Jenny had set the alarm on her phone to vibrate at 5:30 in the morning. At least this way, there was a chance Mark wouldn't hear it. Thankfully, he didn't. He even slept straight through her shower and getting dressed.

Jenny's stomach lurched as she sat on the living room couch, strapping her feet in for the long day ahead. The first day. The digital clock on the nearby DVR read 5:57, but three minutes was of little consequence compared to what today was going to be like. With the last strap buckled, Jenny stared at her feet for a couple of minutes. 

She was not going to be coming out of these shoes for a long time. A very long time. She wasn't looking forward to the inevitable questions Mark would be raising tonight, either. But she didn't have a choice. Despite her body's protests, she forced herself up and started to cook breakfast.

She never even heard him coming. Suddenly, Mark reached around and hugged her from behind. Jenny jerked in response. Mark backed away.

"Baby, it's just me."

"Oh my gosh," Jenny started with a faux chuckle. "I had the worst dream lastnight. I'm so sorry."

Mark just gave a soft "Mmm" as he moved back in and gently brushed her hair aside, planting a row of warm, soft kisses across her neck. Jenny's arms exploded with a mine field of goose bumps, while flowers bloomed all across the inside of her midsection. Another of Jenny and Mark's unspoken agreements was that they would never describe their bad dreams to each other, only the good ones.

Jenny wasn't happy that it was 6:30 in the morning and she was already having to make up excuses. "You know," she tried. "We should hit the steak house tonight. We have that 20% off coupon that expires on Friday." Conveniently enough.

"Hey, sign me up!"

Jenny giggled, content in that she had pretty much set herself up to stay in the suit and shoes until at least 9pm without any questions from Mark about it. That left her with three hours or less to explain. As far as that goes, maybe he just wouldn't say anything. Maybe he wouldn't even notice. Maybe she could pretend to fall asleep on the couch. Wouldn't be much to pretend there. There were possibilities.

And then, of course, there was the matter of what she was going to do about Tuesday evening. Staying dressed up all day and half of the night was the least of her problems. It was the lying about why she was doing it that really troubled her.

Lucky for the both of them, the remainder of breakfast went pretty normally. Mark didn't make mention of the fact that she was dressed up early again, but she could tell he noticed. 

"Oh trust me, your husband is going to like it."

The flashback of that statement thrashed across Jenny's mind like a bolt of lightning. Thank goodness Mark hadn't been there to see it, only a couple of bystanders who had to witness Jenny nearly swerve off the road when she remembered it.

Jenny loved her husband so fiercely that the thought had never even so much as crossed her mind. 

Was Mark in on it?

No way. Just no. I mean, let's be honest here. I know the shoes make me look sexy. That's just how it is. Mark is no exception, and that's fine. The problem is, this other guy's got the wrong idea. It's not the look of the shoes that gets him off. It's the pain. How else do you explain his fixation with the number of hours, or the fact that I'm not allowed to take them off for even a minute?

Jenny was not an idiot. She knew that she had figured this out from the beginning. There was just a part of her that couldn't admit it to herself. She didn't want to think she had really gotten caught up in something this fucked up, but that was pretty much it. That's where she was at now. Someone was probably going to be watching those cameras tonight and doing unspeakable things. Jenny could feel the vomit rising in her throat. She swallowed hard and continued her drive. 

"Am I allowed to call in sick?" Jenny wondered. Just another detail that she never got a chance to discuss with the man. Hell, calling in sick wouldn't do any good anyway. Just more time to sit around the house thinking about it. At least work will get your mind on something else for some of that time.

The workday was long. Mondays always were. It didn't help that Mondays were the busiest day for Jenny in terms of walking around from her desk, whether it was to the copy machine, the fax, the printer, or the boss' office to discuss a claim that seemed to be false. The ten hours of running like a chicken with its head cut off had taken its toll on Jenny's tired feet. She had no idea how she was going to last another 8 hours like this. Another full workday's worth of time. The threat of a gunshot is about the only thing that could have kept her going.

Fortunately, there was dinner at the steak house. It was just a matter of getting there. Jenny set her things aside and collapsed onto the couch. She closed her eyes and drifted in and out of sleep for about a half hour. Finally, she got up and made herself a snack, taking it to the computer.

