The way I have the plot ordered may not make sense yet but...Enjoy!
When Henley regained consciousness, it was to the sound and sensation of her phone buzzing quietly. Her head was pounding as if a sledge hammer had been taken to it, and maybe it had, for all she knew. She sat quietly for a moment, eyes clenched shut, letting her head clear and memory of what had happened return. Then she took stock of herself.
She was tied down to a chair at the ankles, knees, and waist, while her hands were uncomfortably chained straight out from her sides. She was still clothed; that was good. Her heeled boots were still on; even better. And something jammed in her bra was buzzing like crazy against—Wait.
She sent a mental thanks out into the universe for the fact she had the odd habit of keeping her phone stuffed in her bra at all times, even at home or when performing. If someone had patted her down, they thankfully hadn't been too thorough, and maybe assumed the phone had been dropped in the scuffle.
Her hands posed a slight problem; if the rest of her were unbound, maybe…But Henley Reeves was nothing if not an escape artist, and she would figure something out. Whoever was calling would have to leave a voicemail, as she scanned her surroundings, chewing on her bottom lip in concentration. It was a dreary, windowless room that looked to be in some worn down warehouse. How typical for an abduction. The floor was filthy, the rusty door looked ready to fall from its hinges, and the ancient piping above her head looked hardly secure enough to pass the barest safety codes.
The chair she was in was wooden and rickety, and her bindings were all metal chains, presumedly so her captors would know if she were moving about. Experimentally, she tested the limits of each binding, ending with her hands, which she swung up and down with as much might as she could muster. The loud resulting clangs led to a thumping of footsteps headed in her direction, and she quickly feigned unconsciousness again, leaning to the right as if she'd simply slumped in her stupor.
There was a horrible screeching noise as the door was wrenched open, but Henley forced her muscles to remain motionless, listening intently as whomever had entered moved closer. They were breathing harshly and taking heavy steps – the man who had grabbed her initially? – and stopped right in front of her. Abruptly, her chin was grabbed and swung upwards. A throaty chuckle left the man's throat as he tilted her face side to side. "Didn't get a good look in that alleyway, but yum. We could have some fun…When you wake up of course, sleeping beauty." He released her and she allowed her head to slump back into place, hoping the gritting of her teeth was not too apparent.
When the door had painfully scraped closed again, she let out a small breath, daring to slit one eye open. Were there cameras watching her? She had no way of knowing, except assuming that if someone had seen her wake initially, it'd have sent them coming in, and not the sound of the chains a few moments later. Unless it was a trick. But she probably posed no threat to Thaddeus Bradley and his cronies, with all his intimate knowledge of her craft and his superior attitude. She was just a slight girl with red hair, who represented a ticket for information from Daniel and the others. Information they happened to not have…
She heaved a sigh, squirming within her restraints as she thought of Daniel. He was probably angry at her for not showing…was it last night? She had no concept of time in here, but assumed she had been out a while. It felt like they'd dosed her with a horse portion. Still, Daniel and her team were smart. Very smart, and resourceful. They would figure out a way to get to her, and she would figure out a way to get herself free. Just then, an idea popped into her head, and she grinned, beginning to thrash her head about, working her hair free from the ragged side ponytail it was still held in.
Merritt was watching reruns of The Mentalist and scoffing at every line the main character uttered, Jack was closing, picking, and reclosing a padlock, and Daniel was at the window, staring down at a Bourbon Street shrouded in early morning fog with suspicion. The list of potential suspects could either be very short, or very long, and it all depended on whether this was a random act by someone like a crazed fan, which they all doubted, as Henley was a brighter crayon than many in the box; or it had been pre-meditated, was someone who held a grudge against them. Tressler? The FBI? An ex-assistant of one of them?
Merritt had finally grown weary of the, in his words, "redhead knockoff" of himself, and was flipping channels rapidly without giving it much thought. He let the television rest on a channel at random, and got up from his chair, stretching and heading to the mini bar. The voice that emanated from the screen a moment later froze everyone in the room, and they turned simultaneously to the tv. It was Thaddeus Bradley's debunking show, airing his latest episode as a live special. The topic of the evening? Escape artists.
The men in the room crowded in front of the tv at once, scrambling for the remote and raising the volume frantically.
"We fear the captivity that we lay upon other species, in zoos and cages at home and national parks with wired fences at the borders," Bradley was saying in his stage tone, pacing the small set made to look like a home library. "And so we constantly seek a way out. A way out of legal problems, our hectic daily lives, relationship issues… Some of us have mastered a way out of these, through conniving, greasy maneuvers, finding a way to slip out through the fine print. But what if we were the ones in the cage? Tonight we will observe an escape legend, considered a master of her kind, cast out of her element. Her cage is not of her own construction, she has not memorized the blueprints, the manacles are not oiled. She is not well nourished or hydrated. Can she do it?"
The camera cut abruptly to a dimly-lit room, in which a chair was faintly visible in the center. Its occupant was concealed by the lack of light. This part of the "stage" was rendered inaudible, probably because the subject was not supposed to be there…
Chains led from the wall to each side, apparently secured to the "prisoner", and appeared piled upon the person's legs. The camera panned around, keeping them concealed, until it had reached the front of the room again. The lights came on, and a theatric burst of music prompted viewers at home to gasp to themselves. The girl with chains heaped on every limb was Henley.
The remaining three horsemen met each other's eyes, and knew the first hand had been dealt.
~Bon