By Cuffed Locked

If you missed it, click for Part 1

My arm was going numb. I had been cranking for what felt like hours. Thirty seconds of spinning to earn maybe ten seconds of light. Long enough to try two combinations, maybe three, on the padlock securing my chain to the solid bolt in Caleb’s floor before the bulb overhead sputtered out and I was swallowed in darkness again. I’d started at 0000. I was somewhere around 0042 now. Forty-two combinations. It felt like nothing. It was nothing. And yet every few attempts meant another round of burning my shoulder, feeding that sad little generator like I was shoveling coal into a dying furnace.

And the second I stopped moving, the silence came rushing back in.

I was trapped in my neighbor’s basement, in a custom escape room that he challenged me to escape from with no safe word, no early outs. And no phone. No clock. No sunlight. I didn’t know if it was 3 a.m. or 9 a.m. I didn’t know if Caleb was upstairs, asleep, watching, or not even home. And somehow, that made it worse. When the light blinked on again, I caught my reflection in the metal face of the lock. My jaw was clenched. Sweat trickled down my chest.

You wanted real, I reminded myself.

I tried another combination.

Click. Nothing.

Then another.

Nothing.

Then the light was gone again.

I sat back against the mattress, chain rattling quietly as I moved, and let my head rest against the cold wall. Somewhere, maybe just above me, Caleb was probably relaxing.

 

Caleb’s perspective:

Caleb sipped his coffee slowly, watching the basement monitor from the small closed-circuit TV he’d set up to watch his prisoner in the escape room. He had to admit, Mark was holding up better than he expected. Most guys would’ve tried to negotiate by now. Or begged to be let out. That combination of pride and mild masochism was a rare thing, and Caleb found himself smirking every time he saw Mark reach for the crank again. There was something pure about it: work equals light, light equals chance, chance equals freedom. It was old-school. Simple. Brutal. Elegant, even.

The camera didn’t have sound, but he didn’t need it. The slump of Mark’s shoulders, the way his jaw moved, how he swore at the lock, Caleb could read it all.

He had built the perfect trap.

And Mark had walked right into it.

 

Mark again:

At some point, the door opened. I didn’t hear it, just saw the sudden blast of light from the top of the stairs. Footsteps. Then Caleb’s boots on the bottom step. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the mattress, sweating, panting, blinking hard in the sudden brightness.

“You alive down here?” Caleb asked casually, strolling into view. “Or did you die of boredom already?” He leaned against the workbench, eyeing me with that unreadable look of his. Not cruel. Not warm. Somewhere between amused and assessing. Caleb looked refreshed. Showered. Comfortable. A sharp contrast to me, shirt damp with sweat, hair stuck to my forehead, chain clinking as I moved. He dropped something on the floor next to me. A single granola bar.

“Eat,” he said. “You’re burning calories with all that cranking.”

“You could’ve left a few more.”

He crouched down just outside the length of the chain’s reach. “I could’ve. But where’s the fun in that?”

I looked down at the bar. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Caleb’s grin widened. “Oh, immensely. I’ve gotta say, though, I figured you’d have attempted to tap out by now. But you’re still going.”

“I’m not tapping out.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I won’t let you tap out anyway. And that chain? Still looks pretty secure.” He nodded toward the padlock. “Where you at? What number?”

“Forty-something.”

Caleb let out a low whistle. “Damn. Barely a dent.” He scratched his chin. “So I take it you’ve decided to try jail-breaking the combination padlock, working your way up from zero?” he asked.

“Got to forty-six.”

Caleb barked a laugh. “Forty-six? You’re practically sprinting.”

I rubbed my face. “How long has it been?”

“Hard to say. Could be morning. Could be evening. Could be five minutes after the last time I saw you,” he said.

“You turned the light on,” I said.

“Don’t get used to it.”

I looked up at him. “Come on. Give me something.”

He swirled his coffee and tilted his head. “Alright. Let’s make it interesting. You guess the correct time within thirty minutes, and I’ll leave the light on for another half hour. You guess wrong? I turn it off as soon as I go back upstairs and you can crank some more.

“Seriously?”

He grinned. “What, you don’t like a little wager?”

I thought about it. Tried to work backward from what I remembered. But the darkness had warped time. Every second stretched and collapsed until it was impossible to tell one hour from the next.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll guess.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Big move, Mark. Lay it on me.”

I took a deep breath.

“Three fifteen p.m.”

He stared at me a moment, poker face solid. Then he shrugged. “Wrong.” Then he gave the crank a spin with one hand. Just a little show of dominance — his arm barely breaking a sweat as the light flickered back on. And for a few seconds, we just looked at each other. He nodded once, then turned to leave.

“See you later, champ,” he said with a smirk. “Next time, maybe wait until you’re closer to triple digits before taking bets.” I heard the familiar squeak of his boot on the top step, his voice behind me, casual as ever. “And maybe next time you’ll listen when I tell you something important. Shame you weren’t paying attention.”

The door shut and the lights went out before I could respond.

