A pretty unusual incident occurred involving one of my college friends, Jenny, and her husband Mark, this last spring. I've been hemming and hawing about writing up a short transcript based on what they went through, since I've heard them tell the story at least ten times by now. Finally, over my vacation week in December, I put it together. 

Mark and Jenny were both pretty astounded by my version of the story. Jenny especially. Unbeknownst to Mark, she now jokes to me that she should have married me instead, just because of how well I seem to understand her thought process. 

They told me I should find somewhere to post the story, so I figured what the hell. It's a classic case of truth being stranger than fiction. I don't expect everyone here to believe it. I don't know how much I believe of it myself, as I am admittedly telling it secondhand here.

Either way, take it or leave it, but here it is.

=====================

Jenny sighed with relief as she closed the books on another busy Thursday afternoon. One more day stood between her and Cabin Weekend with the husband. Despite having done it once a month with him for the better part of two years, Jenny still trembled with excitement at the mere thought of it. 24 hours never seemed like such a daunting amount of time.

Her fingers clasped tightly around the bundle of folders in her arms as her 4-inch heels clip-clopped on the hard surface of the parking garage. Jenny didn't always wear heels to work, but she usually regretted it when she did. Her toes burned against the stifling soles of her shoes, and every step shot straight up to her calves. She had long since learned to ignore it at this point, but one could only ignore it for so long, especially after nine hours.

Jenny had no more than ten feet to go to get to her car when a strange man slinked around from behind one of the cement support columns.

Normally, his lime-green jumpsuit would be the first feature of his to jump out at someone, or perhaps the dark blue scarf that was wrapped over his head, leaving only his eyes exposed. Jenny took no such notice of these things, as her attention was wholly focused on the 9mm in his left hand. He wasn't pointing it at her, but hell if she was going to give him a reason to. She stopped cold in her tracks.

An eternity passed. Neither person spoke. Finally, he cocked his head to one side and motioned for her to follow him. Running was not an option. By the time Jenny got two steps away, he would have had all the time he needed to do... something. 

Jenny held the folders protectively over her chest as she reluctantly followed him over to a Lexus that had been backed into the corner spot. As per his instructions, she got into the passenger seat. He slammed the door and remote-locked it as he walked around to the driver's seat. Jenny did not have any hands-on experience dealing with criminals per se, but something about this guy's body language suggested that he was amateurish at best.

The man proceeded to climb into the driver's side seat. He pulled out a pack of Winstons.

"You want one?" he asked.

"No," Jenny replied coldly. There was plenty more she would have liked to say about that subject, but he was the one with the gun.

The fact that he was smoking in such close quarters to her was bad enough. The fact that he refused to so much as roll down the windows was a whole nother level of stupid.

"You gonna tell me what you want," she tried, "or are we just gonna sit here?"

He didn't respond, at least not verbally. He reached over her knees and opened the glove compartment, withdrawing a dark green folder from inside. He wasted no time in showing her what the contents were. Smoke billowed inside of the car. 

Inside the folder were pictures of Jenny and her husband, taken inside of their own home. Some were taken from outside the windows, some were taken from parked vehicles, and some appeared, shockingly enough, to have been taken from right there inside of the house. Jenny coughed and swallowed hard.

"What do you want?" was all she could manage, even though she was pretty sure she had asked once already. Nothing could have prepared her for the absurdity of what she was about to hear.

"Those are some lovely shoes," he said in a half-whisper. 

Great. Of all the things.

"Thanks," she replied, not even close to meaning it.

"I'd like to see you in those shoes... more often," he continued, feigning his own hesitancy. "Actually, maybe a lot more often."

"What are you talking about?" Jenny asked, hardly able to believe her own restraint. If not for that damn gun, she might have opted for "What the hell" or better yet, "What the fuck".

"We want you to wear your shoes all day," he replied almost sensually, dragging out the word "all" for a full second. Jenny was dumbfounded. He repeated himself, "All day." Again with the "all".

"I don't understand, 'we'?" Jenny protested, "There are plenty of women out there who wear their shoes all day. Why don't you just...?" Jenny stopped, unsure how to properly finish that question.

"Because I want you to," came the reply, in the most uncomfortably affectionate tone. 

Whoever this was, Jenny thought, they weren't right in the head. Jenny had heard of foot and shoe fetishes before, and never paid it much mind. People like what they like, it was no big deal to her either way. But this? Was that even what this was? It didn't matter. This guy was acting on it, and some kind of line definitely needed to be drawn here. Only one problem -- the man was armed, and by the sound of it, he wasn't alone. Never mind the fact these idiots had been to her house, and possibly even inside of it.

