Thank you for your support. Yes, FF has been glitchy, so if you made it to viewing this chapter, I appreciate your persistence. Thank you for those who reviewed the last chapter: guest, ODBODG, Regency fan, Jansfamily4, and DMG88. A lot of your all have disabled private messaging, or are not logged in at all, so I have to respond to you here. Guest, yes Wickham is evil and yes he has a lot coming to him, but maybe not quite yet. ODBODG, you and Jan both want a quick end to Wickham; unfortunately you aren't going to get that because life is seldom that simple. Regency fan, I really appreciate all our your support; these are hard topics; no final nickname choice yet. DMG88, I hope this next part doesn't seem like too soap-opera-like to you, but if it is, sorry. I feel like if it was a soap opera, that someone would play the hero.

41.

I kept waiting for it, but George Wickham didn't call on Monday. Once I got the marked cash in a leather case, first thing in the morning at around 8 am, delivered along with coffee for cover, I was antsy all day. I kept waiting for something, anything to go down.

I'd talked to the social worker, Mr. McCowan, at about 9:3O am about the text from Wickham and the conversation I had with him. I wanted them to show G.G. the text, play her the police recording of the conversation. I wanted her to snap out of her delusion that George actually loved her.

Mr. McCowan promised to talk to the powers that be regarding my sister, and get back to me about everything by the end of the work day. So that was one more thing to wait for! If I had been a finger nail chewer, I would have chewed them bloody. I think, though, that I must have kept clenching my teeth because my somewhat healed jaw started to pain me something awful. I took some ibuprofen, tried to keep my mouth a little open and tried to find something to keep me busy.

I solved way too many virtual jigsaw puzzles on my phone but couldn't concentrate well enough for the word games, or even to get some much needed work done. I resolved to buy myself some real jigsaw puzzles the next day, for it would be better to have pieces I could manipulate and the battered side table would fit a decent sized puzzle once I took the lamp and phone off it.

Rick and I had an indifferent lunch that we lingered at, hoping to eat up part of the day. I had the cash in its case zipped up in an inner pocket of my coat, just in case George might call.

We couldn't really talk about anything there, out in public, not George, not G.G., nothing that was foremost on our minds. So we talked about sightseeing we might do, but our hearts weren't in it. Then it was back to the hotel and back to our separate rooms as I wasn't good company and rebuffed his attempts to hang out together.

The hours dragged and dragged, which I tried to fill up with Scottish TV. Eventually Rick and I got dinner, but separated again afterwards.

When Mr. McCowan finally got back to me at around 6:30 p.m., well the long and short of it was, they did not think it would be good for G.G.'s mental stability to see any of that, at least not then. They had filed the paperwork to remand her and that should go down the next day without any complications, and decisions about pursuing any criminal charges could wait until near the end of the thirty days. Her doctor recommended that I explore whether her therapeutic school in England was willing to take her back and if not, look into options for placements back in the USA.

I went over to Rick's hotel room to talk the whole thing over with him. At first I was adamant and too agitated to even think of sitting down. I paced like one of those lions in a cage when the zoos were truly abysmal, with all their animals engaging in stereotypical behaviors. "They lost her once, and won't Wickham know to look for her there? No way, no how do I want her back there!"

"Yes, no doubt we'd need to see what steps her school would take to improve their security, but think of all the time it took to find that place! We didn't find anyplace half so good at home. I do think that Mrs. Annesley was trying hard and G.G. did like the horses."

I hated how reasonable and measured Rick was being. "What happened to 'let's lock her up'? And can she even ride in her condition?"

"I guess I just thought about it rationally, not emotionally. Jail isn't going to solve a thing but make her hate us more. We can get a doctor's opinion on whether she can ride while pregnant, but I think so at least for a while as long as she's not jumping or anything."

"Why hasn't George called, texted, anything? I've got the money and he needs it."

Rick shrugged. "Bill, you're driving me crazy. Sit down already."