Despite the distraction of Reddit and a couple of games, the hour or two of waiting there was grueling. Jenny could feel the balls of her feet sizzling the whole time. A lot of it was psychological, because Jenny knew she had been through these late-night dinners before and gotten out of it just fine. One difference that hadn't crossed her mind before was that she would normally have removed her shoes for that couple of hours, and put them back on when leaving for the restaurant later in the evening. The other, bigger difference was that tonight, she knew there was no relief coming when she got home from all this, and that anticipation of the future made the present seem worse than it may have actually been.

"Hey, hope you don't mind, but I invited Sam to come eat with us," Mark announced.

"Nah, that's no problem!" Jenny replied from her computer. Actually, there was a potential problem there, but maybe it just wouldn't come up. 

The dinner at the steak house was a welcome respite for poor Jenny, who was just clocking in at 14 hours as the food was being brought to the table. She was happy to not be looking at the clock every fifteen minutes.

Sam was a goofy looking guy whose face was way too curvy for that of a man, but he was in reasonably good shape, and one would be hard pressed to find a sweeter fellow in this world. He and Mark exchanged verbal jabs, providing ample entertainment to distract Jenny from things.

Jenny excused herself to go to the bathroom just as dinner was finishing up. Mark and Sam both recognized the opportunity for man-talk, but neither seized it. Finally, before things could get too awkward, Mark spoke up.

"I'm sorry about your wife, man."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You know.. the whole... smoking thing."

"Smoking?" Sam breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Jesus Christ, dude, give me a heart attack why don't you? I thought you were serious! No, no, Molly's not smoking. Where did you hear that?"

Mark was quick on his feet not to rat out his wife, so he told Sam it was simply something that Jenny had heard going around her workplace.

"Nope, trust me, man," Sam insisted. "If she was smoking I would know it. I'll never forget that smell."

"Whew," Mark feigned a sigh of relief, "That's good to know." 

Sam continued shaking his head, laughing at the misunderstanding. Those girls and their gossip.

Mark, on the other hand, had a whole nother question to add to the pile.

The drive home was awkward. Jenny didn't have to guess about what had happened at the dinner table. She could sense it the moment she had returned from the bathroom. The radio clock display read 9:45pm as they pulled into her parking space in the driveway. 16 hours. 16 fucking hours. This had to be a record.

Jenny took careful steps up to the front door. By now, the pain in her feet and legs was monstrous. She had known it was going to be bad, but somehow she didn't think it would be this bad. She desperately needed these shoes to come off, and she honestly didn't know what was going to be harder -- keeping the shoes on, or explaining to her husband why.

She slumped onto the couch and turned on the TV, browsing for something to watch. Her mind barely registered what she was seeing as she mindlessly flipped through the channels. Mark took a seat beside her, and put his arm around her. Jenny snuggled in closer and turned to him, pecking him on the cheek. He smiled and returned the favor with a little bit more than that.

As they continued to make out, Jenny fought the desire to let it escalate. Mark didn't.

He reached up with his hands and started to work on undoing her tie. Jenny struggled to remain nonchalant as she grabbed his hands and pulled them back away. Mark couldn't hide the confusion in his face as he watched his wife straighten her tie back up into place. He turned his face in defeat, back toward the TV.

Jenny rested her head against his chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying not to think about her scalding, aching toes. She opened her eyes again, then closed them, and each time she closed them, it was for a little longer...

Jenny awoke, startled by the feeling of something down by her ankles. Mark was kneeling beside her, unfastening the straps on her shoes. Her eyes raced to the clock in a panic. It was 10:55pm. 

"Wait wait, stop!" Jenny pulled her feet back away from him. He had only managed to undo one of the ankle straps before she had noticed. Jenny sighed with relief as she reached down and buckled the strap back on.

"Jen, what is this? What are you doing?"

=====

"It's nothing, Mark. I just..." She was fresh out of excuses. There was no way she could possibly explain this one.

Mark gave her a quizzical look, waiting for her to continue, but nothing was coming to her mind.

"I'm just ... trying something new, that's all," Jenny explained. Come on, just one word at a time. "It's sort of like... an experiment. I promise I'll explain it to you when it's over. I just... need some time."

Mark stood up slowly. "Girls at work put you up to this? You all trying to see who can last the longest?"

Jenny slowly started to laugh, letting her head collapse back into the couch. Mark was such a genius. "Well, ya got me!" 