"We can and will hear every thing you say," the man continued, "So there will be no ratting us out, to your husband, or to anyone. We have trackers on both of your cars. Your phones are bugged as well. Anything that so much as smells like a cop comes around, we won't hesitate to act. It's really simple, Jenny. You give us what we want, we will let you be. It's not asking much."

By now, Jenny could feel the sweat building under her collar. Her hands were trembling. How long had they been watching? How did they even get into the house? What did he mean by "all day"? How late was he talking about? Why did it even matter to him so much? So many questions, Jenny thought she might pass out from the fumes before she would have time to get all of the answers.

"There's... too many specifics to this," Jenny rattled off the words, wiping her forehead with the sleeve of her suit. "How long am I supposed to do this?"

"One month," the man replied. "18 hours a day. Five days a week."

"18 hours? Bullshit, I can't do that," Jenny protested, acutely aware of how badly her feet hurt now after half that much time.

For the first time, the man raised his gun and held it a mere inch from Jenny's left temple. Jenny screamed out, sending herself into another coughing fit. Damn all that smoke. She put her hands up towards him in a defensive, acknowledging position. She had never had a gun pointed at her before. She fell into a frenzied panic.

"Okay," she strained the word out, coughing a few more times. "I'll do it," she said, her face instantly contorting into a mess as tears began to well up in her eyes and stream down her cheeks. "Damnit," she whispered to herself. 

"Glad to hear we're on the same page," the man acknowledged unsympathetically. "So here's how it's going to work. You listening?"

Jenny's head trembled out a nod as she continued trying to compose herself. Her eyes were burning from the smoke and her tears.

"Six o'clock in the morning is when your day starts. You are to be fully dressed at that point. Everything stays on until midnight. Nothing comes off at any point, not even for a second. Simple as that, really."

Jenny could not believe what she was hearing. Don't they usually want the complete opposite? This was too weird to be real. She went over more different hypothetical situations in her head than she could count, and so many of them screamed this was not going to work. She was anxious to clear the air, in more ways than one.

"My husband," she explained. "He'll notice something's up right away. I never stay in my shoes for long after I get home. Most of the time, they're off within a few minutes."

"Oh trust me," the man said, "Your husband will like it."

"Go to hell," Jenny retorted, regretting it instantly. She was rewarded with the barrel of the gun back to her temple again. Jenny cried out, spilling a fresh deluge of tears.

"Make sure your heels have a strap, like the ones you have on now, to ensure your foot stays locked inside of the shoe for the full time," the man continued, as though he were a fucking English professor handing out a homework assignment. This was homework allright. He continued. "Shirt stays tucked in, tie done up, just like you are now." Again with that horribly affectionate tone. Finally, he pulled the gun away, leaving Jenny a complete matted mess.

A half-minute passed, with nothing but Jenny's sniffles breaking the silence. 

===== 

"You're probably going to want to practice a little bit. You start next Monday, today is Thursday, so all you got is the rest of today, and then tomorrow. I'd suggest going for 12 hours today, maybe 15 tomorrow."

He had to be joking. What kind of horse shit was this? "What if I don't?" she tried.

"No harm, no foul," he replied. "I'm just saying, if you don't get used to it, Monday's not going to be very pleasant."

He had a point, or maybe that was just the gun talking.

"Why does this matter to you so much?" she asked, not expecting to get an answer. Granted, Jenny could think of plenty worse things to be forced to do, but that didn't make the thing they did ask seem any better.

"It doesn't matter. Allright, get out of here," he said, starting the car and unlocking the doors. Jenny grabbed her folders and purse as quickly as she could, and escaped the terrible smoky atmosphere of that car. The fresh air was lovely, but Jenny could hardly find any capacity of the mind to appreciate it in her current state. She watched the Lexus pull away. It had no tags. Go figure. 

Out of instinct, she pulled her cell out of her purse and swiped it on. Was the thing really bugged? She had no idea how to tell. She put the phone back away, and slowly started to walk to her car. Her feet screamed for relief. 

Jenny stopped in a Wendy's parking lot on the way home, hardly able to contain the massive maelstrom of feelings that swirled inside her head. She could still smell the cigarette smoke all over herself, and shuddered at the thought of what her husband was going to think of it. In the rear view mirror, she did the best job she could at recomposing her face after the destruction that had just been wrought upon it. 

Were they watching her right now?

The rest of the drive home was uneventful. Normally, Jenny would have at least had the radio on, but even at its lowest volume, it would have been too much of a distraction.

