
“—Andrew,” Jake murmured.
A creaking noise urged Jake to turn around, gun in hand.
At the kitchen doorway stood three Masked Henchmen.
“I … Was just checking the spelling?” Jake sneered, fully aware his disguise could only get him so far, “Alright, seriously, back off …”
Masked Henchman No. 1 stepped closer.
“Put down the gun, Gyllenhaal.”
Masked Henchman No. 2 shrugged off his jacket.
“Tell us where he is.”
Masked Henchman No. 3 rolled up his sleeves.
“Come with us, we have a set of restraints and a vibrator ready just for you …”
Jake chuckled, another flash of lightning capturing the features of his mask.
“How about ‘no’ to all of the above?” Another boom of thunder …
Suddenly, Masked Henchman No. 1 dug the fingers of his right hand into Jake’s hip.
“GUH!” Jake twisted into himself, firing a shot from his weapon — BANG! —
Masked Henchman No. 2 dodged the bullet, which smashed through the kitchen window.
Masked Henchman No. 3 smacked the gun out of Jake’s hand.
It landed over tiles and slid under the kitchen table.
Jake threw a punch at Masked Henchman No. 1, who ducked the blow and sent his foot into Jake’s left knee.
Crack!
“—Unn!—” Jake lost his footing, the back of his hand thwacking at Masked Henchman No. 2’s face, causing his mask to snap in half.
Jake tore his own mask off his face and threw it into the face of Masked Henchman No. 3.
He flew off his feet as soon as the mask landed between his eyes.
Jake took on two at once; he punched out, ducking and jumping away from fists and kicks as two Masked Henchmen tried to bring him down.
Jake felt knuckles make impact with his jaw.
He hurtled onto the kitchen side, Masked Henchman No. 1 grabbed at his ankles, he tried to pull off his boots …
Jake grabbed a frying pan on the hob, he whacked it around Masked Henchman No. 1’s cheek, sending the pervert across the other side of the kitchen.
Masked Henchman No. 2 joined No. 3 in grabbing at Jake, who sent an elbow into No. 2’s forehead, whilst head butting No. 3.
He then used his frying pan to beat each Henchman into submission, pummelling them into the kitchen floor — THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! —, his fierce distaste to the stress they had caused him working as an unnecessary distraction from Masked Henchman No. 1, who had removed his mask and had now began to make his way back to Jake in the form of a stumbled run.
Jake looked up, just in time to block a punch with the frying pan.
“You’re just a normal guy!” Jake felt overwhelmed by how ordinary the person behind the mask was, “Can’t you just masturbate to porn like everybody else!” He booted Masked Henchman No. 1 away, allowing him to tumble over Masked Henchman No. 2 and No. 3 …
Masked HenchMan No. 1 scrambled to his feet.
“No friends …” he warned, his head balding, his expression sinister; he could have been a business owner, a father, a lawyer, a doctor, or an owner of a grocery store, “… No gun, a fractured leg …” Masked Henchman No. 2 and No. 3 stood up, readying their fists to continue the fight, “… You’re outnumbered. Now who will help you?”
Jake saw a figure appear by the smashed kitchen window.
“… Spider-Man …” he smirked.
Tom hurtled through the window, feet first, a streak of lightning piercing the grey sky behind him.
He sent the soles of his trainers into the lower spine of Masked Henchman No. 2, kicking him directly in the back, just as thunder caused the safe house’s walls to tremble.
“Gragh!” Masked Henchman No. 2 bent over in pain, whilst No. 1 and No. 3 turned to face Tom.
Tom slapped No. 1 across the face with such force, he slammed against the refrigerator and dropped to a slump.
He then turned to No. 3 and swiftly kicked him in the crotch, the top of his foot crunching against balls.
As they fell around him like dead weight, Tom presented himself proudly, if a little breathless, sporting a bruise around his left eye.
“Second time I’ve got you out of trouble in two weeks,” Tom grinned at Jake.
Jake winced, “Show off …”
Tom grabbed the letter, discarding the plastic mask - he then nudged himself under Jake’s side, supporting him with their hurried escape.
