Visiting the McIntoshs

"Don't you think I can't use something strong, either? Fine bunch of gentlemen you are...!"

For a moment that what was visible of the leader's face showed genuine embarrassment.

"How neglectful of me!"

Quickly a fourth glass was filled.

"Allow me."

He brought the glass towards her lips.

"I'm grown up; I can drink on my own."

"Not unless you have at least one hand free. And since you already gave proof of being a tricky one, this isn't going to happen."

Her eyes sent daggers at him, yet Riona allowed him to instil the scotch. The small amount of spirit was enough to fill her mouth with liquid warmth, a rich sensation still to be changed by the characteristic burning of alcohol. But the knowledge of the lethal substance within caused her throat to literally cramp up. Keeping the first sip, she summoned all willpower and let Mr Tick grant her a second one. He was clearly intrigued, which only made him wince harder when she jerk her head back. Riona coughed heavily, as though she had swallowed the wrong way. Under retching sounds she got rid of both draughts, the whisky partly spraying out, partly raining down onto her chin first, then down her pyjama's top and trousers.

Trick and Track chuckled at her performance. Tick put her glass on the counter.

"I am terribly sorry, Mrs McIntosh," he stated in an apologising tone. "If this was caused by me, I assure you it was not intended." He took his own glass "If this was caused by yourself, I assure you I am still not going to free you."

"Trying to pull something off, huh?" Alistair taunted.

"Shut up, pisshead."

"Very classy."

"Please," the leader conciliated, "both of you have enough for the night, be it alcohol or any other method of ending one's or another's life."

A few steps away from him Mr Track cleared his throat.

"Oh yes," Tick turned to his mighty fellowship, "what a particularly well-formulated transition! Gentlemen..." he raised his glass, "slàinte!"

Still bent forwards from her faked coughing fit, her hair partly covering her face, Riona gazed at them as they drank to their leader's toast, dark eyes gleaming through dark strands.

"Slàinte mhath."

Already wisened up during the recent events, Mr Tick eyed her suspiciously.

"What now...?"

"The whisky you and your lackeys just drank..." she made a dramatic pause -- just one of her proven little techniques to put people on edge.

"What is with it? Pray tell."

"...was poisoned."

The reaction this latest revelation triggered reached from indifferent (Mr Trick) over puzzled (Mr Track) to laconic (Alistair).

"Is there anything you haven't poisoned?" her significant other demanded.

"Your chewing gums, for example."

"What? But you— what?!"

"With you coming home every other night boiled as an owl, where do you think I would hide a strong-tasting poison?"

She scoffed.

"Chewing gums, really? I still can't believe you bought that. But scold yourself not, for you are in the best of company." She nodded towards the three home invaders.

Whilst Alistair was processing this new information, the leader settled for "investigative", demonstratively weighing the halfway emptied bottle in one hand.

"I hate to be rude, Mrs McIntosh, but methinks you are lying to us."

He spoke a little bit quicker than before, though.

Ah, the sweet seed of doubt...!

"Be as rude as you want: You just drank the poisoned whisky meant for my hubby. I let that sink in for a minute because you seem to still be stuck in the denial phase."

"There was nothing wrong with me the whole time?!"

"Later, Alistair!" she hissed at him. "You were just lucky."

"And the other bottle?" he insisted.

"Jings, crivvens...!" snapped Riona, at the end of her tether. "This whisky -- from the bar -- was meant for you! How would I know that you have another bottle hidden from me?"

The scarcely lit kitchen was silent for some moments, and she could almost physically sense how the situation was tilting in her favour.

"Why would we believe you now, after you fooling us and your husband the whole night?"

"Oh, I don't expect you to take my word for it, Mr Tick."

Riona looked down on her pyjamas, indicating them all to do the same.

"Now, that's funny..." again with that well-balanced rise in her voice at the end of the sentence, "I never noticed scotch to cause such nasty stains."

Where the spilled whisky had soaked in the silk, pale-red areas appeared as the poison was attacking the delicate fabric's colour.

"Bugger...!"