Mark chuckled along with her. "Well, I think it's pretty safe to say you've won. I mean, come on. You've been dressed up since 6:00 this morning, that's... what, 17 hours? Enough is enough, babe, let's just hit the sack. You can celebrate your victory in the morning."

"That sounds lovely," Jenny sighed. "See you in there."

Mark finally retired to the bedroom, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her all the way back. She could tell he was worried, but she also caught that too-familiar glimmer of uncontrollable desire in his eyes. She couldn't blame him; she knew she was looking good. If only she could explain to him how disgusting she felt. If she knew Mark, though, he would probably be fast asleep within the first fifteen minutes, God willing.

After Mark disappeared into the room, Jenny collapsed onto her back on the couch. She pulled a pillow under her head, and slowly turned onto her side. She felt sick to her stomach, knowing what she was doing. The soles of her feet were broiling and blistering, the flames of exhaustion swiping over them again and again. The rest of Jenny was exhausted too, and she found herself quickly approaching the throes of sleep again.

As her eyes slowly opened, Jenny realized immediately that a lot of time had passed. She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus on the digital DVR clock, but it took a few seconds. Finally, the numbers materialized...

3:26am

Jenny sat up in shock. Still in her full suit, she felt like she had just stepped out of an oven. Those wretched shoes were still on her feet. She slowly reached up to loosen her jacket and tie, opening the top couple of buttons of her shirt. She then grabbed the front of her shirt in between her fingers and proceeded to rapidly pull it in and out, sucking in some cooler air. 

On one hand, she was relieved to have made it through her first day. On the other, she couldn't help but remember that she was only two and a half hours away from starting her next 18-hour marathon, and the way she felt right now? There was no way in hell.

She thought maybe the fact that she had done three and a half hours overtime should excuse her for some time the next day, but yet again, there had been no time to get those details. Jenny wasn't taking any chances. These shoes would be back on by six.

Jenny's feet were completely numb. She couldn't move them or even feel much of anything at this point. She reached down and undid those cruel straps, one by one, finally releasing her piping-hot feet from their torrid chamber. The soles of her tights were sodden. Every last drop of lifeblood in her feet had been spent.

Her mind refused to even ponder the subject of who was watching, what they had been doing, or for how long. It was too disgusting to even think about.

As good as it felt to get those shoes off, the damage had been done, and Jenny could feel the soreness in her feet as she slowly trudged back to the bedroom to join her husband. It was one thing to wear high heels for 18 hours, but to do it two days in a row? Jenny could feel the dread of tomorrow grinding in her gut. It was not going to be anywhere near as easy, for what little bit a word like "easy" could be used in describing the day she had just had.

Jenny tossed her suit jacket in the hamper. She slowly removed her belt and skirt, and peeled off her sweaty dress shirt. She could not believe she'd be fully dressed again within two short hours. She jumped in the shower for a couple minutes, but she had to hurry, as she needed get as much sleep as she possibly could.

Those two hours could not have been any shorter. When the phone vibrated under Jenny's pillow, she slowly reached in and extracted it to turn it off. She lay there for a solid minute, physically unable to move. She didn't have a choice. She had to move, but her body wouldn't. She was desperately exhausted, and the thought of moving even an inch seemed too much to take right now. 

A couple more minutes passed while Jenny struggled between trying not to fall back asleep and trying to work up the resolve to get out of this bed. When the clock flipped to 5:45, Jenny realized she was running out of time, and forced herself to move. She slowly sat up, running her hands through her hair. She felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand.

Jenny hobbled across the room to take another quick wake-up shower. At this point, her feet hurt even worse than they had the night before. The warm shower water was lovely, but Jenny could tell by the soreness in her tender feet that she was in for a major hurt fest today. She grimaced as the barrier between her and the thought of what had really happened on the other side of those cameras lastnight finally crumbled. The thought was revolting. She doubled over and vomited, right there in the shower. She started to question in her mind how much worse a gunshot could possibly be.

Jenny sat on the sofa, strapping her feet in for another brutal day as the nearby DVR clock read 5:59. It was a close call, but she made it. She could feel the blood pulse in her feet.

Oh God. What if she couldn't do it? What if she just physically couldn't do it? Jenny got to her feet and stood for a few seconds. Her calves felt like red-hot poker sticks. She pushed herself into the kitchen, one hand on the counter for balance, and sat back down at the kitchen table, pain still billowing in her legs and glass shards all under her toes.