Mark's car wasn't in the driveway. Jenny breathed a huge sigh of relief, only just now remembering that he had scheduled a couple of extra clients that afternoon. He wasn't likely to be home for at least another hour.  She pulled into his usual parking space. She and he had a thing where if the first one home wasn't feeling right, to park in the other's usual spot. For protection. It didn't really make any sense, and Jenny felt no safer pulling into his space.

She grabbed her purse and folders, nudging the car door closed behind her. She scanned the neighborhood surroundings briefly, wondering if someone was watching her now. Would there be someone watching next Monday? Why did all this have to happen a day before Cabin Weekend? 

Jenny slinked inside the house, dropping her things to the ground and leaning back against the closed door. She tilted her head back with closed eyes, resting one of her forearms up against her forehead. She sighed a million times as she pondered whether or not to take off the shoes.  

She actually couldn't decide.

Why was she even debating this with herself right now? Just take on Monday when it gets here, she thought. No need to deal with this right now. Surely it will be easier when you've had a few days to come to terms with it, she thought. Right now, the shock was just too much.

Jenny sat on the couch and reached down and started undoing the straps on her left shoe. There was a rustle outside. She looked up toward the sliding doors and into the back yard. Was someone watching through the door? And even if they weren't, was there a camera inside of the house somewhere? Why am I even thinking about this right now? This is so stupid. Jenny hung her head, staring down at the shoe, still on her left foot with the two straps undone.

It's not like she had never worn heels for 12 hours before. There were some nights in which she had gone out to eat with her husband and friends, and sometimes ended up staying in her work clothes well into the wee hours of the night. Maybe even 14 or 15 hours. It's not like she timed the damn things. Besides, those were isolated incidents, not like she did that every day. 

The man did say she ought to get accustomed to it. Today was only a "practice" day. But right now, Jenny was still too distraught and shaken up to think clearly. All that mattered to her right now was her absolute safety, and every time she so much as closed her eyes, she could feel the cold steel barrel of that gun against her left temple.

Jenny pulled the strap back over the top of her foot and refastened it. She wrapped the other strap around her ankle, threaded it through the buckle, and pulled tight, locking her foot back inside of the shoe for God knows how long. 

She made a beeline for the bedroom. First order of business was to get rid of the cigarette smell. Jenny removed her suit jacket and tossed it on the bed. In the mirror, she noticed part of the left side of her dress shirt had come untucked. She reached over with both hands, nudging the material back inside. If she had had her way about it, everything would have been off ten minutes ago and she would be basking in a hot shower right about now. 

Jenny found a matching suit jacket in the closet and proceeded to put it on over her wrinkled dress shirt. She tossed the old suit jacket into the hamper, and got to work on finishing damage control on her makeup. Perfume would be sufficient in covering the rest of the odor. Here she was, done with her day, yet getting dressed up all over again. She felt disgusting.

As she worked on the make-up, a million thoughts raced through her mind, but it didn't take long for some thoughts to bubble up to the forefront. Mainly, that this was just a "practice" day. Technically, she was off the hook. Why was she even bothering with this? At least if she tried it tomorrow, she would have had time to mentally prepare herself for it. Right now, between not being prepared, and still smelling like a damn smoky pub, no, this wasn't going to work.

Jenny's hand involuntarily collapsed to the bathroom counter, still holding the eyelash brush.

Jenny grabbed all of the makeup and shoved it back into the drawers. She turned for the bedroom, undoing the buttons of her suit jacket. She let it fall to the floor, instantly recalling to mind the scene of Tim Robbins tearing off his jail shirt after busting out of Shawshank. She jumped onto the bed, bending her knee up so as to reach the straps of her shoes. One by one, the straps surrendered, and she tossed the shoes clear across the room.  With that, she stood up and undid her tie, that suffocating tie, from around her neck. She opened up the buttons of her dress shirt and exhumed it from underneath her rigid belt. Finally she took to the belt buckle, cut it loose and let her skirt drop to the floor.

Jenny was breathing like a hurricane by the end of it. A brief smile crossed her face as she caught sight of herself in the mirror wearing nothing but her black tights. The cool air briskly cascading across her body felt so good, a fitting reward for her little power-play. Jenny closed her eyes to savor the moment, and then the strangest thing happened.

She actually felt the hint of a pang of guilt. It was the sort of feeling you get when you're really close to accomplishing something and you give up at the last second.

But accomplishing what? What exactly had she given up on? 

"You know what, fuck those guys," Jenny spat as she stalked over to her cell phone. "Fuck those guys for making me feel this way. I don't have a damn thing to feel guilty about. I can't believe I let them get in my head like this." She looked around the room. "You hear that? You listening to me you fuck stick? Why don't you suck on that, you derelict." Jenny was not normally one to resort to such language, but damn if she didn't feel she had the right.