"Indeed, Mr Tick. You may now commence the utter soiling of your underwear," she advised in a fake Irish accent.

~

That was it. That woman was too much for him! Alistair felt the welter of emotions taking toll on him. Ironically, the only thing he could think of to calm him down again was a draught of whisky. Yet the only one available was in that bottle the leader was clenching. He had no doubt about the poison in it. Actually, of all three options -- chewing gum, car scotch and bar scotch -- this one was his favourite for obvious reasons. And ironically again, Riona of all people concerned was the only one sharing his opinion right now. How did Ro even manage to turn the whole situation? And how could he ever have fallen in love with such a manipulative person?! A woman who was determined to bend anyone and anything around her to her will. A woman who would take three home invaders on whilst being bound to a kitchen chair. This bitch truly had that special edge to her.

Seems he just had given himself the answer to both his questions...

"You bitch, you poisoned us!" that git Track yelled at her.

"Sue me, eejit."

He brushed past Alistair's chair, but before he could close in to her, the leader held him back. Mr Tick, though, wasn't amused by the latest twist, too.

"Unfortunately for you, we'll do something far more—"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Pardon?"

"Give or take some minutes. Most likely the latter, if the alcohol is boosting the process."

"You reckon we cannot kill you properly and in an unpleasant enough way within a quarter of an hour?"

"I trust you can, but you won't manage to cover all your traces -- properly -- and reach a hospital. In the best case you receive the antidote just in time whilst carrying my DNA on your inconspicuous burglar outfits." She inspected the stains on her pyjamas. "The antidote for a poison to be found on a crime victim only a few miles away."

Mr Tick pondered her words for some long seconds.

"Damn, you are good at that, lady," he finally proclaimed.

"I've got my moments."

"Indeed. And by now I do come to see where your husband may have a problem with that attitude."

Tick started to circle the island.

"Do you have any more of the antidote? No, of course you haven't. Not for three more persons."

He stopped halfway, obviously having reached a conclusion.

"Mr Trick, take our stuff. Mr Track, grab some bottles of milk. We have already outstayed Mr and Mrs McIntosh's welcome."

Whilst the stocky bloke shouldered his duffle bag with an indifferent expression, Track muttered Irish curses into the fridge. When he re-appeared, his arms were full of as many milk bottles as he was able to carry. Despite their loads, both left with considerable speed. As the leader set himself in motion to follow them, Ro called after him.

"Wait! You bastards! Cut me loose!"

"I am devastated, Mrs McIntosh, but we need a head start." Mr Tick stepped between the chairs once again. "Furthermore, it is one of my paramount rules to leave a scenery the way I came upon it."

He was blocking the view as he reached out to Riona, but Alistair could see her struggle.

"No! No-nmph!"

Mr Tick let go of her. Much to Alistair's bitter amusement, the red ball gag was resting in Ro's unwilling mouth again.

"Mr McIntosh. You have a fabulous home and a lovely wife, and we enjoyed being your guest. Alas, your better half made it very clear that her hospitality is wearing thin. In this sense: So long, Mr McIntosh."

"Yes," Alistair sighted, "Godspeed."

"Mrs McIntosh."

"'o 'uck 'our'el'!"

~

The front door fell into its lock, and the trio was gone for good. Great, just great! Not only that she was bereft of her personal vendetta, not to mention the finest pieces of her jewellery case (note to self: cancel credit cards). She also had ended up with that disgusting ball wedged into her mouth again!

Riona glanced at her husband. He gave her a smug look, then his eyes wandered to the kitchen island. She didn't need to follow his glance, for she already had the very same thought.

The pliers.

Like on cue, both started to stot with their chairs towards the centre counter. An almost comical sight for any beholder, Ro reckoned between the draining jumps. The chairs were heavy, designed to be prestigious. The way she was bound to hers, she could not grab it, so its whole weight pulled at the zip ties. With every hop they cut deeper into her already raw wrists and ankles. She was closer to the snuff kit, but Alistair had the quicker pace. Wimp or no wimp, he outweighed her by two and a half stones, and none of them was fat.