“We slashed your tyres!” Masked Henchman No. 3 groaned, his hands cupped around his manhood.
Tom dragged Jake towards the open front door.
“Ahh, cheers mate!” He called back casually, “But we’ve got a new ride!”
A large silver Range Rover screeched to a halt outside the safe house, its big tyres splashing through puddles.
In the drivers seat, sat Timothée.
“Come on! Let’s go go go go!—”
Tobey jumped out of the vehicle and opened up the passenger doors.
“There’s no where left to hide,” he sounded concerned as he helped Jake inside the car, “Where shall we go?”
Tom leapt inside the Range Rover as the three Masked Henchmen bolted towards him, from the end of the hall.
“… I don’t know …” Tom could not hide the uncertainty in his voice as he slammed the doors shut, allowing Timothée to shove his foot on the pedal and drive the car away from the safe house at an almost illegal speed, “… I … I don’t know …”
Tom, Tobey, Jake and Timothée hurried inside a mausoleum, their bodies and clothes drenched from the heavy storm outside that had soaked Los Angeles on a daily basis for the best part of two weeks.
The mausoleum was located in the very depths of one of twenty three cemeteries in L.A.
“Nice and empty …” Jake huffed, placing his hands on his hips as he took in the gothical surroundings.
Timothée removed his cap with one hand, whilst pointing at the tombs lining the walls of this temporary, make-shift base, “Not if you consider the people in there …”
Jake blinked, thumbing his left hand towards Timothée.
“Can we ditch the new guy?”
Timothée chuckled as Tom paced around the mausoleum, standing on tiptoes beside a nearby window coated in moss and overgrown foliage.
“A bloody burial chamber is the last place they’d think to look,” he narrowed his eyes through the rain, “Genius idea, Tim.”
Timothée placed his cap back over his head and bowed.
Tom, also wearing a cap, decided to keep his on - he only removed it when sleeping or showering - for him, constantly wearing the cap made him feel like he was always hidden.
“Eyes will be here any minute,” Tobey held his iPhone in the air for additional signal, “I’m tracking him, as we speak.”
Tom sat down on the floor, in the cross legged position.
He lowered his head, his weight sinking into the ground - if he stooped any further, he would become just as buried as the dead surrounding him.
Timothée knelt beside Tom.
“Talk to me, bud.”
Tom avoided Timothée’s supportive gaze - he instead looked down into his lap, picking tufts of weeds from the stoney ground around him.
“Harrison, Adrian … They have them …” he held a sigh at the back of his throat, “… They’re going through god knows what. And it’s because of me.”
Timothée stood and held his hand out to Tom.
“Worry about Adrian. The other guy doesn’t sound like much of a friend.”
Tom’s lips flattened into a line.
He nodded slowly, reaching up to Timothée’s hand where he grabbed hold of it.
Timothée pulled Tom to his feet, just in time for Tobey to glance towards the mausoleum door.
“He’s here.”
Jake, Tom, Timothée and Tobey all turned to face the entrance of the mausoleum as a figure appeared amongst the rain.
Timothée elbowed Jake’s side, whispering a curious, “Update me, bro …”
Jake shuffled closer to Timothée as the door handle creaked downward.
“… Eyes is like, an allusive House of White Feathers member, a worker too, we think. He hacked into Tobey’s security system half a year ago, bribed Tom into a custom tickle video in exchange for protection,” the mausoleum door, heavy to push, shoved inward as thunder bellowed from above, “This is the first time we’re meeting him in person, and …”
Timothée cocked an eyebrow as Eyes walked inside the crypt.
“He’s a she …” he gasped.
_____
Everyone stood staring in silence as Eyes waved politely, her heart now beating so hard in her chest that she had to resist the urge to sit down.
“I didn’t expect everyone to be here,” she muttered breathlessly, her raincoat dripping in wet weather, “Oh god, Timothée Chalamet—” she avoided his green eyes and cupped her mouth with her palms, “—Two tickle kings in one place! This is my lucky day! …” she suddenly stumbled back, as if ready to drop to the floor, “… I feel light headed …”
Tobey pocketed his iPhone and ran towards Eyes, placing a hand over her shoulder.