Dark again. Just like that. As soon as the light went out again, I curled up on the mattress, the chain pulling taut at my neck as I shifted. I held the granola bar but didn’t open it right away. I kept replaying that line in my head.

Maybe next time you’ll listen…

It had been there. Somewhere in our earlier conversation, Caleb had told me the combination. I was sure of it now. But when? Had it been that number he said when he checked his watch? Had he said something when we were at the fence? My brain was fogged from exhaustion, but I started mentally scrubbing backward, frame by frame, word by word, trying to find the sentence that would save me. And I knew, if I found it, it wouldn’t be because I was strong.

It would be because I was paying attention.

And maybe, also because I wanted to impress Caleb just a little bit more.

 

Caleb’s perspective:

He stood outside the basement door, sipping what was left of his coffee. Three fifteen, Mark had said. Caleb checked his watch. It was actually 10:47 a.m. He hadn’t planned on giving Mark a real shot at winning the side bet, he just wanted to watch him squirm a little. Still, the way the guy kept pushing, even after the punishment, was something else.

There was a stubborn streak in Mark that Caleb didn’t fully see coming. He liked that.

He’d seen plenty of people bluff bravado, talk a big game then fold the second something got uncomfortable. But Mark? That guy locked a steel collar around his own neck and hadn’t stopped trying, even after over twelve hours of failure, darkness, and deprivation. He was still in it. Still trying. Impressive, but not enough to cut him a break.

Not yet.

 

Mark again:

The silence came back with a vengeance. I sat there in the dark, knees pulled up to my chest, forehead resting against them. I wasn’t angry, not really. I’d made the guess. I lost the bet. Caleb had made the rules clear. No tap-outs. No shortcuts. No mercy.

That was the part I kept coming back to. I could’ve laughed it off that night. Could’ve told him it sounded fun but I wasn’t into being chained up in someone’s basement for a weekend. But I hadn’t. Because deep down, something about this — the intensity, the control, the raw reality of it — called to me. And maybe, just maybe, I liked that it was Caleb on the other end of it. That every time he looked at me, I felt like I had something to prove.

So I sat there. Waited. Until the faintest light went out from under the door. Then I crawled toward the crank. And started turning.

More time went by. Before too long my shoulders ached. My forearms burned. My fingers were getting stiff, like the tendons were starting to protest every twist of the crank.

I was up to 0079.

It had taken me hours. The light stayed on just long enough to try maybe two or three combinations at a time, assuming I got it spinning hard enough. And every minute of effort cost energy I didn’t have. I wasn’t sure if it was Friday night or Saturday morning. I had no clock. No phone. Just the crank, the chain, and the growing silence in my own head.

It must have been very late in the day when I heard the door again. I looked up from the floor, eyes adjusting fast as the stairwell light spilled down. Caleb appeared, same calm posture, hands in his hoodie pockets. Like he was just checking in.

“You look like hell,” he said, eyeing me with a faint smirk.

“I feel amazing, thanks.”

He came down a few steps, stopping just above me.

“You’re on what, number 80?”

“Seventy-nine.”

He whistled softly. “At this rate, you should be free by Thanksgiving.”

“Funny. I thought you were a builder, not a comedian.”

“Oh, I’m a man of many talents.” He stepped down and crossed the room, leaned casually against the workbench. The light he’d flipped on above the stairs gave the room a weak golden glow. He glanced at the crank mounted on the wall, then looked back at me.

“You still holding out hope I’ll let you tap out?”

“I know you won’t.”

He nodded approvingly. “I won’t, buddy, I promised you that and I meant it.”

Then, with that same teasing confidence in his voice, he added, “Want another chance at a side bet?”

I paused.

“…What kind of chance?”

“You want light for an hour?”

My chest tightened slightly. “You’re serious?”

He shrugged. “Could be. One condition.”

“Of course.”

“You answer a riddle. Get it right, I give you sixty minutes of power. Get it wrong…” He smiled wide. “I zip-tie the crank for the rest of the night. No light until morning.”

The risk hit me like a weight. An hour of light would mean real progress. But if I failed? The thought of total darkness — and no ability to generate light on my own — was almost unbearable.

Still, I found myself nodding.

“Alright. Give me the riddle.”

Caleb stepped forward, crouched, and looked me in the eyes.

His voice dropped a notch, steady and quiet. “I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?”

I stared at him.

It was a classic-style riddle. Not wordplay, visual. Conceptual. I turned it over in my head. Cities but no houses. Mountains but no trees. Water but no fish. I frowned. A painting? No. A game? My brain felt sluggish. My muscles were sore, my stomach was still half-empty, and my mind kept drifting to the dull throb behind my eyes.

“I… I don’t know. A—” I hesitated.

“Come on, Mark,” Caleb said softly, mockingly. “You’re a smart guy.”

Cities but no houses… water but no fish…

I blurted out, “A video game?”

Caleb’s grin widened.

“Nope.”

He stood up.

“It’s a map.”

He walked over to the crank and pulled a fat plastic zip-tie from his hoodie pocket. It clicked into place fast, locking the crank handle to the wall. Zip-zip.

