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Brendan could only plead with his eyes because of the blue tape holding his mouth securely shut, as he watched his nemesis Dylan holding the concealed item and smiling that strange smile of satisfaction. Here he was, the day before he was supposed to receive a major grant for a research project, having been tied up and tape-gagged by an oversized flunkie in the service of his former best friend, who was next on the list to receive the grant if Brendan couldn't show. And apparently, that was the game plan.

Dylan replaced the receiver on the phone through which Brendan had just tried calling for help, and fingered the concealed item again. "So, Brendan," he said, "it's obvious that once again, that big brain of yours stops just short. It's almost like senior year of high school, when we tied for first place on the Westinghouse prize, remember?" Brendan just stared at him, too scared to respond. Dylan pushed the concealed item against his victim's temple. "REMEMBER??"

"Mmmm hmmm, mmmm hmmm, mm mmmbrr," he grunted quickly, nodding his head furiously, hating the feel of cold steel near his brow.

"And then I lost on the technicality," Dylan said sadly, "and you ended up with all the glory. I really thought I would shoot myself to XXXX that day." He put the barrel of the pistol to his own brow, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "But then I realized it wasn't me who should have been dead, it was you." He came around behind Brendan and lifted him to his bound feet. "Oh, don't worry, Professor, you're not gonna die. Not today, anyway. But I've got to get you out of the way." He maneuvered Brendan to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet. "Now, sit there and shut up until I find your notes. We've got to wait for Jordan to get back here."

For the next hour, all Brendan could do was to sit there, watching Dylan go through his notebooks, taking anything he cared to take or anything that he must have found interesting. Had it not been for the concealed item, Brendan would have tried anything to escape.

A XXXX on the door and Dylan was ushering Jordan back into the room, with a Polaroid camera and a large plastic tub with a lid. "This is what we'll take him in," Jordan said.

"Good," Dylan said. "Tie his hands in front of him and have him hold this newspaper, so we can prove he's still alive." Jordan did as he was told, and all Brendan could do was shakily hold the paper and whimper softly through his taped mouth while Dylan sXXXXped a Polaroid. "Now on your feet, Professor. Hop on over here to this tub."

Brendan did as he was told, standing next to the large tub on the floor, as Dylan re-tied his hands behind his back. Jordan lifted him off the floor in an easy move and lay Brendan in it. "Better if you can't see clearly," Dylan added, removing Brendan's glasses and pocketing them.

Although Brendan continued to try to plead with Jordan and Dylan with his eyes and the occasional unintelligible moan through the gag, the lid on the tub was closed in a matter of seconds and Brendan felt himself being transported into a vehicle.

But transported to where?????

The End?

Brendan played Jacob

Photography by Caitiff