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There was nothing she could do but wait.

She looked at Carl. His head was no more than seven or eight inches from hers. She could have turned and kissed him. The bed was a twin; she and Ryan had bought a larger bed for the master bedroom, and had plans at some point to do the same for this room. It was OK, but if you had guests it was a bit small for two adults.

Another thing that no longer mattered.

Next to her, Carl stirred. His eyeballs flickered under his eyelids, and his mouth made small, repetitive pouts.

She watched as he woke up, looked up at the ceiling, and came to the same conclusions she had. After a few moments, he turned his head to his left and looked at her.

With the gag in her mouth she could not smile, so she did all she could. She gave him a little nod.

They lay in silence for some time. There was no point trying to speak; all they could manage were inarticulate noises. From time to time, Carl struggled against the straps but they did not budge.

He smiled, then raised his eyebrows and nodded at the back of her head.

He made a sound. It was clearly supposed to be a word. He nodded at the back of her head again, and made the same, guttural sound.

What did he want her to do? She frowned at him. He turned away showing her the back of his head, then looked at her, nodded at the back of her head, and repeated the sound.

It was a word of one syllable.

He turned away again, then repeated the word. There was an urgency in the tone; it was clearly a command of some kind.

Turn? Was he telling her to turn her head?

She looked away from him, presenting the back of her head to him. A moment later she felt his chin pressed against the nape of her neck. He began to move it, rubbing it in a rhythmic pattern.

She pulled away, and turned to face him, screwing her face up in a frown that said What are you doing?

He shook his head, and gestured for her to turn away.

Fine. She had no idea what he was attempting, but whatever it was it was better than doing nothing.

He began again. Whatever he was doing, it was making the pressure from the gag worse, pulling it back against the corners of her mouth. They were already bruised and sore, and it was very painful. She was about to stop him, when she realized what he was doing.

The gag was knotted at the back of her head.

He was trying to undo it.

It was a long shot. He would have to somehow pin part of the knot against the pillow, so she could pull against it. Everything would have to go right. It would take a long time.

What was that saying? With enough time a group of monkeys randomly typing would eventually produce the works of Shakespeare.

The question was whether they had enough time.

Ryan Came to My House

It wasn’t working. The monkeys were producing gibberish. When she felt the gag tighten she pulled her head, but every time she did it slipped out of Carl’s grasp.

He nudged her with his forehead and grunted. She didn’t know what it meant, but he nudged her again, more forcefully this time.

He was trying to get her to twist her head further.

Mary turned it as far as she could, her scalp screaming in pain where Ryan had ripped out her hair. The gag tightened further, and Carl grunted again, this time with more urgency. She twisted her neck again, further than she thought possible, and then, without warning, she felt the pressure of the gag lessen. She straightened her head, and pushed against it with her tongue.

It moved out of her mouth.

They had done it.