After a couple more trials of standing up and sitting down, Jenny found that she was miraculously starting to adapt. Though the pain was still moderate, she found herself able to stand for long enough to start breakfast. It was already 6:30, and she could hear signs of Mark coming around in the bedroom. 

15 minutes later, he rounded the corner, but there was no Ninja Dry act this time. He was fully dressed himself, except for the shoes and tie. The moment he saw her, he sighed. Jen didn't have to think twice about why. 

"Sweetie? How goes it?" Jenny tried.

"What time did you finally get to bed lastnight?" he asked.

"About 3:30," she replied truthfully. 

Mark hesitated. "So 21 and a half hours... yeah, I think you've got that contest in the bag, dear."

Jenny giggled. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Yet here you are," he continued. "Three hours later, right back to fully dressed again."

A look of dread crossed Jenny's face. 

Mark sat down at the table as Jenny walked his plate over to him. She struggled to keep her balance.

"Jesus, Jen, are you limping?" He stood up and helped her into her chair. "I don't know what this is about, but you're going to take these shoes off right now, okay?"

"No, sweetie, I'm okay," Jen insisted.

"No you're not," he retorted. "I was happy to play along with this... whatever this is, but honey, enough is enough."

Jenny refused to look at him. She refused to even move. 

He knew something was wrong.

"Look, I get it," Mark continued. "I get that you're doing this for me." 

Jenny finally returned his gaze, but with a look of confusion. 

"I know there's no contest. Who in the world would have a contest like that? How would you even prove that you were the winner?" Jenny's eyes went straight to the floor as he continued. "I know you're trying to look attractive for me. And dear God, Jenny. I have never wanted you as badly as I wanted you last night. Just lying in that bed all by myself..."

Jenny choked back the water works, recalling how desperately she had wanted him the night before too. How desperately she wanted him right now.

"But this?" Mark reclined back in his chair, raising his hands as if to outline her figure with them. "You don't have to do this, Jen. You don't have to torture yourself. I'm not that kind of guy. That's not what I want from you. You know that, right?" 

Jenny couldn't help it. Everything that was going on. Just all of it. It was too much. And she couldn't say a damn thing. She broke down. She cried like she hadn't done since the 4th grade. Mark took her into his arms. Whatever this was, apparently it ran deeper than he had realized.

"I don't understand," Mark tried. "Why are you doing this?" She took a long sniffle and gripped him tighter. "Is there something you can't tell me?"

She went dead silent. No sniffling, no whimpers. It was like her entire body froze. One way or another, she was definitely answering his question.

=====

Mark froze as well. They were in the safety of their own home, how could she possibly be scared to tell him something? Was he just misinterpreting? No. He couldn't have been. Was somebody listening in? What other explanation was there? Mark's eyes darted around the kitchen for a moment or two, before he started to realize that by looking around, he might be giving the both of them away.

Mark slowly released her from his grip and gazed upon her as a blizzard of speculation howled inside his head. "Oh my God, what have they done to you?" He would have liked to say that, but something wasn't right. He stood up and went to the stove, bringing the remnants of breakfast to the table. They ate in silence for a long fifteen minutes. The possibilities ran rampant in his mind.

"Well," Mark finally broke the silence with a lie of his own. "I got a couple of early clients, so I better skeedaddle."

"All right," Jenny nodded. "Just... be careful, okay? Don't..." She discreetly turned her eyes toward her phone.

"I understand," Mark reassured her, kissing her on her forehead. She caught a waft of his warm breath. Her insides gurgled in response. As he started to walk away, Jenny called out to him.

"Wait," she said, standing up, her terrible pain forgotten. She didn't have to say a word. Mark could tell by the look in her eyes what she wanted. He dropped his suitcase straight to the ground and moved into her, kissing the ever living daylights out of her. Every shred of his being was bellowing for him to throw her up on the counter and have his way with her right then and there. This woman could barely walk, yet here she was, on her feet, calling for him. 

Jenny didn't remove any of her clothes, but they managed to work around it. Jenny felt her secret garden insides bloom to life, again and again as he rocked her world. Tulips and daisies. Bloom. Dahlias and sunflowers. Bloom. Lilacs and calla lilies. Bloom. Mark had never rocked that hard in his life. They were both gasping for air by the end of it. When they caught their breath, they went straight back to making out for another few minutes.

