Chapter #3Eyewitness accounts by: Agrika   "Nothing you could recall?" Jamie asked back, for the umpteenth times. "Gender? Height? Age?"
"No." The girls shook her head. "They were wearing some kind of large hooded cloak. I couldn't see their face at all. They didn't say a word. I was lying down, so I couldn't really tell their height."
"How long were you there?"
"I don't know. Felt like forever. I have never been tickled that much."
"Where did they tickle you?"
"Everywhere! My feet, my thighs, behind my knees, my belly, my ribs, my armpits, my neck, my... private body parts. Everything. Even my ears."
This was not helpful at all. She said the same things as the girl before her, and nothing new. They could all describe the tickling routine at length, but nothing else really. No names, no details, no clues. Either they were all making it up, or the mysterious serial tickler really knew their business.
"So," he said, readying himself for hearing another variation of the same story, "can you describe the tickling in detail?"
***
There were two more names on Jamie's list. There were dozens of pages written in his notebook, with very, very, very few facts. The girls were strapped to what was either like a massage chair or a dentist's chair, but with the back tilt back so they were lying down, and their legs up in the air, feet at shoulder height. The ceiling was covered with some kind of metal net, and there were two large screens on the wall, one black, the other one displaying some lines.
The tickler was dressed in a dark robe, hood pulled up. They didn't say anything, but tickled the girls with a variety of tools, on all parts of their body, in no particular order. They didn't use all tickling tools for all girls, or for all body parts. They didn't seem to write anything down, or pay attention to the screens, and they didn't anything to the girls except tickling.
Maybe Susan can do something with that, he thought. Maybe there is some information in the lack of information. Or, maybe, with a very slim chance, one of the two remaining names on his list would tell him something new. One of the names, Chrystine Chandler was the first victim. Maybe their mystery person wasn't so careful with her as the others. Maybe they had made some mistake, anything, the tiniest misstep, that Jamie could jot down use to catch them. Maybe.
***
He had no idea how, but Chrystine somehow managed to get a dorm room all to herself, which she graciously let Jamie into. She had bleached blonde hair, nails painted bright pink, and a gait he only thought possible in actresses directed by horny men.
"The Boy Wonder, investigating those horrible crimes," she monologued, as she theatrically closed the door after Jamie. "I was waiting for you to show up."
"I want to he..." ...lp, he was trying to say, but he realized he was supposed to be working alone, "I want to figure out who's behind that."
"Very noble of you."
"Can you tell me about that night? Anything you remember would be helpful."
"Hmm... no, not like this," she said.
"Not like this?"
"No." She slipped closer to him, the two of them pressed together sitting on one huge bed. "I'm not gonna just entertain some random guy with the story of how someone tickled the shit out of me. But I can show you."
"Show me?"
"Yeah. My bed is not exactly like that chair, but it's close enough. You let me tie you down, all naked and all, and I'll show you everything that the guy in the cloak did to me. I'll fill in all the details, answer any questions, at all. Spoiler: I know someone on the faculty is involved. You in?"
Jamie hesitated. On the one hand, the offer did not seem fun at all. While all the other victims received different treatments, there were some common threads, such as the very long and meticulous tickling of the most intense spots, and he had no desire to have first-hand experiment on that. On the other hand, if Chrystine told the truth, and she did have some extra information that the others hadn't, then this might be his only chance to get it.
How does Jamie decide?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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