"These guys are crazy.", these were the first words from Jack Singleton's dry mouth since his unfortunate black-out and ultimate abduction. His head was sore. He closed his eyes again and tried to put together the badly bruised pieces of the previous evening. A dark parking lot after dinner. A wonderful dinner, pasta something or other, a dark parking lot, they were twins, older, tall with short receding hair, identical twins, a big stick. Where did he get a stick in the middle of the city? No time to run. THWAP! Blackness.

"WHERE DID YOU GET A STICK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CITY!" his voice echoed around what he guessed was a garage. He was lying three and a half feet above the ground on a picnic table. His legs were tied to the table with different medias of bondage including some new ones. The most prominent cause of Jack's immobility was garbage bags. The big black industrial kind, the big orange kind with the jack-o-lantern faces, and basic tall kitchen garbage bags, all twisted tightly and tied around different places the length of Jack's legs to the red stained boards. His hands were tied above his head to the table with thin string and duct tape.

Jack looked around the garage. Garage things, paint, old bicycles with worn cracked tires, cob webs, cans of oil, turpentine, grease remover, WD40, and bug spray. There were lawn chairs, an old pogo stick, hoola hoops, and magazines. The 5 windows on the big bay door were sloppily painted over and gave the garage an uncomfortable light. A few flies danced across and bounced against these windows. It smelled like a garage.

"What do you want with me?" he shouted, and if any innocent bystanders who knew Jack were in the room at the time when he proffered this question to his assailants, they might have turned to one another and whispered that it was a very very good question. Jack was a middle aged, once married never again, no kids too loud, no money wish I had more, I'm not overweight look at him that's overweight, guy. Oh, and he was a Psychic. Well, not a real psychic, meaning that a "real" psychic might be one who actually believes they possess psychic abilities and Jack did not. Jack did not believe in mediums or psychics, Jack was a con.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME GOD DAMN IT!" he screamed, "HELP!" . He heard a door open a distance behind him, footsteps, big stick, THWAP! Blackness.

"Mrs. Peterson, please take hold of my hand." Jack's voice was loosely tender and sympathetic. He leaned across the table littered with tarot cards, candles and rosary beads, and almost lost the turban off his head. The turban was in fact a wrapped bed sheet with "Glittery Glue Goo" dappled randomly around it. The medallion in the front was constructed from a belt buckle he had won at a carnival in a small town in Arizona. It was a very heavy piece with a cast American bald eagle swooping down for the kill, wings spread, against a desert sunset. Jack gently took the old woman's hand. He could feel her bones through the soft, wrinkled, sun-spotted skin. "Mrs. Peterson, together, at the count of three, we are going to say your husbands name out loud. Okay?"

"We're going to say his name?" she asked. She looked confused. Yes, of course he felt sorry.

"How can someone believe in shit like this?! It's their own damn fault." he thought to himself. "Yes Mrs. Peterson we're going to say his name so he can hear us from beyond. Do you understand Mrs. Peterson?"

"I want to talk to John." She squeaked. Her voice cracked, a tear rolled down her cheek, slowly making its way through the dozens of crevices in her wrinkled face.

"I know Mrs. Peterson." Jack Swallowed the lump in his throat and continued the mock ceremony. Lights flickered, things rattled, just like all the others.

Jack opened his eyes. His nose was dry and burning. His face ached. He could feel the dried blood on his forehead. His mouth had been duct taped closed. The twins were standing over him and one of them held a large, whittled stick.

"Mr. Singleton," said the twin without the stick, "My name is Chad and this is my brother Charles." Charles grinned and gave a shy wince. "Mr. Singleton, the New York State Lottery is now," he paused and made the corner of his upper lip curl into a devilish half-grin, "seventy-two million dollars." Charles gripped the stick hard and let out an uncontrollable squeal. "My brother Charles and I have sought your assistance in helping us capture this most impressive bounty." The other twin let out another squeal followed by a squirm. "Using your reputable psychic capabilities Mr. Singleton, we, Charles and myself, would like you to tell us the lucky six numbers." Jack rolled his eyes and let out a painful groan through the duct tape. "We understand Mr. Singleton that in situations such as this one, one might be apprehensive, but we have the utmost faith in your powers, and can assure you that after you succeed you will not only be released, you will be very wealthy." he continued "If though, in the very unlikely case," the twin's jaw closed and he now forced the words out roughly between his teeth "that you decide to lie to us because you don't believe that your incredible powers should be used unjustly, I will have no choice but to have my brother Charles cut you into small pieces with the god damn pocket knife I bought him for our 33rd birthday last April," he moved close to Jack's face and spit on it as his voice hissed. "and over the course of ONE YEAR WE WILL FLUSH EVERY FUCKING MORSEL OF YOUR FUCKING FLESH DOWN THE TOILET UNTIL YOU ARE JUST A FUCKING MEMORY! DO YOU FULLY UNDERSTAND MR. SINGLETON!? DO YOU FULLY UNDERSTAND MR. SINGLETON!?" Jack's eyes were wide open with terror as the twin continued with his blitzed, bizarre search for acknowledgment of his captive's full comprehension. Jack's lungs could hardly keep up with his need for air. "DO YOU FULLY UNDERSTAND MR. SINGLETON!?" screamed the twin. Sweat and tears poured down Jack's bright red shining face as he tried the best he could with a duct taped mouth to respond positively in hopes that the shouting would simply end. It did, as quickly as it started. The garage was silent except for Jack Singleton's flaring nostrils, which were still desperately trying to handle the rate of air pumping into and out of his body, and the sound of the few flies dancing and bouncing against the painted bay door windows.

