Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Wake Me Up When The Nightmare Ends
Pete groaned as his eyes tried hard to open. He felt dizzy and very disorientated. He lay, slightly curled on his side, with his knees tucked up, more for balance than anything else. Trying to stretch out, Pete encountered his first problem. Glancing down, his hazy vision finally cleared enough to make out the handcuffs on his wrists. Wrapped around the centre chain, was another thicker chain that led all the way up to a runner on the ceiling. Pete frowned deeply as he tried to sit, but his body refused to cooperate. Another few moments of concentration and trying to focus his eyes on another subject led him to realise that his sneakers had been removed and his ankles handcuffed together too. Pulling frustratedly on both sets of cuffs to no effect, Pete turned his bleary eyes to the room. It was small and dirty, roughly eight by ten feet, with a heavy door housing a small grubby window.
“What the hell…?” he muttered as he finally began to wake fully.
Pushing himself finally into a sitting position, Pete leaned back against the wall and breathed heavily as the nausea subsided. What should have been a quick check of his pockets, turned out to be a lengthy, uncoordinated fumble, but the search revealed only that his cell phone had been taken. A flashing light caught his eye as he looked around once more. Near the ceiling in the corner farthest from him, a small red light flashed repeatedly; it was a surveillance camera.
“Oh, fuck! Brendon, if this is you getting me back for gluing your shoes the floor, it’s not funny, man!”
Pete’s reply was only silence. A prank would have resulted in laughter or the door opening to reveal numerous friends he’d pranked over the years. A prank, even the worst one, wouldn’t feel quite so serious.
The sound of machinery filled his still over-sensitive hearing and he looked up, trying to find the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from above but whatever cogs were turning, they were doing it all out of sight of the small room. The first real sign of what was happening was the sound of the chain attached to Pete’s handcuffs beginning to rise as it was lifted through the runner and into the ceiling. Pete fought to get to his feet before he was dragged upwards, but without the leverage of being able to place his hands on the floor, he struggled in vain as his hands were lifted above his head.
Grimacing with pain, Pete held back the cry that wanted to escape his lips as the handcuffs bit into his wrists. Pulled as a dead weight from the floor with all the pressure centred on the two circles of metal cutting into his skin, he gritted his teeth, desperately hoping that they wouldn’t cut through. Now pulled onto his feet, Pete tried to move with the ever shortening chain, but the muscles around his ankles spread as he stood making the cuffs feel unbearably tight, pressing hard against his Achilles Tendon. The strength ebbed away from his calf muscles and he found himself upright but still hanging painfully, unable to support his own weight.
To his disbelief, the chain continued to shorten until his arms were at full stretch above him and his feet dangling inches from the floor. His shoulder muscles screamed their agony and his wrists, now thankfully numb, were bleeding.
Pete turned pained, fearful eyes towards the door as it opened; he knew now that this was no prank.
Two men, wearing rubber masks, entered the small room. Staring at them with pain filled eyes, Pete recognised the tattoo on the arm of one of the men and finally, his kidnapping from Doctor Steadman’s office flooded his memory once more.
“You don’t seem too happy,” the taller man spoke with a gloating laugh to his voice. “What’s the matter? Miss your therapy session?”
Pete focussed his eyes on the man speaking, trying hard to block out the pain in his shoulders and the blood staining the ribbed cuffs of his hoodie.
“So what does a rich rock star have to be depressed about?” he goaded. “Well, maybe we thought we’d give you a couple of reasons.”
Pete stared down, remaining silent, unable to utter a single word without letting out the screaming pain first.
“Nothing to say for yourself, Wentz?” the man with the tattoo spoke next.
A combination of fear and pain had constricted Pete’s throat, his breathing became fast and juddering, his eyes wide and unfocussed.
“Well,” the tall man cracked his knuckles as he stepped closed, “perhaps a little more encouragement is needed?”
Landing a well-aimed punch in Pete’s abdomen, the man stood back and laughed as Pete swung from the ceiling supported only by the handcuffs. His head dropped backwards as the pain seared through him, almost slipping into unconsciousness again. A hand reached up and dragged his head forward once more, slapping his cheeks until his eyes opened.
