Implied

"Hand over the purse, lady."  It's a gruff voice out of the night, a threatening bark that leads me to gasp and start involuntarily even though I've come down this forbidding road intentionally in a quest for my unusual brand of fun.  It's an adrenaline shot through my whole body, like boiling water through my veins.  It's time.  I hug my purse protectively closer to my rib, and slowly revolve to face my assailant.  He's there in the yawning shadows between the two dim streetlights, the knife edge a gleaming ribbon in the dark.

"It's really silly, my fetish," I say, making significant effort to allow embarrassment into my voice. I drop my eyes from his as if ashamed, though I've had this conversation a dozen times before.

"Nonsense," he counters, smiling patronizingly. It's there to read in his face: already he is fantasizing that it must be something predictably male. His imagination takes hold of him and he surmises I must be dreaming of a threesome with him and another woman. Uninspired. The truth is far more perverse.

The shrouded figure approached walked down the long, cracked sidewalk, stepping over the exposed old oak roots. St. Ignuitius's was just up ahead. the shrouded figure stopped under one of the suburban street lights, passed by a thick mist.

Shortly after, it was knocking at the door. Commotion could be heard from inside. After a short wait, the door creaked open.

"Are you the one we called?" asked an old nun. The shrouded figure pulled off the hood to reveal the short blonde hair of a girl wearing a preacher's collar.

“You crazy bitch.”

His head hurt. His vision was blurry. But as soon as he heard the machinery’s hum, Connor realized where he was, and he found his voice.

“Welcome back, Connor.” Of course she was here.

He started to make out the familiar shapes of the objects in the lab – tables, computers, tanks, fluorescent lights, Rhona’s workstation. As his vision returned, he also realized he couldn’t move his arms; he was taped to his desk chair.

“I was afraid I’d given you too much…and today of all days, that would be anticlimactic.”