“It’s okay, you’re okay …” he ushered her to a nearby stone coffin, where she perched across the edge.
Tom blinked as Jake’s mouth fell open.
Eyes was around five foot tall, a little overweight, with a Florida accent and a short blonde bob of hair.
As well as her raincoat, she wore black leggings and navy pumps - the only tell that she was wealthy was the Chanel purse in her right hand.
“How did you get your black eye?” Eyes pointed at Tom’s face.
Tom had forgotten the bruise was even there - he pressed at it gently with his fingertips, unable to shake his shock at the unexpected, “Er …” he glanced at Jake, who lowered his head in shame, “… Since Harrison did what he did, let’s just say some of us have lost our temper a few times …”
As Timothée closed the door to the burial chamber, Tobey reached into his rucksack and retrieved a bottle of water.
“Thank you,” he handed Eyes the bottle, “For telling us when you did. Before we found out the hard way.”
Tom nodded in agreement.
“Cheers doesn’t cover it,” he sat down next to Eyes, “They launched at all of our safe houses within a day.”
Eyes shuffled around so she faced Tom - if anything, she felt surprised by how oddly calm she suddenly felt, after being so nervous during the journey to the cemetery.
“Where were you, when they—”
“—With Andrew,” Tom looked down at his feet - would he tell them the truth, or would he make something up?
Would he go on to explain that he stood naked on the decking of the beach house in Cornwall, his arms held above his head by Andrew?
Would he go into details and tell his team, his friends, that he let Andrew edge him?
That he got off for a second time, thanks to how Andrew tickled him, thanks to how he made him feel?
“Just the two of you?” Jake stepped forwards.
Tom pinched his bottom lip and focused on some cracks in the ground.
The moment he realised he had been betrayed flickered through his mind in the form of a vibrant flashback …
… At first, he thought it was Andrew.
Who else could it have been?
Black helicopter’s with the HOWF logo printed on their side hovered towards the beach …
“Andrew! What have you done!” Tom fell into panic mode, as several Masked Henchmen ran across the sand and hurtled themselves towards the decking, “I thought I could trust you!”
Tom, entirely nude, ran in one direction whilst Andrew ran in the other.
Tom’s escape was blocked off by three Masked Henchmen.
When he spun around, five others charged his way.
Within seconds, dozens of gloved hands were pulling, pushing, shoving him onto his knees.
Restraints, a ball gag, rope started to loop its way around wrists and ankles …
Suddenly, an explosion from the kitchen blew out windows and walls.
All Masked Henchmen were thrown off their feet.
Tom ducked for cover, a ball of orange flame rolling into the sky as black smoke and ash erupted from the beach house as if the home had become an active volcano.
Tom stumbled to a shaky stand.
He grabbed a pair of speedos, and without Andrew, who he thought was The Betrayer at the time, he ran …
“Yeah,” Tom cleared his throat, “Just the two of us.”
He shifted his anxiety from Jake, to Tobey, to Eyes, to Timothée, in a frantic assessment of their body language, to suss out if they had clocked onto what he and Andrew had been up to.
The only person who pieced two and two together, was Timothée.
Tom’s theory was proven right when Timothée stepped closer towards the group.
“You made him dinner that weekend, right? Thanked him for all he’s done.”
Tom nodded quickly, “Yeah, dinner.”
Eyes could see how exhausted Tom was - as well as the black eye, his face looked gaunt and pale, his cap wedged over his curls of hair, his t-shirt unwashed …
Another rumble of thunder greeted the cemetery, as Eyes became a friend as well as a trusted member of his team.
“Have you slept since?” She asked.
Tom slid off the stone coffin and took in a big chunk of air through flared nostrils, “There isn’t time,” he expelled the heave with a deep sigh.
Eyes slid off the stone coffin also.
“I deleted the video,” she announced, “The one I got you guys to film for me. Consider me entirely with you, on your side. For nothing in return.”
Jake folded his arms, his eyebrows scrunching into a deep frown.