Mark stuck around to help Jenny clean up and put that demure face of hers back on, but they both were giggling like high schoolers the whole time. What a show they had just put on.

Mark sped to work that morning with fire in his eyes. Whoever was involved in this, they were about to get nailed to the cross. He knew Sam's brother, Carl, was chief of police, but he had never met the guy. It was just a matter of getting the news to Sam, but the question remained. To what extent was he being watched? In his car? At his work desk? 

No sooner did Mark step foot inside of the bank where he worked than did Sam come straight to him and, without a word, motion for him to follow. They walked for what felt like miles, to Sam's office. Sam closed the door. Pretty safe to assume there were no cameras in here, other than the bank surveillance.

"Police apprehended a man about a half hour ago in a Lexus. Initially, they pulled him over because he had no tags. Idiot tried to run, but they got him in custody now."

Mark was confused. Surely this couldn't be his very own miracle, having fallen straight into his lap? Anxious not to get his hopes up, Mark replied, "Okay, but what does this have to do with me?"

Sam withdrew a green folder from his top desk drawer and slid it across the desk, over to Mark. "They found this in the glove compartment." 

Normally, the contents of the folder would have been a shock, but Mark was not surprised at all. "Son of a bitch."

"We were just about to call. Carl's got a butt ton of questions about this. I thought you would be a little more shocked, man."

"What did they find out about the guy?" Mark inquired.

"Not much so far. Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't know until just this morning." This morning. Mark's thoughts returned to his wife. He smiled.

"Well, they found evidence of at least two others being involved, but he's not giving them up."

"Of course not," Mark chuckled, taking note of a yellow sheet of paper in the folder that had various scribblings. Most of it was illegible, except for a few words here and there, "shoes", "bugged phones", and "18 hours". Suddenly, it was starting to come together, as much as Mark didn't want to believe it. "Anything else in the car?"

"Nothing much. Chief Carl said he had never seen such a bad case of smoke stench as what he smelled in that car."

"Smoke, like cigarette smoke?" Mark pressed.

"Yeah, they pulled three and a half cartons from the back seat. Guy must be having withdrawal symptoms at this point. Hell, maybe that's where the Molly rumors started."

That one last kink in the story slid into Mark's head like some divine game of Tetris. Jenny had been in that car. This was the man who was fucking with her, and if Mark wanted to ensure his wife's safety, he had to get the man to give up his cronies. 

"Good luck with that, man, but this guy's not much one for talking. He ain't spoken two words since they brought him in."

"Well, we're gonna fix that," Mark chuckled, pulling out his phone and dialing a number he hadn't dialed in about two years.

"What can I do?" Sam inquired.

"I'll tell you exactly what you can do," Mark replied, trying not to laugh at his own genius plan. "You tell Chief Carl to go find out the guy's shoe size, get back to me as soon as you can."

"Shoe size?" Sam muttered, not really expecting an answer. He had learned long ago never to question Mark's unusual antics.

On the other side of town, a cell started to vibrate, causing a strange rippling pattern inside of the pink lava lamp on top of which it had been perched.

From underneath a nearby bed comforter, an arm stretched out, grabbed the phone, and pulled it underneath. On the wrist was tattooed the phrase, "Drag 4 Life". Mere seconds later, the blanket was tossed wide open. 

"Mark! Are you kidding me, man, what's up! I haven't talked to you in years! How've you been?"

Patrick's voice was a welcome reprieve in Mark's otherwise homogenized reality. Mark explained the full situation to his old friend in a matter of minutes, and if anyone could bring Mark's idea to fruition, Patrick was definitely the man for the job.

Jenny was astounded by her own resilience. By the time she was about to leave for work, the pain in her legs and feet had mostly subsided. To be fair, the events of that morning had left her in pretty high spirits. Her feet were numb, as they had been the night before, but maybe it was better this way. She had no doubt that the pain would return as the hours wore her down later in the day, but for the time being, she was thankful to be walking normally.

She had just taken a hold of the car door when suddenly, she felt the crowbar clunk against her right ankle. 

"Augh!" Jenny unleashed a raspy grunt as she collapsed instantly to the ground, the pain exploding up her right leg. As she lay on the ground, she found herself face-to-face with her attacker, who had been hiding out under her car waiting for her to leave. 