With the cell in hand, she sat on the bed, and punched in the all too familiar numbers. 9-1-1. Those first few seconds were excruciating.

Out of nowhere, a bang could be heard outside the open window. A gunshot. Jenny instinctively disconnected and threw the phone across the room. "No! No! I didn't..." Her hands clasped on top of her head, with her forearms attempting to close off her ears. She surveyed the window and the room for signs of a bullet hole, but there didn't seem to be one.

It must have been five minutes, maybe even ten, of nothing but silence, as Jenny sat frozen on the bed. She couldn't believe it.  Wherever it was, it couldn't have been even a block away. And the fact that it happened right at the same moment as she had dialed the phone, what were the odds of that? There was no doubt she was being watched, or at the very least, that it wasn't worth taking another chance. Jenny found herself actually wishing that those fucking shoes were still on her feet.

It was just a practice day, sure, but somehow Jenny had still been made to feel like she had failed.

Jenny proceeded to step in for a long shower, and a good long cry.

=====

Jenny's husband, Mark, arrived home about 90 minutes after she had. His expression was naturally one of concern, as he had noted where her car was parked. 

Jenny stepped out of the kitchen in her bathrobe, her hair still sopping wet from the shower and pulled back into a loose, dripping bun. She had made sure to wash her entire body multiple times, and her hair no less than three times, to rid herself of that putrid cigarette smell. She was sure she had covered all traces of it... until Mark moved in for first base.

Shit. She was breathing that stuff for a good ten minutes or longer, but the thought had not crossed her mind to use gum or mouthwash. Surely, he was going to catch it, and he did.

"Why do you taste like cigarettes, Jen?"

"Oh," Jenny laughed to herself, jumping straight to the excuse she had fabricated in the
shower. "You know Molly from work, the girl who quit smoking last year?"

"Yeah, I believe we ate with them a couple times," Mark replied, trying to loosen his tie and take off his shoes at the same time. He could be so hilarious at times, but the fact that he seemed otherwise occupied seemed to indicate he was buying it.

"Yeah," Jenny continued, "Got to talking with her out in the parking garage for about a half hour. Guess she's on Planet Relapse."

"Well, sucks to be her, I guess."

"Yeah." After all the shit Jenny had been through in the last few hours, lying to her husband was a cake walk by comparison.

"So I saw you parked in my space. Is everything okay?"

Jenny sighed. Long as she was putting on a show, might as well ham it up. "Just work bullshit. A whole batch of claims wasn't turning up in the computers, and Lisa called in sick, and of course I had to pick today to wear the heels." It didn't hurt to tell him part of the truth, anyway.

Jenny and Mark went on to have a pretty typical evening, and by the day's end, Jenny was satisfied that she had sufficiently hidden all traces, both physical and emotional, of the day's events from him. After the gunshot earlier, she wasn't taking any chances on him finding out, yet she still knew that her actions on Monday would arouse his suspicion either way. Cross that bridge when we get there.

It was about 10:30pm when one huge hypothetical problem reared its ugly head. How was she going to get away with staying up until midnight for all those nights? Sure, she and Mark did not have a specific bedtime that they adhered to, but on most nights, they were both down by 11pm. As Jenny lay in bed that night, her imagination ran wild. 

What if I had stayed in those shoes? I can't even imagine how that would feel right now. It already feels like that was almost a full day ago, even though it was just five or six hours.

Jenny and Mark made ungodly love that night. Mark was initially taken aback by Jen's sudden ferocity, but was all too happy to welcome the change.

Jenny's eyes shot open the next morning, Friday morning. One last workday and she could finally pack her bags and brace herself for a gorgeous weekend in the mountains. She had almost entirely forgotten about the events of the day before, at least until she saw the time.

5:37am

Normally, she didn't get up until half past 6. But hey, a little adjusting now couldn't possibly hurt anything. Well, maybe it could. Jenny rolled out of bed, rubbing her fingers across her bleary eyes. She stood up and headed for the bathroom, when she heard Mark roll over. She was only a few steps away from the bathroom when she heard his voice: "Baby, it's 5:30."

She turned around and faced him. He started to chuckle. "You misread the clock again? It ain't 6:38, it's 5:38." Jenny nodded and smiled in spite of herself. Indeed, she had made that mistake at least once or twice before.

"I'm already up, I'm just gonna go ahead and get started, hon."

Mark murmured some kind of acknowledgment that sounded like "Okay" as he rolled over and went back to la la land. Meanwhile, Jenny made with the showering.