Pete had seen old spy movies where the good guy was hung like this, but he was always able to swing up his legs, overpower the bad guy, free himself and rescue the girl. Only now did he realise that was only in the movies. The sheer pain coursing through his arms, shoulders and wrists prevented even the smallest of movements. Pete was terrified; these men were not afraid to hurt him badly. He hoped desperately that they would draw the line at murder.
“So, Wentz, what should we ask for as ransom?” the tall man grinned. “What are you worth?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N - R&R?? Please, my lovelies! ~cookies~ :)
“What the hell…?” he muttered as he finally began to wake fully.
Pushing himself finally into a sitting position, Pete leaned back against the wall and breathed heavily as the nausea subsided. What should have been a quick check of his pockets, turned out to be a lengthy, uncoordinated fumble, but the search revealed only that his cell phone had been taken. A flashing light caught his eye as he looked around once more. Near the ceiling in the corner farthest from him, a small red light flashed repeatedly; it was a surveillance camera.
“Oh, fuck! Brendon, if this is you getting me back for gluing your shoes the floor, it’s not funny, man!”
Pete’s reply was only silence. A prank would have resulted in laughter or the door opening to reveal numerous friends he’d pranked over the years. A prank, even the worst one, wouldn’t feel quite so serious.
The sound of machinery filled his still over-sensitive hearing and he looked up, trying to find the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from above but whatever cogs were turning, they were doing it all out of sight of the small room. The first real sign of what was happening was the sound of the chain attached to Pete’s handcuffs beginning to rise as it was lifted through the runner and into the ceiling. Pete fought to get to his feet before he was dragged upwards, but without the leverage of being able to place his hands on the floor, he struggled in vain as his hands were lifted above his head.
Grimacing with pain, Pete held back the cry that wanted to escape his lips as the handcuffs bit into his wrists. Pulled as a dead weight from the floor with all the pressure centred on the two circles of metal cutting into his skin, he gritted his teeth, desperately hoping that they wouldn’t cut through. Now pulled onto his feet, Pete tried to move with the ever shortening chain, but the muscles around his ankles spread as he stood making the cuffs feel unbearably tight, pressing hard against his Achilles Tendon. The strength ebbed away from his calf muscles and he found himself upright but still hanging painfully, unable to support his own weight.
To his disbelief, the chain continued to shorten until his arms were at full stretch above him and his feet dangling inches from the floor. His shoulder muscles screamed their agony and his wrists, now thankfully numb, were bleeding.
Pete turned pained, fearful eyes towards the door as it opened; he knew now that this was no prank.
Two men, wearing rubber masks, entered the small room. Staring at them with pain filled eyes, Pete recognised the tattoo on the arm of one of the men and finally, his kidnapping from Doctor Steadman’s office flooded his memory once more.
“You don’t seem too happy,” the taller man spoke with a gloating laugh to his voice. “What’s the matter? Miss your therapy session?”
Pete focussed his eyes on the man speaking, trying hard to block out the pain in his shoulders and the blood staining the ribbed cuffs of his hoodie.
“So what does a rich rock star have to be depressed about?” he goaded. “Well, maybe we thought we’d give you a couple of reasons.”
Pete stared down, remaining silent, unable to utter a single word without letting out the screaming pain first.
“Nothing to say for yourself, Wentz?” the man with the tattoo spoke next.
A combination of fear and pain had constricted Pete’s throat, his breathing became fast and juddering, his eyes wide and unfocussed.
“Well,” the tall man cracked his knuckles as he stepped closed, “perhaps a little more encouragement is needed?”
Landing a well-aimed punch in Pete’s abdomen, the man stood back and laughed as Pete swung from the ceiling supported only by the handcuffs. His head dropped backwards as the pain seared through him, almost slipping into unconsciousness again. A hand reached up and dragged his head forward once more, slapping his cheeks until his eyes opened.
Pete had seen old spy movies where the good guy was hung like this, but he was always able to swing up his legs, overpower the bad guy, free himself and rescue the girl. Only now did he realise that was only in the movies. The sheer pain coursing through his arms, shoulders and wrists prevented even the smallest of movements. Pete was terrified; these men were not afraid to hurt him badly. He hoped desperately that they would draw the line at murder.
“So, Wentz, what should we ask for as ransom?” the tall man grinned. “What are you worth?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N - R&R?? Please, my lovelies! ~cookies~ :)
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