So I sat on the worst sofa ever, my right foot tapping a staccato rhythm on the carpet that must have once been beige but was now some indeterminate color from all the stains. I could tell it was bothering Rick, but what did I care? I wanted him as bothered and riled up as I was.

"Can we at least look into putting her back there in that school?"

"Go ahead Rick and waste your time if you want. No skin off my nose." I knew I was being unreasonably cross with my tone of voice, but I couldn't seem to care.

Just then, an alarm went off on my phone. "Time for therapy," I announced and left. To avoid the possibility that my session could be viewed by the police, I planned to do the virtual meeting on my laptop instead.

Ms. Berry was fitting me in during her lunch hour rather than making me wait until my usual time, which would be pretty late here, so I had given myself a ten minute warning so I could be ready.

I did all the normal things one does then, and was sitting and waiting, my leg all a jangle, until 7 on the dot. I clicked the emailed link for the meeting on my laptop but the message said the meeting hadn't started. I waited a few minutes, tried logging out and in, nothing. I even, in a show of desperation, tried on my phone also, still no cigar. I waited another 5, then called the office and left a message on voicemail (trying not to let my impatience and anxiety show). "Hi, this is Bill Darcy. I have a video call with Ms. Berry that was supposed to start 15 minutes ago. I really need to talk to her. If the video link isn't working, a regular phone call would work, too."

I felt like tearing my hair out. No contact from Wickham, no therapist, just interminable waiting. About an hour later I received a call from Ms. Berry's receptionist. "I'm very sorry Mr. Darcy, but Ms. Berry had an emergency with one if her patients and won't be available to meet with you today." She couldn't reschedule me as Ms. Berry was all booked up until after my next scheduled appointment and any overloading of her schedule was up to her to arrange. She promised, though, to leave a message asking for us to meet virtually ASAP.

I was calm and collected on the phone, but not after that. I just needed some outlet for everything. It was dark, and I still wasn't cleared to run, but I thought a walk might be nice. I didn't want to freak Rick out by just disappearing, so I texted him my plans. He must have seen my text right away, because he texted back "wait for me" and was at my door five minutes later. As I had done each time I'd left before, I had the marked cash on me in its case in an inner and zipped pocket in my coat. It was more about being ready should George call, and having been told to keep it on me, than worrying about the poor neighborhood and lack of a motel safe.

We just started walking randomly in one direction without much of a care for where we would end up, me in front most of the time. Rick was trying to crack jokes, but I couldn't find anything funny that day. I noticed that the neighborhood was kind of sketchy but we were two tall, athletic looking guys, so I wasn't too worried about it.

I guess I was too confident for being in an unfamiliar city, because when I rounded a corner, a short masked guy, in a black hoody, lept out and pressed a cold blade to my throat and demanded in a youthful voice with a strong brogue. "Hands against the wall." I obeyed. It might not be a gun, but I had no doubt it could be as deadly and I wasn't going to be a fool.

A moment later, I heard a childish voice making a similar demand of Rick, and from the footsteps behind me thought there might be another couple people with them, also. I had a momentary fear that Rick would get all military on them, but he must have seen the guy guarding me, because he obeyed and put his hands on the wall about five feet down from me.

The teens, or at least that was my supposition of who they were, demanded our wallets and phones. We handed them over and while I considered what a pain it would be to replace my credit cards and I.D., I knew our passports were safe in our hotel room. I felt some relief that the cash for George was concealed in my coat. Then our captors demanded, "Down to your skivvies and then we'll let you go."

I understood then that we were in deeper doo-doo; they wanted us to strip off our clothes and get down to our underwear! But I was hopeful that this was just a ploy to delay us once they left (for we would have to dress before we could get any help). I was hoping that the money in the coat would stay with me.

I didn't object. It was traumatizing and humiliating to be sure, but I wasn't going to be stupid and get myself killed. I pulled off my coat and would have laid it on the ground but another kid, or at least the person seemed to be a kid from his/her slight build, held out a black trash bag and told me "in the bag." Oh how helpless I felt then, the blade still close at hand. They would have the money that was supposed to help catch George. But I obeyed.

