I returned the kettle to the stand in the kitchen and glanced out of the window. I very rarely looked out of this window in my kitchen, as it only gave me a partial view of my back garden, and was mostly obscured by a chunk of my neighbour’s house, and we were not totally on speaking terms. A shame really, as we were the only two in the neighbourhood of a similar age, but some rudeness is just unforgivable. That being said, the house looked unoccupied – it was dusk, but the lights weren’t on yet. It was a small community on this cul-de-sac, and I could have sworn I’d seen…

I walked around to my front room and twitched the curtain aside, then moved to the front door, unlocked it and opened it to get a better view. Yup, my neighbour’s car was on the drive, and I hadn’t seen any-one leave… I paused, skittering on the threshold. The front door was ajar. That was… unusual.

There had been a rash of burglaries in the local area, targeting single owners, where a young, pretty, woman would come to the door in tears, and ask to come in to use the phone, and then once in, overpower the house owner, let in some friends and take the valuables before making a quick exit. The gang were usually very thorough and very quick, something that showed they scouted out their marks beforehand, in my opinion. That’s why I’d taken to locking my door, even when I was in, and never opening the door to strangers.

That open door weirded me out. It might have been an oversight, but… all the same.

I pulled out my phone and called my sister.

“Hey, Rach. There’s something weird over at the neighbour’s, I’m going to go check it out,” I said, when she answered. “If I don’t call back in like… 5 minutes, call me. If I don’t answer, call the cops. It’s number 26.”

I shut my door, locked it behind me, then carefully picked my way across the lawn that separated our houses and stepped onto your drive, trying to not let the heels of my shoes click on the tarmac. The door was indeed open, and I could hear… something from inside. Definitely movement… and was that… a muffled groan? I hesitated, gripping my phone tightly, thinking about just calling it quits and calling the police now, then stepped through the front door. The hall was dark as none of the lights were on, so only a dull twilight seeped down the stairs and through from the kitchen to the left, the door facing the stairs. There was a dull shape lying in the middle of the hall, and as I entered, it moved sinuously and then was another garbled groan.

Heart pounding, I turned on the torch of my phone and angled it at the shape.

And there you were, my silly little know-it-all neighbour, trussed up like a turkey on the floor.

Angling my light, I stopped to really take in the picture. You were sat up against the wall at the side of the stairs, your hands pulled between a couple of the spindles holding up the bannister for the stairs and tied together, more ropes locking your wrists to the other spindles. The ropes had been pulled tight enough to really dig into you, and the pale grey tank top you were wearing gave me a gorgeous view of the muscles in your arms straining as you tried to pull against them. Your long legs had been likewise strapped together with a length of clothesline, making a surprisingly intricate diamond pattern over your blue jeans, your bare feet just poking out at the end. The robbers certainly hadn’t skimped on the cord, and while your feet had left scuff marks in the carpet where you’d clearly tried to wriggle free, the plastic cord was clearly unmoved.

The real piece-de-resistance though, was the bright electric blue bandana that had been folded several times to create a thick band of material, pulled tight between your lips and teeth and knotted several times at the back. Given your bulging cheeks and muffled moans too, I had to surmise that there was something else stuffed in there too to really minimise the noise. Noise that really took an upswing as you realised there was some-one there, thrashing around against the cords and making a nasal whining sound.

I stood over you, looking down, admiring the handiwork before meeting your big, wide pleading eyes. We both jumped at the sound my phone. I answered it.

“Hi Rach, yeah, my idiot neighbour got caught by the rope bandits,” I stated. “Stay on the phone with me would you, I’ve just got to check they’re not still here…”

Ignoring your pleading noises, I carefully, oh-so-very-carefully, checked every single room to make sure the house was empty, making sure not to touch anything to disturb evidence, and grinning at the soft keening noises coming from the hall as I did.

“Okay Rach, I think we’re clear,” I stated, coming back down the stairs. “I’m going to call the police in a second, thanks for staying on the line. What? Oh yeah, sure, of course I’ll take pictures. Thanks hunny, bye!”

I clicked the hall light on then paused to really admire you, your long restrained form, the ruffled hair, the bulging cheeks, the wide eyes, then dialled the emergency number.

“Police please,” I said brightly. “Oh hi, my name’s Trisha. I’m calling from 26 Snooping Crescent. My neighbour has been the victim of the rope bandits. I’ve had a look around and the house seems empty, looks like they’ve already made a run for it. You’re sending some-one out? Thank you, I’ll stay with him.”

I hung up and then switched my phone to camera.

“The police are on the way,” I informed you, obviously angling my camera for them. “If I remember correctly, the usual response time for the routine call outs is about an hour or so, so I better capture the evidence for them before they get here, huh? Awh, don’t look away hunny, we need to get document this – for the legal proceedings, of course.”

I continued to take several snaps of you from multiple angles, then put my phone away and stood in the frame of your kitchen door, staring down at you, leaning casually against your doorjamb.

“I really hate to say I told you so,” I said, with unrepentant glee. “But I told you, you condescending arsehole.”

You tried to say something, maybe it was an apology, although it sounded much more like an excuse to my ears, but I didn’t listen.

“I told you,” I continued. “I warned you – I said that they were operating in this area, that they were tackling young singletons, sent you articles about it and you had the nerve to tell me that I was ‘overreacting’, being ‘overly cautious’ and my personal favourite, being ‘hysterical’. You know how many women who were right over the centuries got told to calm down and stop being hysterical when they were right? No? Neither do I, because history labelled them as emotional rather than taking them seriously. And now, you’re paying the price.”

I paused to take a long look at you.

“I bet you loved it too,” I grinned. “Played right into your sense of vanity and playing the hero, right? A poor crying damsel, and you let her right in and let her and her buddies truss you up, right? I bet all it took was a bat of her lashes and you practically swooned all over her and made it easy. You really need to re-evaluate your life choices, my boy, because you’re so naïve, and this world is just going to chew you up and spit you out. With that in mind, maybe antagonising your closest neighbour wasn’t your brightest move, huh?”

I gazed levelly into your eyes and smirked as they dropped away from mine. I went into the kitchen, picked up one of your dining chairs, and set on the thresh hold. I reached over and tugged down the cleave gag so it hung around your neck like a collar. Watching as you spat out a handkerchief, I reversed the and straddled it, bracing my arms on the back of the seat, peering down at you with a smug sense of superiority.

“A-aren’t you going to let me go?” you asked shakily.

“Why?” I asked calmly. “We’ve still got...” I checked my watch. “At least 40 minutes before the cops show up. And I want to hear all about how you ended up trussed up tighter than my Nan’s Christmas turkey.”

I grinned as you pulled at the ropes holding your arms above your head again, and I noticed that some-one had used bungee ropes, meaning there was a slight amount of elasticity, you could pull your hands a little way before they snapped back. It was most entertaining.

“I can tell you the story when I’m untied!” You protested.

“You could, but you can also tell me just as well while tied up,” I observed. “And I’m enjoying the floor show.”

“Hey…” You flushed, about to start a tirade, but I held up a hand.

“If you wanted me to help you, you shouldn’t have been an overbearing prig,” I stated. “And if you don’t want me to go back to mine to finish the cup of tea I interrupted to come over here and check on you and leave you as is for the police to find, I suggest you drop the attitude.”

“Right.”

“I didn’t hear an apology.”

You flushed angrily again, but dropped you gaze.

“Sorry. And thanks for coming over.”

“You’re welcome,” I said sweetly. “So, the full story?”