She reached the island a split second before him. Hectically she put all her weight to the front to tilt the chair. She also leant over as far as possible, ignoring the additional pain in her wrists and the strain in her wretched arms. With squinting eyes Riona navigated herself to the pliers, until the tip of her nose finally touched one rubberised grip. If she managed to fish it with nose, she could shove the tool over the edge and into her whisky-stained lap. She had no idea how to get it from there into her hand, but would cross that bridge when she would come to it. From the corners of her eyes she saw Alistair getting into reach and leashing out to deliver a Glasgow kiss. At the last moment, she pulled her head back, and he smashed his own into the marmoreal edge.

"Argh! Bloody fuck!"

Serves him right!

Her evasion manoeuvre, however, had caused the pliers to fall to the floor. She hopped back from the island, positioning herself. Then, spending no thought on the possible outcome, Riona rocked fiercely until her chair tilted over to the side. She hit the ground hard, restrained leg first. The pain shooting through her knee made her bite into the rubber gag. Bite it hard until the first fog of pain cleared. Her hands began to feverishly search the floor for the elusive tool, although her fingers were barely reaching the tiles. The cable ties fixing her wrists to the backrest's strut cut deeper still as she strained against them to gain some more centimetres.

Behind her, Alistair's chair thumb to the floor, accompanied by a suppressed "Ooph!"

Riona increased her efforts to frantic heights, yet stayed feeble. Again and again her finger tips brushed the cold kitchen tiles she had literally spent weeks to choose for. But no pliers revealed themselves to her touch.

Alistair's triumphant "Ha!" made her freeze.

"No need to search any more, Ro!"

She hoped he was bluffing, but then an ominous snap came reached her from Alistair's presumed position. Then some more whilst he was cursing under his breath. Riona tried to look around, but her ties were unyielding as ever, and her leg was painfully trapped.

Steps.

She squealed as her chair, and she with it, was raised back up. A moment later her dear husband leant over her shoulder, still slightly panting from his act of escapology and with a small laceration on his forehead

"Hello, love!"

He circled her chair partway and hunkered down next to her.

"Where were we?"

He knew exactly where they had been! Tying her up and snuffing her! Riona only wondered which one that pervert enjoyed more. Somewhat absentminded, he beheld the pliers in his hand. If Alistair had wanted to kill her slowly before, he might now be looking for a course of action even beyond that. So why wasn't she afraid, then? Why wasn't she trembling with fear? She had been anxious as he had forced her to surrender to him. She had been anxious when the three eejits had appeared from the dark. But had she been feart? Maybe she was the cold, calculating bitch he took her for. Or maybe she still hadn't got rid of the romance-born delusion that nothing bad could happen to her as long as he was around.

Well, that theory was about to be put to the test...

~

Silly. They had just been burglarised, robbed, tied and threatened. Well, half of the tying he had done, and most of the threatening had come from Riona. One might assume that this was more than enough to call it a night. Looking down, Alistair noticed his wife clenching her fists. Maybe she was trying to pump some feeling back into her hands. Or maybe she expected him to tear out her fingernails. Of course he had considered such a technique in the vortex of his vengeance phantasies, but it had never appealed to him. Besides, for such a job needle nose pliers would be more suited.

"Okay, Ro. That will hurt."

~

Alistair was right about that one! The pain was severe, to say the least. First there had only been the dry snap of the pliers and the sudden cease of tension around her wrists. A moment later the circulation set in, and Riona bit into her gag. The cable ties had been on her for several hours, and as the feeling in her hands finally returned, it returned with an almost unbearable amount of stinging and pricking. She received more of the same as her ankles were freed. Yet all she could think of was to get rid of that fucking gag! With tingling fingers she felt for the buckle in the nape of her neck. Alistair reached out for her.

"Let me—"

She jumped off the chair and nearly fell against the counter.

" 'ack o'!"

Indeed he backed off whilst Riona surrounded the island with unsure steps, bringing the massive structure between them. When she finally managed to open the buckle, she tore the ball gag out of her mouth and threw it at him.

