"Wake up, sleepyhead," a throaty, female voice cooed to him. His head hurt like a sonuvabitch. What the fuck happened? Jim shook his head, but that just made him queasy. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. He reached up to feel the back of his head to check the size of the lump that was there - or at least he tried to. Something was resisting... Awww crap.

His memories came flooding back to him. Karen. The parking lot. A box full of his missing stuff. A foul smelling rag over his nose and mouth. To put it mildly, he didn't like where this was going.

He tugged his arm again. His wrists were tied to the chair he was currently occupying. So were his ankles; he wasn't going anywhere. At least the ropes were nice... oooh, comfy. Jim felt Karen's small, soft hands brush through his hair, smoothing it down. The heat and the jarring motion sent a wave of nausea crashing over him and he moaned in agony.

"Awww, did I hurt you?" she asked. He finally opened his eyes into the dim light and recoiled at her maniacal grin and fierce, burning eyes. Then she hit him hard across the face.

Well, at least it took his mind off the nausea.

Damn, she's got one hell of a right cross, he thought to himself stupidly. He ceased thinking when Karen moved to perch herself on his lap. "Poor baby..." she purred, wrapping her arms around his body (must be nice to be able to do such a thing, lamented an immobile Jim) as she sat over his thighs. This was totally surreal. She was fussing over his appearance, smiling and laughing, all the while, just below the surface, madness reigned. He didn't know if he was about to be fucked or murdered. Probably one, then the other. He wasn't sure which order he preferred.

If Jim thought his life was like a soap opera before... let's just say that all it needed now was Ed Truck coming back from the dead and we're golden.

Okay, not so much if he was a zombie.

Despite any feelings of self-preservation he still harbored, he decided to speak. "What do you want, Karen?"

She stopped messing around with his hair and the smudges of dirt and blood on his face. Her good mood, such as it was, evaporated in an instant. "It's obvious it never mattered what I wanted, Jim. So maybe I'll just leave you in the dark. After all, turnabout is fair play, wouldn't you say?" Karen let that sit in for a few seconds. Yeah, he got it. He admits that he treated her badly and deserved some sort of punishment, but this might, just might, be taking it a bit too far.

Karen stood up, putting some distance between herself and Jim, but that didn't stop her from getting right up in his face. "Anything you'd like to say to me, Halpert?"

"Karen, I know I hurt you. You didn't deserve that. I'm ashamed of the way I treated you. I'm so sorry."

"Oooh. Bad move. Remember our last conversation?" Now that you mention it...

So now he's in extreme, excruciating pain in the groinal area and is worried he may never be able to have children. Not that it really matters if Karen is going to kill him here today. One related question: Why do male shoe designers and retailers persist in making shoes that can be used as murder weapons/instruments of torture? If he ever gets out of this, he's going to write a letter to complain.

While he was still reeling from the assault, Karen walked to the other side of the room. His gaze followed her footsteps along the floor - a braided rug over scratched hardwood. It slowly dawned on Jim that they were in some sort of cabin. The walls were simple and plain, with sparse decorations, a wood stove, second-rate furniture. There were a couple of windows, but the blinds were drawn so he couldn't tell where they were, and no doubt curious observers would have no clue what was transpiring inside.

He saw Karen pop some pills into her mouth, grimacing as she fought them down. So that's it. She's on drugs. That explains everything. There was no way the level-headed girl he'd dated would go off the deep end like this. God, he felt like shit driving her to this... drug abuse and violence.

He wasn't given much time to muse, however, as Karen returned to his chair with a small, black bag in her hands. "Are you ready, Halpert?" she asked, something like the fierce determination he remembered in her voice with just a touch of crazy. As she reached into the bag, Jim could see the glint of light shining off sharp steel blades. "Karen, wait. What are you doing? No!"