Chad took a handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it, and wiped his forehead and his mouth. "Charles, please sit over there quietly and whittle your stick." he said calmly. His brother obeyed and sat down on one of the rusty, frayed lawn chairs in the corner. "Mr. Singleton, I am going to remove the tape from your mouth. I wish for you not to scream, yell or get upset." Jack's eyes were still wide with terror but managed to stretch open even further as the twin approached him. "We can speak civilized, and causing a commotion will only heighten the level of anxiety and tension. Do you understand Mr. Singleton?" The twin gave an uncomfortably comfortable smile and walked around to the end of the table and peered down at Jack. Jack's eyes clamped shut as his captor reached down to pull the tape from his mouth. He removed the tape gently and Jack's body responded to the new opening with a swoosh of air. His eyes opened. "Now Mr. Singleton, is everything perfectly clear?" the twin asked peering down at Jack from directly over and behind him with the same uncomfortable smile, which to Jack, looked more like a sinister frown.

"You don't understand," Jack started "I can't do this!"

"Mr. Singleton," interrupted the twin, his eyes fluttered with frustration, "I thought we had an understanding!" his voice rose sharply and his hand smashed down beside Jack's head.

"I'M NOT A PSYCHIC!" screamed Jack bursting into tears again.

"DAMN YOU!!" shrieked the twin and he kicked the legs of the table so hard that it collapsed and brought the end laden with the weight of Jack's body down on his foot. The twin screamed in pain and planted the injured foot into Jack's face. Blackness.

"Jesus Christ!" Jack mumbled to himself, "I've got to eat to! I'm not a God Damn charity here!" He was pacing back and forth the best he could in his tiny office sucking down a cigarette. His turban bobbed as he walked from the weight of the belt buckle and every turn in his pacing was followed by a readjustment of the head piece.

Mr. Albert was waiting in the "Spirit Room" as Jack called it. He had just finished the half hour long ritual he had choreographed for people who had lost stuff. Mr. Albert had lost a severance check for $3500.00 that was supposed to get him through the winter's heating bills, Christmas bills, mortgage payments, water, and electricity. Jack sat patiently throughout the whole dramatic melancholy story. Fired after twenty-five years. They said the man was dead-weight and a bottle neck. The guy stopped at Spanky's for a bourbon, okay maybe two. He went home to tell his wife, there were tears and worries. Where was the check? I had the check! Where is the check!! I had the check! Jack had never before seen a man that old cry.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" he continued to pace and ash on the floor. He was having a formal debate in his head on whether to bill Mr. Albert or not. He stuffed out the cigarette and marched into the "Spirit Room".

"Mr. Albert," he said with a smile, "I have complete confidence that if you go back and look where I predicted you'll find the check." He massaged his eyeballs with his fingers. "We can take care of the fee after you find it." he finished with a deep breath. Mr. Albert looked up from the table and smiled

"Thank you." he said. He rose and gave Jack a firm hand shake and a smile, then, turned to leave. Jack never saw him again.

"Mr. Singleton, you're with us once more." Chad said wryly.

Jack's head felt funny. He was still on the semi-collapsed table upside down. His nose had been bleeding bad and this had caused a trail of dried blood leading from Jack's nostril to his forehead stopping en route to pool at his eye which was now crusty and hard to see from. "I'm going to die," Jack thought to himself, "there's no use in arguing with them any more."

"Mr. Singleton, I deeply apologize for losing my temper," the twin sounded sincere, "but if you insist in defying me and being difficult, I can not promise that I will not lose it again. Do you understand Mr. Singleton?"

Jack nodded the best he could.

"Very good! Very good!" Chad smiled. "Now Mr. Singleton, I have in my hand a blank lottery ticket for tonight's drawing. I would like for you to dictate those numbers to me at this time.". Charles let out a small squeal. Jack's head throbbed from the continuous rush of blood to it.

"Can't you lay me flat?" Jack requested wearily.

"In due time Mr. Singleton, but first the numbers." replied the twin.

"I'M UPSIDE DOWN FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!" Jack cried and tears began to flood his shiny bloody face again.

"THE NUMBER'S MR. SINGLETON," Chad screeched "FIRST NUMBER PLEASE!"

Jack sobbed with frustration.

"FIRST NUMBER GOD DAMNIT, OR I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!!"

"ELEVEN!" Jack cried.

"SECOND NUMBER!"

"THIRTEEN!

"THIRD NUMBER!"

"TWENTY-ONE!"

"FOURTH NUMBER!"

"TWENTY-THREE!"

"FIFTH NUMBER!"

"FORTY-ONE!"

"SIXTH NUMBER!"