By 5:57, she was fully dressed with one exception. The shoes. Normally she would only wear heels once or twice a week, and she had already worn them twice this week. It didn't matter anyway, as she knew that as long as she wore the suit and tie, she couldn't get away with not wearing heels. 

Problem is, she thought, if I was really concerned about comfort, why didn't I go back to bed? I could have done that, but I didn't. It's almost as if there's a part of me that actually wants to try this. Jenny shuddered at her own thought process as the clock flicked to 5:59.

On the spur of the moment, Jenny strapped on the heels. She fastened the final strap and stood up. She walked out of the room, hearing the clock click over to 6:00 just as she shut the door behind her.

45 minutes later, Jenny could hear the sounds of Mark just finishing his shower. One of his favorite morning routines was a thing he called "Ninja Dry", in which he would come out of the shower, and whip the towel around his body like a ninja, drying himself off. Jenny didn't have the heart to tell him he looked more like a jackass, but his movements with the towel this morning were surprisingly on point.

"Well somebody's up early this morning!" Mark smiled radiantly at her as he grabbed his bath robe and sat down to help himself to some scrambled eggs she had whipped up. Jenny smiled as her self-consciousness nipped at her from all directions. She didn't really understand why she had done what she did. On any normal day, she would have put her shoes on at the last possible minute or two, which would have been around 7:45 in the morning. Today, she was guaranteed to hit the 10-hour mark just as her workday was ending. She simultaneously anticipated and yet dreaded the thought. Maybe it was curiosity more than anything else, but hey, too late to change her mind at this point. Still, sitting here eating her breakfast in heels felt awkward.

"Whatcha thinkin' about babe?" Mark sensed something was up already. This was not good. Jenny put on her best poker face, knowing it wasn't going to work.

"I mean I don't know," he shrugged. "You just seem... different. After last night and now this morning, you're all dressed up a whole hour and a half early." Jenny's poker face started to wither. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining at all," Mark chuckled, taking her hand into his. "It's kind of awesome, actually. It's just... are you sure you're okay?"

His compassion caught her off guard. Jenny blinked back her tears and forced a smile. She involuntarily shook her head as her voice cracked, "I'm great!"

His thumb swept gently to and fro across the back of her hand. "If you say so," he smiled in return. The look in his eyes told Jenny that he wasn't entirely convinced. Fortunately, for the time being, he let it go.

The remainder of Friday was surprisingly uneventful, for a Friday. For Mark, the day whizzed by in the blink of an eye, but for Jenny, it was another story. Every hour was like two hours, and not even so much because of the shoes, but the overwhelming anticipation of the weekend that was to come. Despite (or maybe because of) the horror of what had happened the day before, Jenny found herself strongly awakened to her feelings, especially those for her husband. The fact that she had to keep lying to him only magnified it further.

Jenny was wary of going too far overboard in compensating for her lie, even though she was probably saving his life in the process. The man from the day before hadn't exactly been very specific about whom he planned to shoot in the event she failed to meet his bizarre demand, but suffice it to say, Jenny wasn't going to find out. She wasn't going to give him the pleasure.

That was the worst part, though. She was going to give him the pleasure either way.

The shoes came off the moment Jenny stepped through the front door. The time was 4:24pm, for a grand total of 10 hours and 24 minutes, but she wasn't about to spoil Cabin Weekend on account of this shit. Sure, she had had other intentions that morning, perhaps to explore the limits of her own resolve, or perhaps just to pacify some twisted curiosity of her own. Whatever it was, it didn't matter anymore. She could find out on Monday. This was her weekend, and damnit, she was going to enjoy it.

The Cabin Weekend was nothing short of pure bliss for Mark and Jenny. Cutting all contact from the outside world, living like hermits in the cool crisp air of the Rockies. This was Mark and Jenny's very own taste of the afterlife that they both believed awaited them one fine day.

Jenny wanted to beg him to just stay there forever, then maybe all of this could have been avoided. There were no phones at the cabin, and the cell phones were left at home. 

Sure, she could have just told him. There was no one listening all the way out here. Those guys wouldn't actually know about this place, right? Fact of the matter is, Jenny was having too good of a time to spoil it, and she would have preferred not to spoil it for Mark by dragging him into it. She opted to just put the whole thing out of her mind and deal with it when the time came. 

At some point, they would have to go back anyway, and if she didn't show up Monday morning, then there's no telling when or where the guy with the 9mm would be waiting for her when she did show up.

The drive back on Sunday night was excruciating. Jenny tried to sleep it off, but she couldn't. Her luck in the bed that night wasn't much better. The worst part was, she knew she had to set an alarm to ensure that she got up on time Monday morning, and here she was thinking about all this as the clock beside her read

1:18am