"Why?" she wheezed. She didn't understand. A second man showed up, wrested her keys and purse from her grasp, and the two of them forced her into the back seat of her own car. One of them withdrew that same gun she had seen before with the previous guy. They started the car and took off.

(Jenny always mentions that the details of this part of the story are a bit foggy in her memory, and understandably so. This is what I've been able to put together from her various iterations of it.)

"You called the police," the guy in the passenger seat spat at her.

"No no, I promise you, I didn't. We didn't!"

"Our supervisor's in custody, they got him and they got the damn car. How do you explain that?"

The guy who was driving interrupted. "Yo, where we going?"

"I don't know," the passenger responded before shifting his attention back to Jenny. She was glaring at him. He shifted his gaze down to her feet, still mercilessly clad in those 4-inch heels. Her ankle was starting to swell. A smile came to his face. He licked his lips. What a disgusting individual, was all she could think.

"I hope you enjoyed your two and a half hours' time last night without shoes on, dearie," he spoke softly to her. "That's the last time you'll know the feeling of bare feet for as long as you're alive." Jenny maintained her glare, despite the thunderous worry she felt in her stomach. "God, she's so fucking hot," he murmured.

The driver interrupted again, "You know they got the cigarettes, man, and I'm out. I think we should stop..."

"Do whatever the fuck you want, just get us the fuck out of here!" the passenger shouted.

The conversation between the two ceased beyond that. Jenny waited with dread for whatever was to come. She had hoped to try an escape when the driver stopped for cigarettes, but he never did.

=====

It didn't take long, maybe a half hour. By now, they were on the highway, doing about 80 by Jenny's estimation. She didn't want to sit up and look. That was when the first hint of police sirens could be heard. The passenger stared out the back window, then went into a panic, screaming at both Jenny and the driver. Jenny braced herself for what was no doubt going to be a long and dangerous chase.

Only, that didn't seem to be happening.  

"What the fuck are you doing, man? Step on that shit! Do it, now!" The passenger actually went so far as to point the gun at the driver. "Go!"

"Shut up, man, they fuckin' got us. Sides, I know that thing ain't even fuckin' loaded."

The frenzy in the passenger's face could almost literally be seen. It was like several tiny bursts of steam were shooting out intermittently from the pores on his beet-red face. "D'aaahhhhhh!!!" he exploded. The driver pulled the car over to the side of the highway. Long before the car even came to a stop, the passenger bailed. 

Jenny watched out the back window as one of the trio of cop cars behind them pulled over to give chase to the fleeing passenger. Meanwhile, the driver seemed to cruise for what felt like forever, at 20 miles per hour, then 15, then 10. It must have been at least two minutes solid before he finally brought the car to a full stop. He sighed as he put the car in park. A few seconds passed. He glanced at Jenny in the rear-view mirror. It was the first time that he had even so much as looked at her. Whoever he was, his eyes were beautiful. In spite of all that had happened, Jenny couldn't help but notice.

"I'm sorry about all this," he said before surrendering himself to the police.

The first order of business as the medics came to check on Jenny's condition was to remove her shoes. Jenny fought them on it for a good five minutes. Apparently, the shock of everything hadn't quite dissipated. The medics couldn't help but chuckle amongst themselves at the sheer absurdity of the situation, but the shoes did come off, after a mere two and a half hours on her feet. No gunshots happened. 
 

Mark scowled through the one-way mirror, into the interrogation room. So this was the man who pointed a gun at his wife's head. Whatever else he had said to her, it didn't matter. The simple fact is, he had threatened her life, and he was going to pay in some way. Mark was not a certified officer, nor did he have any experience in the field of interrogation. It frustrated him that all he could do was watch. He had a thousand questions of his own.

"Do you think Carl will agree to this?" Mark asked. 

"Oh yeah," Sam assured him, in a tone that suggested there was no reason to even ask. "It's not like we'd be torturing the guy, which would be a problem." Sam thought for a moment. "Well, this might be on the borderline, but considering the circumstances..."

Commotion could be heard outside of the room. Both Sam and Mark knew what was up. They left the mirror room and headed outside.

"I got here as fast as I could!" Patrick pushed the words out through his hasty breathing. He was carrying a brown paper bag. 

"And you're sure they're the right size? Size 13?" Sam insisted, taking the bag from Patrick.

