Unconsciousness

Six hours earlier

George Custer put down the papers and pictures that told him all about Thomas McCallister. "You know this kid's going to **** you, don't you? 'Spend the afternoon together?' He fuckin' left handcuffs in the drawer!"

Karen frowned, as her and George finished debugging and inspecting the room with a key that was placed in her mailbox this morning. They quickly realized the door to the adjacent room was unlocked and debugged that as well. Oddly, no cameras or recording equipment. Just the handcuffs and some extra rope.

"I don't think Johnny's friend would do that. He's just a teenager, trying to work through some things," she picked up the photo, taken yesterday afternoon by George, showing her son joking around with Tom outside the school.

"I'm surprised he didn't have chloroform stashed away somewhere. Probably bring it with him, the mother fucker. Along with a knife and gun. I'm tellin' ya, I needs to break his legs and maybe slit his fuckin' throat!" George was getting worked up as Karen approached him, soothing him by placing her hands over his shoulders.

"George, calm down. He's just not very bright. Maybe he wants to have sex with me, maybe take some more pictures. I can work with either."

He winced his eyes. "You're not gonna fuck the kid..."

"George... I need this to go away. Peacefully. If that's what it takes..."

He threw up his hands and began pacing. "What the hell, Karen? You and I, we don't even..." he bit his tongue. "You... the fuckin' kid's your son's age? That's like fuckin' your son!"

Karen got upset and slapped George, but then calmed herself. "Don't be so crass. Listen. You're a married man. We 'can't' fuck, so you say, and I'm not a naïve twenty-year-old anymore. I'm not going to be your mistress. You 'fucked' me twenty years ago, and you got me to 'fuck' this silly photographer, and that caused this whole 'fucking' problem. So if we want to 'fucking' end it, I may have to 'fuck' my way out of this. Again."

George rubbed his face and looked annoyed. "I'll be hiding in the next room during this business. Just promise me you won't fuck the kid unless absolutely necessary."

She wanted to dismiss him, but nodded, in fear he might do something bad out of eyesight, and also a fear that Tom might go too far.

Now... and by now, I still mean three weeks ago:

Karen heard a loud whack, and slipped out of the handcuffs she had expertly locked in a loose position. She opened the adjoining door and flipped the nearby switch, seeing George struggle as he pulled a limp body onto the hotel bed.

"Jesus, George, what'd you do?" She pulled off the black hood, and saw that Tom seemed to be knocked out cold with a bad bruise. "Did you give him a concussion?"

"He'll be fine. And why the fuck are you naked? You weren't actually going to let him do it, were you?"

She stood up and looked at George stern-faced, walking over to him. "I was going to end this. Peacefully," she emphasized, once more. "Now we have a bigger situation on our hands. If his dad finds out." She left unsaid what would happen there, as Karen and George remasked, tied up and handcuffed Tom to the bed. George frisked Tom thoroughly to see if he had anything dangerous on him.

"Nothing but a digital camera and a hard-on."

Karen felt the cut of his pants and raised her eyebrow. "Not bad," she half-smiled, as George rolled his eyes in disgust.

She then got a phone call, and looked at the number, her eyes widing in surprise.