“Did you flick your bean enough times over that, huh? Was it good enough?” He sounded bitter, resentful …
Eyes tightened her grip on her purse.
“I thought I made myself clear,” for someone so little, she sure made an effort to assert herself, “I like to pause. Rewind. It’s the laughter I … “ Eyes looked to Timothée, “… It’s the beauty of … Look, I don’t see it as sexual I …” she struggled to explain herself, to express her reasons for being so interested in tickling, “… It’s a long, private, story and I …”
Timothée gently nudged Eyes shoulder with his fist.
“Chill.”
Eyes smiled and wiped away some rain from her left cheek.
Tom stood in front of Jake, keen to conceal the only person within this burial chamber who was making things awkward.
“I appreciate that. Really,” he held his hand out to Eyes, “Let’s start over. I’m Tom. What’s your name?”
Eyes shook Tom’s hand, her grasp firmer that Tom anticipated.
“I’m May.”
Tom chuckled, “Like, Aunt May? That’s such a coincidence …”
Timothée touched the tips of his index fingers together, “That’s what I call ‘stitches’. Moments that connect. Means that what we’re doing, right now, is meant to be happening … We’re on the right track.”
Jake’s face creased up with confusion.
“Seriously, can we actually ditch the new guy?” He thumbed into Timothée’s hip, causing Tim to expel a ‘gah!’ and stagger back.
“So …” Tobey paused as a louder rumble of thunder sounded high above, “… May, do you think we can do it?”
Tom, Jake and Timothée turned towards the lady formerly known as ‘Eyes’, who picked out her iPhone from her purse.
“I have the ability to disarm the main shield that has access to the rooms locks, the cameras, even some of the electric collars the ticklee’s are made to wear …” she fell into her role effortlessly, never pausing for breath, able to communicate her strengths and thought process as if it were practised, “… Harrison has told them about me. He’s referenced the name ‘Eyes’, but like you guys, he assumed I was a man …”
Jake tutted.
“Sexist pig …”
Tobey rolled his eyes and nodded at May, keen for her to continue.
“… So, all The House knows is, as well as Andrew’s deceit, they have an extra mole …” May raised her hand, “… They just don’t know it’s me. And they would never think I’d be capable of doing anything like that anyway. I clean cum off the ceiling and do data entry, I’m more or less invisible.”
Timothée winced, “Nice.”
May chuckled.
“To put it bluntly, I could free Harrison and Adrian by this evening. We’d just need a team ready to escort them out.”
Tom paced around the burial chamber in thought.
Tobey shook his head, unconvinced.
“It’s too risky. We’re trying to avoid them, not get closer …”
Timothée perched on the corner of the stone coffin.
“I have a friend who might be able to pull some strings … He’s a little aloof, but I think he—”
—Tom shook his head, “The Maxwell bloke you told me about? Sounds a little dodge, mate. I can’t afford to put my trust in someone who might not—”
“—I’ll take them on,” Jake winced as he stepped forwards, his fractured knee causing him to squeeze his eyes shut, “I’m off the booze, my head is the clearest it’s been in months,” he curled his fists into balls, “I’ve got a lotta energy I wanna burn …”
Tobey pressed his hands on Jake’s shoulders, seating him down beside Timothée.
“You can barely walk, take it easy …”
Tom noted Jake’s fierce determination, “Cheers, mate. But Tobey’s right, you’ve done enough …”
Tom went to turn around, to suggest another idea to May, but Jake growled out a declaration of guilt.
“… I could’ve done more.”
Tom clenched his teeth, “No, mate …” had he turned Jake into this? A sorry state filled with regret? “I mean it, you—”
“—I knew there was something off about Harrison,” Jake held onto his damaged knee, “I even wrote it down, on our notepads, when we all first met …” he sighed heavily, beating himself up internally for not saying something sooner, “… If I wasn’t so drunk all the time I might’ve remembered to speak up.”
Tobey swallowed down the amount of times he had asked Jake to stop drinking.
Tom placed his hand over Jake’s.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, mate,” he gave it a squeeze, “I mean it.”
All five individuals within the burial chamber jolted in alarm as the mausoleum door cranked open.