"That's right. Lucky 13, 'eh? Mark, how you doing, man," Patrick bear-hugged his old friend. Mark gladly returned the gesture. "You know we gotta hang out again. I miss you."

"We will," Mark assured him. "But we got some major shit to attend to at the moment. Thank you so much for this." Mark produced three hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Patrick. If there was one thing Mark had not forgotten, it was Patrick's smile. It was genuine as ever. Mark waved as his friend drove off. He finally joined Sam back outside the interrogation room. Carl was with Sam now, inspecting the bag.

"You do realize this is not the way we normally go about interrogations," Carl said, staring into the brown paper bag. Carl was a disciplined man, no doubt about it, but it was even obvious to Mark and Sam that he was on the verge of busting out laughing as he spoke the words.

It didn't take much effort, nor did it take long. The man who had put a gun to Jenny's head now sat alone in the interrogation room, wearing 4-inch stiletto heels. With socks. 

Over one hour passed. The man continued to stay silent.

Mark, Sam and Carl took bets as to how long the man would last before giving up his pals, but were quickly distracted by an incoming transmission. Carl grabbed the receiver. "This is Carl, go."

"Chief!" an unknown voice boomed proudly from the other side. "We got them! We got both of the guys! The wife is here too, she's okay."

"The wife? What is he talking about?" Mark's heart pounded furiously, despite the good news.

"Jen's work called when she didn't show up. They found a note on her desk that said to dial 911 if she wasn't there on time this morning," the mystery officer explained.

"What, what, is she okay?" Mark pressed for more information. "Why didn't she show up at work?"

"The guys grabbed her at her car, hijacked it. The car's okay too."

It was almost too much for Mark to process. The officer continued.

"Man messed her ankle up pretty good. We're taking her over to the hospital."

Everything from that point on was mostly a blur in Mark's memory. Sam and Carl stayed behind to hold the fort down, while Mark physically sprinted to the hospital three blocks down.

Carl breathed a sigh of relief that might have been laced with a small dollop of disappointment.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Well, they found the two cronies, guess there's no reason to keep this guy on his tippy toes," Carl explained.

Sam chortled at his brother's choice of words. "No no, don't worry, the fun's not over yet."

"No, the fun's definitely over. If the city council found out about this..." Carl sighed, looking at the man inside, who still had not spoken after 90 minutes in the stilettos. "Damn though."

"I mean, you're just gonna keep him here anyway for a couple more days, right?"

"Most likely."

"So move him to his cell but don't take the shoes off. And while we're at it, let's not tell him that his men have been caught. Let's just see how long he can hold out."

A glimmer passed across Carl's eye. Sam always knew it when he saw it.

The brothers rigged a makeshift noose, tying it up against one of the pipes that ran along the ceiling of the holding cells. Another hour later, after they had marched the still-silent man over to the cell, they wrapped the noose around his neck. They also bound his hands behind his back. The man was stuck now standing in 4-inch stilettos, and unfortunately for him, if he tried to sit down, he would strangle himself. Without the use of his hands, he had no way of untying himself from his present situation. It was too perfect.

Mark returned to the police station a couple hours later, completely oblivious to the glorious sight he was about to behold. 

By now, the man had been wearing the high-heeled shoes for five hours total, standing for the latest two of those hours. He was already breathing heavily, and rapidly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He made unintelligible whining noises with his voice. 

"You know, Jenny didn't complain," Mark commented, knowing the man was listening. He turned to Sam. "You were with us lastnight at the restaurant, when she had been going on 14, 15 hours, did you hear her complain?"

"Nope," Sam said, crossing his arms. "Not a peep!"

"She wasn't standing the whole time!" the man in the cell retorted. It was the first time he had spoken since he had arrived at the police station. He had the worst case of froggy throat they had ever heard.

"Oh, she wasn't standing the whole time," Mark repeated. "Well, you got a point there." Mark approached the cell slowly. "She also didn't point a gun at you and threaten your life. So you know what? We're just gonna compensate for that by letting you stand the whole time."

"The... the whole time?" For the first time, the man's face showed true worry.

"My wife did her 18 hours for you. She did them without complaining, hell she even did a few extra because she happened to fall asleep. Now it's your turn. You're going to do those 18 hours for me."