"SEVENTY-FOUR!"

"THERE IS NO SEVENTY-FOUR MR. SINGLETON!!" the twin screamed "SIXTH NUMBER!"

"SEVENTY-FOUR!" Jack cried.

"DO NOT PLAY GAMES WITH ME MR. SINGLETON I WILL HAVE CHARLES CUT YOUR HEART OUT NOW!! GIVE ME THE GOD DAMNED SIXTH NUMBER!"

"FORTY-SEVEN! FORTY-SEVEN! FORTY-SEVEN!" Jack broke down into massive heaving sobs.

The twin jotted the last number down and made a hurried exit from the garage instructing Charles to watched the captive until he returned. The garage was quiet and dark. Jack continued to sob to himself and his face was a shiny red mess of sweat, blood, tears and spit. After a few minutes Charles rose from his seat and quietly walked over to the hostage. He looked down at Jack tenderly with a smile and touched his blood matted hair. Jack watched the twin as he lifted his hand very slowly into the air, wiggling his fingers as it rose, and then without warning suddenly bring it down again with a swift powerful movement on Jack's forehead. Blackness.

"Why should I stay Jack? " his wife asked with a calm voice. She had asked the only question she knew he could not bullshit an answer to. He was trapped.

"Because I love you?" the end of his answer twirled up into a wispy question and he suddenly wished he could snatch it back before it entered her ears. But it did. And her eyes closed briefly as she recieved it.

"I know you probably do Jack, and sometimes I really truly wish that I loved you back, but I can't, and I don't. I don't even know you anymore. Look at that thing on your head. Who are you pretending to be now Jack?" she shook her head.

Jack realized that the turban was still residing on his head and he quickly scooped it off and threw it on the floor. The buckle made a dull thud.

"Why don't you stop pretending Jack? Why don't you go out and do something real? Something that doesn't involve lying or cheating or stupid costumes or a false name? Wouldn't that be nice Jack? I mean to be yourself, to be real?" she tried to extract some expression from her husband but his blank stare made it obvious he had no answers. "Good-bye Jack, I'll call when I get there." she said and she was gone.

The garage was dark except for the strobing blue glow of a TV set. Jack's eyes were swollen and his head was a ball of pain. He had been moved during his unconsciousness to the end of the garage but was left upside down. The room came into focus and Jack started to make out what he was seeing. Directly behind him on the far end of the garage was the 20" television set resting on a plastic milk crate. The picture even though it appeared upside down to him was clear and he recognized the anchorwoman on the evening news. On either side of the TV sat the twins in beat-up old lawn chairs. Their silhouettes were identical and Jack couldn't make out any of the features on their faces. He assumed the twin holding the stick was Charles. Jack kept quiet.

The evening news was interrupted by the weekly lottery drawing. Jack took a deep breath to try to keep himself from sobbing. Tears rolled down his face as Yolanda Vega the official number drawer announced herself and the 72 million dollar prize. Jack could keep it back no more and suddenly burst into silent heaves.

"The first number in tonight drawing, ELEVEN!" Yolanda announced energetically.

"Yes!" exclaimed Chad and Charles followed with a squeal.

Jack's silent crying turned quickly into audible sobbing. The twins paid no attention.

The second ball rolled from the lottery machine and the others followed with no pause.

"Thirty-one - Twelve - Thirty-two - Fourteen - and the substitute number is . . . forty-seven. Tonight's lottery numbers again are: Eleven, Thirty-one, Twelve, Thirty-two, Fourteen and the substitute number is Forty-seven! This is Yolanda Ve . . ." Chad turned off the TV set. Jack watched in terror as he walked to the edge of the garage and turned on the light. Jack's crying echoed through the garage. He closed his eyes tightly as Chad approached him.

"Don't kill me! Please God don't let them kill me!" his words were barely recognizable through the heaves and deep whimpers.

"Mr. Singleton, . . ."

"I beg you! Don't kill me I'll do anything! Oh God no! no. no."

"Mr. Singleton, I have to apologize." The twin said calmly. "This failure is my fault and I'm sorry. I have no one to blame but myself." He reached down and started to remove the tape from Jack's wrists. "I have made a fool of myself in my haste Mr. Singleton and I'll be the first to admit it. I refused your request, now I pay." the twin finished untaping Jack's wrists and withdrew a penknife from his pocket. He opened it and cut the garbage bags one-by-one from Jack's legs. Jack slowly slid down the table and his eyes opened and his sobbing decrescendoed. He was to scared to move.

"What are you going to do?" he whimpered.

"I'm going to let you go Mr. Singleton."

"I don't understand."

"You're free Mr. Singleton. . ."

"Why?" Jack interrupted "I gave you the wrong numbers. Why are you letting me go?" Jack sounded like a child, he was utterly weary and confused.

"Mr. Singleton, you are tired I'm sure." The twin withdrew the folded lottery ticket from his pocket, opened it and squatted down next to Jack. "Mr. Singleton, you gave me the right numbers," he said calmly pointing to the ticket "but you were upside down." he slowly rotated the ticket 180º. "Good night Mr. Singleton, I'm sorry for the inconvenience."