Andrew slid inside, his hair soaked from the storm.
“I think my invite must’ve got lost in the post …” he said.
Tobey awaited an answer as the inside of the burial chamber fell silent.
Tom walked towards Andrew, wrapped his arms around him and buried his face into his chest.
“Since Harrison blabbed all the details,” Andrew blinked, a little surprised by Tom’s sudden act of affection, “I’ve been a little ‘on the run’ myself …”
Timothée stepped into the shadows, his head lowered, his eyes glaring up at Andrew.
As Tom broke the hug from Andrew, Andrew held his hand out to Timothée.
“Last time I saw you I was eating Christmas dinner off your feet,” his hand hovered in the air, awaiting the acceptance of apology.
Timothée hesitated, eyeing Andrew’s hand as if it were a cobra that could bite out at him at any given moment.
“I remember it like it was yesterday,” Timothée declined the apology and tucked his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants.
May winced as an tense atmosphere filled the burial chamber.
“I hate to nudge this along …” she readied her notes app, “… But are we making a plan?”
Jake went to stand, to suggest leading the fight, but before he could speak Andrew shook his head.
“—You’re not going to get Harrison and Adrian,” he made up the team’s mind for them, “It’s too dangerous.”
Tom scratched the back of his head, “Andrew, I have to … It would be wrong if I didn’t …”
Tobey surprised himself, as he began to side with Andrew, “… He’s right, Tom. They’re an organisation … And we’re … Well, us …”
Tom huffed and turned away from his team, now choosing to stand beside Timothée.
“This isn’t what Adrian signed up for, it’s not fair on him …” Tom bit his upper lip, reluctant to express the seriousness within his next set of words, “… And Harrison, guys, he’s my best mate …”
Andrew scoffed.
“Are you fucking stupid?”
May felt her cheeks burn pink, she had never swore before in her life.
Andrew raised his voice, his index finger pointing at Tom’s chest.
“After what he did? And you still think he’s your ‘best mate’ ??—”
Timothée stepped towards Andrew and pushed him away with enough strength to cause Andrew to stumble back.
“Back off!”
Andrew leant against the stone coffin and directed his voice in a quiet mumble, towards a ground littered with crusty leaves and vines.
“The saddest thing about betrayal is that it doesn’t come from your enemies … It comes from the ones you trust …” Andrew spoke, as if he had lived through a similar experience before, many years ago, “… 'Best mates’ lie for a year to keep you safe. Best mates pretend to be something they’re not, to keep you happy. Best mates detonate safe houses to distract the bad guys. Best mates put their lives at risk! …” Andrew sounded firmer, determined, “… Best mates give you a chance to get away!”
A beat of silence hovered within the crypt as the rain continued to tumble into the surrounding cemetery.
“If I didn’t blow the beach house that day, you would’ve been captured,” Andrew spoke with fierce authority, confident in the truth within his words, “You’d be with your best mate right now, tormented no doubt, side by side, and then …” he pointed at Jake, Tobey, May and Timothée, “… All of us would have three to rescue, not just two.”
Andrew almost regretted his speech as soon as he saw Tom glaring at him with the same sort of furious scowl he had provided, when tied naked to the bed, his armpits licked and tickled by Andrew’s tongue …
The look said ‘stop saying ‘best mate’, like that’s what we are …’
The look then softened, the raise of Tom’s eyes almost begging Andrew to understand that they were clearly more than ‘best mates’.
A deep grumble of thunder bellowed in the looming clouds above - a chilly draft blew through the insides of the burial chamber, causing May to zip her rain coat closer to her chin.
Andrew looks at you, the reader.
“What do you think? Should I tell him about Session 666? If there’s anything that’ll stop him from putting himself at risk, it’s that …”
Tom took one step closer to Andrew.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
Andrew blinked.
“Doing what?”
Tobey watched Andrew closely, “Who were you talking to? …”
Timothée adjusted his cap, “And what the fuck is Session 666?”
Even May sat clueless, “I think that’s above my clearance level …”
Tom threw his hands in the air, his patience levels dwindling.