A long silence passed with nothing but the repeated sound of stilettos clip-clopping on the floor of the cell as the man continued to writhe, knees trembling, toes blazing and smoldering with hot, molten pain. There was nothing even remotely sexy about this at all. It was fast approaching the point of becoming unbearable, and he knew there was no way he was going to make it. But he didn't have a choice. He was going to have to make it. The only ace he had up his sleeve was the information he was withholding, and despite his staunch loyalty to his men, he was definitely weighing the options at this point.

"So what are you going to do," the man pushed the words out in between breaths. "You gonna sit there and watch me?"

Mark sat down in a chair across the hallway and crossed one leg over the other. "Seems only fair. I mean, that's what you did, right?"

The man blurted something unintelligible. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't nice.

Sam sat down beside Mark. "We'll take shifts," he offered. "Sides, somebody's gonna have to go for grub eventually." He had a point.

Sam and Mark made endless conversation outside the cell wall. 

It wasn't even 45 minutes after they had sat down that the man in the cell offered up the information on his buddies. He was officially broken at that point, after less than 6 hours. Sam pulled out a notebook and pretended to take down the information, while Mark diffused his own laughter. After the man was finished giving over the information, Sam stood up with the notebook and walked away, as though to bring it to Carl two doors down. Mark got to his feet, finally unleashing his pent-up laughter.

"The fuck's so funny, man? I gave you your information, now you get me the fuck out of these fuckin' things."

Mark composed himself. "I'm sorry. It's just... your friends? The other two guys? They got caught like 3 hours ago. The chief has them over in Block B right now. So, the information you just gave us? We didn't even need it."

A long silence passed as Mark stared at the man, watching him process everything.

"12 hours to go, buddy," Mark chuckled as he sat back down.

It took another minute or two for the information to fully sink in. When it finally did, the man's eyes glazed over with tears. He started to sob uncontrollably, still haphazardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. The pain suddenly became twice what it was, now that he knew there was no relief in sight. Every nuance of Jenny's trial was coming full circle on him. His feet boiled, sizzled and spattered with unbearable pain. Hammers slammed down on his toes, shattering them repeatedly, while needles poked and prodded them from the bottom. His knees started convulsing. 

Sam returned a few minutes later, only to find an unexpected look on Mark's face. Then he noticed the man inside, sobbing his guts out, both knees wobbling violently. Snot was dripping from the man's nose and mouth, and had already formed a small puddle on the cell floor. He was in too much pain to even be embarrassed about any of it.

"Dude," Mark spoke first. "This is fucked up. We should stop."

Sam didn't respond. He felt the same way.

"I mean don't get me wrong, he's still doing the 18 hours in those shoes. But, we need to take that noose off, or the man's going to kill himself."

Carl brought in the keys a couple of minutes later and opened the cell. He removed the noose and helped the man over to his cot, where he sat down and instantly buried his head in his hands. "Thank you," he kept whispering over and over again. He didn't seem to care that Carl left the shoes on, but then maybe he had overheard Sam and Mark's conversation from earlier. It didn't matter.

Mark had better things to do anyway, better ways he could be spending his time. He sprinted straight back to the hospital, to his love. His Jenny. He took her into his arms, and he held her like there was no tomorrow. What a strong woman she was, to endure all this.

Jenny was well enough to go home that night, during which she and Mark tried three times over to recreate their little "session" they had had that morning, sans clothes of course. While neither felt that they ever reached that level (perhaps because of the lack of imminent danger... or clothes?), they still had a glorious time nonetheless.

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

And that's pretty much the story as far as I know of it. Using the pictures, they were able to figure out where all the cameras were in the house. Mark and Jenny ended up leaving them there because of how discreetly they had been placed, and now they have a nice snazzy security system for their trouble. They figured out that the guys had been getting into the house through a loose basement window, so those of you out there who have basements with windows, make sure those things are sturdy and more importantly, locked!

Mark only just admitted to me last week that he and Jenny have secretly taken a liking to role-playing the events of that whole incident. Holy cow, right? I mean, talk about making the best of something bad. What it is, is he will wake her up some mornings, pointing a gun (unloaded, I hope) at her head and demanding her to get up, get dressed, and stay dressed up all evening after work. She actually does it. They have signals to call it off if it gets to be too much, but according to Mark, they've never used them. I didn't bother to ask how often they do this. He said something about her wanting to try and do it for a whole week. To be honest, the whole thing feels a little bit too 50 Shades of Grey to me. Not that I've seen that movie, but I've heard things. To each his own, I suppose.