"You arsehole!"

She rubbed the feeling back into her wrists and jaw. The muscles at the sides of her face felt like wires. It would take hours for all the cramps and strains to be worked out of them. With a sleeve Riona wiped the saliva off her chin whilst sending sharp glares across the island. Her husband didn't seem to take much offence at her insult or the thrown fetish item -- which, unlike the wine glass earlier, had found its target. In fact he appeared strangely serene, as if having gained a deeper insight. Alistair had once told her that hearing her occasionally cursing had never failed to intrigue him. According to him it created a refreshing contrast to her sophisticated, assertive professional persona -- just as wearing his shirts or drinking beer straight from the bottle.

The sole fact that this statement came to her mind right now enraged Riona even more. How dared he find her wrath intriguing?! How dared he realise the ridiculousness of this night's events?!

Her gaze left Alistair and fell on the electro shocker, which was waiting harmlessly in neighbourhood of the never used shashlik skewers. Riona leapt forwards and grabbed the device, but Alistair was quick as well and seized her arm, catching her off-balance. He pulled her partly across, partly around the counter before losing his footing himself. Stumbling back, he eventually tripped over one of their chairs and fell, dragging her with him. His impact on the floor must have been as hard as hers, but still that bastard had an unyielding grip to her forearm!

"You bloody—"

The shocker set off with a crackling sound. A white-blue light arc raved between its electrodes, burning its image into Riona's eyes. She squealed in surprise and lost hold on the handle. Alistair released her arm and recoiled. The device hit the tiles, and he kicked it away into the darkness. Riona wriggled away from him till her back touched the island. With a groan Alistair shoved himself along the floor and leant against the massive centre structure as well, albeit two sensible metres to her left. She waited in the near darkness, one hand resting on her already swelling knee, which had suffered again due to her second fall. Waited for the light arc's ghost image to fade. Waited for her husband's turn. It was his turn now, wasn't it?

Several minutes passed in silence. At first she didn't dare close her eyes. But then she closed them nevertheless. What was the worst that could happen?

She heard him chuckle.

"I never expected our marriage to be perfect, but that was a bit over the top."

"Oh, shut up, why don't you?"

He fell silent again for some minutes, then had another go. Whilst the first attempt might have been for the sake of reconnaissance, this one at least sounded more sincerely.

"Did you swallow some of that stuff, Ro?"

"I'm fine, fuck you very much," she hissed.

If he was hoping for a ceasefire, she would be happy to disappoint him. Apart from that, the linings of her mouth had been in too brief a contact with the poisoned whisky. She winced as Alistair suddenly stood up, but after wetting a tea towel he slumped back to the floor. With a pained hiss he pressed the cold cloth against his forehead. Her husband had been -- undeservedly -- lucky only to sustain a bruise with little blood instead of a larger laceration. In combination with blood he was useless.

"They took all of our milk," he stated as he took the towel away again.

"At least you've still got your car. That's the important thing," Riona snapped.

"And if you did swa—"

"Forget the bloody milk! As long as you don't drink a cow-load, it only makes it worse."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'. Now leave me alone!"

Riona rubbed her smarting knee. The damn swelling became worse. She really wasn't in the mood for any more antics about milk, whisky or Irishmen. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw Alistair re-folding the tea towel and, leaning towards her, nudging her with it.

"At least put that on your knee. Don't worry; there's just water in it."

She gave him a pissy look. Did Alistair really think she would let him get away so easily? Did he expect her to believe he would let her get away so easily, too?

"Crivvens, Ro," her husband sighted, "do you know why I cut your ties?"

No, she didn't, but had a feeling that he was about to tell her.

"Because of the initial thought that hit me right after these three imbeciles had left: 'First thing in the morning we have to call Ironclad and get that alarm fixed.' For some reason it was not: 'Second thing in the morning I get that alarm fixed, right after disposing of my wife's body.''"

Riona chose her sternest expression, jaw all set. For some moments she kept frowning at Alistair, then snatched the towel from him.

"You are so sleeping on the couch tonight."

~The End ~