Tim slowly came to, aware that there was something wrong. His lids were heavy, his mouth was dry, and his head was throbbing lightly. Not to mention the fact that there was something looped around his wrists and ankles.

He finally pried his eyes open and found that he was on a bed in a small room. Thick ropes encircled his wrists and ankles, as well as the bed posts, keeping him spread-eagle on the mattress. A heavy blanket had been placed over him, but he could see that his feet, which were sticking out beneath it, were bare. He could also feel the itchy material against his bare chest and legs, which implied that he was wearing only his boxer shorts.

The room had no windows, so he wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd first arrived at the house. There was an open door to his left and he saw a dark staircase. He was probably in a basement area. Unlike the main area of the house, this area had a chilly atmosphere, likely due to the lack of a fireplace. He was grateful for the heavy blanket, even if he felt like he was getting a rash.

The nightstand beside the bed had a lamp and a glass of water. Tim found that the rope around his wrist had enough slack that he could grab the glass, and that he could lift his head up enough to take small sips. Also on the nightstand was a rather thick book, the spine of which was facing away from him.

Footsteps pounded from above him and he knew his captor was up and about. He frantically tried to recall what had happened before he'd passed out. He could remember the woman – he couldn't recall if she had mentioned her name – and she had given him that tea. Of course, he hadn't thought twice about drinking it; he had, after all, been cold and soaking wet, and the tea had been so gloriously warm. After that, he only had vague memories of being moved about. But there had been something else…something that she said that he had commented on. It was in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite remember.

The stairway creaked and he heard the soft, padded steps of someone walking down. His muscles stiffened a bit as she came into view, carrying a plate of charred toast which had been lightly buttered. She was still wearing a man's flannel shirt, but now she also had on baggy jeans and boots. He didn't say anything as she grabbed a chair from the other end of the room and placed it beside his bed.

"Your clothes are upstairs, drying by the fire. I figured you'd be hungry," she said, acting as though she was talking to a friend sitting across from her rather than a man she'd drugged and tied to a bed.

He eyed the toast. Even burnt, it was appetizing to his empty stomach. But first, he needed some answers. "Who are you?"

"I'm sorry, did I forget to introduce myself last night? I'm Lizzie. Lizzie Lowell." She held out a hand, seeming to forget that he couldn't shake it.

"Why…why am I here?"

"You said your car broken down, remember? You came looking for a phone."

"I mean, why am I down here, tied to a bed?"

"The toast is going to get cold if you don't eat it now."

"I don't want the toast; I want to know why you're holding me captive!"

Lizzie placed a hand on his cheek. "Now don't go getting yourself all worked up. I'm not trying to hurt you."

He jerked his head away from her touch, smacking it against the back wall in the process. He held down a groan. "Then what are you going to do?"

"You'll like it here, Thom," she told him, pointedly avoiding his question. "You're just not used to it."

"My name is Tim."

"Not according to this," Lizzie said, grabbing the book from the nightstand. He immediately recognized it as Deep Six. She held it up and opened it so that Tim saw the back cover. There was no denying that the man in the picture was indeed him.

He rested his head back against the pillow. Was he the only one with crazy fans, or did all writers go through this? "I'm guessing you're a fan?"

"You guess right. One of my customers gave it to me as a Christmas gift last year." She replaced it on the nightstand. "I have to admit, I never actually expected you to just turn up at my front door. But when you did, I figured it had to be fate or something."

"I'd go with the 'or something,'" he muttered bitterly.

"Are you going to eat this or are you going to sit there and be a sour puss?"

He glared at her, though he didn't respond with the retort he had in his mind. His stomach was rumbling and he knew that arguing with her wasn't going to do him any good. At this point, she had the upper hand. He had to be gentle about dealing with her if he wanted to get out of this unscathed.

Lizzie held out a slice of toast and he bit into it. The butter had a gooey texture and the toast tasted like grease and charcoal, but he gulped it down, grabbing the glass of water to wash down the taste.

"See? That's not so bad," Lizzie said as he finished up his breakfast meal.

Tim begged to differ, but he was in no mood to debate the quality of the toast. "Look, Lizzie," he told her gently, "I'm a federal agent. People are going to be looking for me. If you let me go now, I promise you that no charges will be pressed. You and I – we'll just go on with our lives."

She was running a damp napkin around his mouth, catching stubborn crumbs that had stuck to his skin. "Don't think I need to worry. Folks don't come around here often. They like to chalk me up as being some crazy recluse."

Gee, I wonder why, Tim thought.

"Now, I know this is a big change for you, but you'll learn to love it, I promise you."

"You can't just keep me tied up down here!"

"Oh, I'm not. I'm gonna untie you and bring Fluffy down here to watch you."

"Fluffy?" he repeated. The only animal he'd seen in the house had been the dog that had growled ravenously at him, and that dog hadn't struck him as being a "fluffy."

"He's friendly once he gets to know you, but he doesn't like when people try to leave. He especially doesn't like it when people attack me."

Tim needed no explanation of what she meant. "Fluffy" would be her way of making sure Tim didn't try to overpower her and get away.

"Now I've got to get some work done, but I'll bring a little radio down for you so you don't get bored." Lizzie collected the plate and the empty glass, giving Tim one final smile before ascending the stairs.

AN: Thanks for the wonderful reviews! Some people have noticed that this is somewhat similar to the novel/movie Misery, and I do admit that I was inspired by it when I wrote this!