I heard a similar demand made toward Rick and saw with my peripheral vision that someone else was holding out a bag near him. I took off my shirt, stuffed it into the bag and then I had to bend down to remove my shoes and socks. It was cold as I stripped down and I began to shiver. Each item I stuffed into the bag made me feel more humiliated. Finally, when I was down to just my boxer briefs, I was told to put my hands against the wall again, and small hands moved over my underwear, seeking to check if I had anything stashed in it. It was humiliating!

Once they were finished with that, I was told to put my hands behind my back. That's when I really felt some fear! While one of our captors tied my hands tightly together, I watched as another gloved one threw down our phones and stomped on them until the screens were broken and they were thoroughly ruined. Then I was pulled back and to the right by my hands, and from the tugging had a notion that I was being tied to something. I felt pretty helpless then, you can be sure. One of the kids laughed, and with me unable to do anything, pulled my underwear down around my ankles.

Another darted forward, and though I could not see it, it seemed did the same to Rick. "Have fun getting loose, another one said," then they darted away to the left, four of them, carrying the two black trashcans.

I waited until they turned a corner and were out of sight and then asked Rick, "Are your shorts around your ankles, too?"

"Yeah," he admitted mournfully.

I bent my fingers and touched flesh that was not my own. "Are your hands tied to mine."

"Yes," he replied, touching me with what might have been a pinky finger.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"Well would you rather try to get help as soon as possible, or not be completely in the nude?"

"You think there is a way to get our underwear back on while still tied together?"

"Maybe. How good are you at deep squats?"

Rick's plan, which was a good one, was to simultaneously squat down low enough to grab the backs of our underwear and pull them up as we rose. He got his on the first try, and me on my second, but what he hadn't accounted for was that only pulling them up in the back, well they were never going to cover our fronts. So in the end, with our undies sliding down, we had to coordinate our walking, Rick frontwards and me backwards.

It was awful, and cold, and it was painfully slow and uncomfortable, to have our bare feet on the rough, half-frozen ground. The first person Rick called out to, "Help us, please!" must have fled in fright, for he called out, "Come back, call the police."

He kept going and walked us toward a light. He wobbled and I felt my wrists go up. "There's stairs, watch your step." We stepped up, me sliding each foot back until I felt a step and then sweeping a foot up until I got to the top of the step. It was a tricky business. Then he walked forward, me trying to coordinate with him, and I heard his foot bang on something that sounded like wood. That something turned out to be a door, for I heard it squeak as someone opened it.

"What the . . . crivvens." The man sounded befuddled. "Margie, you won't believe what the cat dragged in!"

"Is this another one of your stupid jokes?" A woman replied. I heard steps and then she must have spotted us for she said, "Holy shite! . . . Now Ian, don't just stand there, being an eejit, let them in."

Rick walked in and I followed. The blessed warmth of a rug beneath my feet and warm air around me was wonderful indeed, and the cold air vanished as the closed the door behind me.

"Get their shorts up, Hugh." Margie demanded. "Stop faffing around, them wee knockers aren't going to bite you, just do it." I felt myself blush, and felt a fresh wave of humiliation. It was very, very cold outside, and it was not unusual in such circumstances to be greatly diminished. I was reminded of the Seinfeld episode that I had watched with my father, about "shrinkage."

I heard fabric sliding, and then Rick said "Thank you."

Hugh, a balding, middle aged man, of middling height in some kind of navy work coverall, came around to me and tugged my underwear out and up, snapping the elastic against me when he let go and covered me up. I, too, said "Thank you."

"Now what on earth happened to you two fellas?" Margie asked. I finally got a glimpse of her. She was a plump short woman in a floral dress, the kind of person that some people call matronly, with a kind face and curly dark hair.

"We were mugged," Rick replied. "They took everything on us, including our clothes. Please call the police and see if you can get ahold of Lieutenant McMichaels."

A/N: Do you think this was a random mugging or is associated with Wickham? I know the answer.