“You know, before Eyes — May — even told us it was Harrison that dobbed us in …” Tom caught hold of Andrew’s gaze, “… I seriously thought it was you.”
Andrew hid his face with his palms, “Wow. Great, that’s … Just great,” he mumbled.
“Having that … “ Tom held the hem of his t-shirt, unafraid to use the word, “… Heartbreak, inside of you. It gets you thinking. It made me realise …” Tom chuckled in disbelief, his arms dangling at his sides, “… I’m only in this mess, because of you …”
Timothée kicked some grass across the floor as Jake searched the ceiling of the tomb, silence once again greeting the team like an pestering acquaintance.
Andrew smirked.
He lifted his head and looked Tom in the eye contently.
“No, Tom …” he nodded to the surrounding people inside the burial chamber, forced to hide with the dead, injured and soaked from the rain, “… We’re in this mess, because of you …”
Tom’s eyes filled with tears as an accusation he knew was true landed over his shoulders like some relentless, heavy weight.
Pip!
Tom had no time to cry - his eyes bulged open at the sight of a feathered dart arriving at Andrew’s neck.
“Holy shit!” Tobey grabbed May and ducked he and her behind the stone coffin.
Andrew tried to stand, “Unn …” he winced, picking the dart out from his flesh, “… They have dart guns now …?”
He collapsed into Tom.
“Tim!” Tom struggled to handle Andrew’s weight as Jake retrieved a second handgun from Tobey’s rucksack, “You’re gonna need to drive again, fast—”
Timothée yanked his car keys out from his cargo pants pocket, “On it!”
As a group, they hurried out of the burial chamber, one dart, two darts, three darts now making impact with the moss covered walls, the tomb stones, the ground beneath their feet.
Pip! Pip! Pip!
“Dang it!—” May got struck in the chest.
Tobey and Jake gathered her slump in their arms as she lost consciousness.
Tom and Timothée paused in the rain, crouching behind a large gravestone, Andrew’s sleeping body laid out beside them.
“We have to move,” Timothée growled.
Tom nodded, “Take his feet, I’ll take his arms.”
Timothée caught sight of The Major, dart gun in hand, reloading his weapon around twenty feet away.
As if in slow motion, he strolled through the cemetery with droplets of rain smeared across the diamonds of his mask, his black leather jacket billowing in the wet breeze as if it were a villains cape.
He was coming for them.
‘I am relentless. I am chaotic. I am dignified. I am unstoppable. I will make you pay for what you have done’ …
“Go!” Tobey yelled, “We’ll find you!” He and Jake grunted as they tried to lift May.
Tom and Timothée carried Andrew out of the cemetery, their heads ducking every other second to keep low from The Major’s darts.
Once the darts had stop being fired, it became clear that Tobey, May and Jake had been captured.
Tom endured a harrowing acknowledgement as soon as that thought landed in his head.
When will I see them again?
Timothée pulled open the back doors of his Range Rover.
They shoved Andrew inside, slamming the doors at the same time; Tom jumped into the front passenger seat, Timothée jumped into the drivers seat.
VRRRRRRRRMMMMM!
As soon as Timothée started the engine, two black vans with the HOWF logo printed on the side screetched around the street corner.
Tom turned over his shoulder, “Step on it, mate!”
The Range Rover hurtled towards a bridge, as a HOWF helicopter swooped above.
Timothée drove around other cars, bouncing onto the bridges highway, as the two vans behind chased at full speed.
Andrew tumbled across the backseats, completely knocked out, dribble leaving his lips.
Tom reached across and contained him with a seat belt.
BANG! BANG!
Gunshots were fired at Timothée’s wheels.
“Fuck!”
Tom held onto the head rest as the car spun to its side.
“Mate! Put your foot on the break!”
Timothée tried to control the vehicle as it dropped down to the right, one tyre now missing, sparks and the sound of metal meeting tarmac causing Timothée to tighten his hold over the steering wheel.
“Raghhh! Man, I’m sorry!—” Timothée could not stop the car from hurtling towards the edge of the bridge, “—I think we’re gonna—”…
—CRASH!