“There,” he said. “Now you don’t have to wear yourself out anymore tonight.”

He left up the stairs. The light went out seconds later. I was back in total darkness.

 

Caleb’s point of view:

He waited at the top of the stairs a moment, listening. No sounds came through the door, but he could picture Mark down there, crouched near the crank, trying to spin it by reflex before realizing it wouldn’t budge. He chuckled quietly to himself.

The guy could have said no. He could’ve passed on the bet. Could’ve played it safe. But that wasn’t Mark’s style anymore. Caleb was watching something evolve in him. Every hour that passed in that basement stripped off a layer — of sarcasm, of politeness, of control. And what was underneath was something raw and hungry. Someone willing to fight, not just for freedom, but for the right to beat him.

“That’s why you’re still in there, huh?” he thought. “You’re not trying to escape. You’re trying to win.”

He ran a hand over the top of the basement door, thinking. Maybe it was time to start raising the stakes.

 

Mark again:

I lay on my side on the mattress, the chain pressing lightly against my collar, the room a total void. No sound. No light. No movement. I felt the frustration hit me in waves — short, silent, tight in my throat. Not anger at Caleb. Not really. I’d accepted the challenge. I even liked that he enforced it.

I just hated myself for guessing wrong.

A map. It had been so obvious in hindsight. But now the crank was locked, and I couldn’t make progress. Not tonight. So I did the only thing I could. I waited. And promised myself: next time he offered me a bet, I’d win.

No matter the cost.

But the crank was unusable now. I lay curled on the mattress in total blackness, the chain around my neck heavy and unmoving. I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see anything. But I could feel the lock nestled right under my jaw. I could feel the slack of the chain pooling beside me. And I could still hear Caleb’s voice echoing in my head:

“It’s a map.”

I’d been overconfident. I thought I could win. I thought I was clever enough to out-riddle a guy like Caleb, who builds and fixes things for fun and never misses a detail. But no. Now the crank was zip-tied. No light. No progress. No power.

For a while, I lay there in quiet frustration, replaying the moment again and again. Then something shifted. My shoulders stopped aching. My fingers, curled and sore, slowly relaxed. And despite myself… I started to drift. My body gave out before my mind could argue. And for the first time since Caleb snapped that collar shut, I fell into real sleep.

 

Caleb again:

He’d given Mark the night off on purpose. Not that Mark saw it that way, of course. Mark figured the zip-tie, and the darkness, were punishments. That’s what made it so perfect. He’d suffer through the night thinking he was still being punished, while his body finally got the rest it needed to make it through the weekend.

Caleb had planned it that way.

He liked the way Mark responded to pressure, but he wasn’t trying to break him. Not really. Not yet. He was shaping him. Molding him. By Saturday morning, Mark would be recovered just enough to get back to work — and maybe start actually closing in on the combination.

Maybe.

If he learned from his mistakes.

On Saturday morning Caleb stood in front of the mirror, clean-shaven, hair still damp from the shower. He pulled on a sleeveless black tank, fitted just enough to show off his chest and shoulders. Then cargo shorts. Flip-flops. Sunglasses on his head. He looked good. Relaxed. Charged up.

Exactly how he wanted to look when he walked into the basement.

 

Mark:

I woke up to the sound of the door opening again. Light spilled down the stairs — daylight this time. I blinked into it, squinting against the sudden change. I was stiff. Disoriented. But I realized, in a strange way, I felt better.

Some part of me had needed that sleep. Badly.

I pulled myself upright, the chain tugging gently at my neck as I sat on the mattress. I rubbed my eyes, wiped sweat off my chest, and looked toward the stairs. Caleb appeared, followed to my surprise by someone else — another guy, tall, broad-shouldered, tanned. Wearing aviators, a white tank top, board shorts hanging low on his hips. Both of them looked like they’d just stepped out of a fitness ad. Caleb took one look at me and smirked.

“Morning, prisoner.”

His friend chuckled. “Damn, man. You weren’t kidding. You really locked him up.”

Mark just stared.

The other guy stepped forward a little, arms crossed, clearly amused. “Hey there, inmate. You good?”

“Fine,” I muttered.

Caleb grinned wider. “He’s cranky without his crank.” Then he turned to his buddy. “I promised Mark I’d check on him before we took off.”

Turning to me, he said, “We’re heading to the beach for the day.”

The friend looked me up and down. “He staying locked up while we’re gone?”

“Oh yeah. No tap-outs.”

“Hardcore.”

Caleb tossed something small onto the floor near me. A protein bar.

“Lunch,” he said. “Don’t eat it all at once.”

Then he looked at the crank, still zip-tied to the wall from thenight before. He snapped the plastic tie off with a pair of clippers and gave the crank a small spin. “There. Back in business.”

Another smirk. “Don’t worry. Maybe I’ll give you a shot at a clue when I get back. Perhaps another riddle, if you are brave enough to take the bait. I know how much you love bets and dares.”

I didn’t say anything.

Caleb gave me a quick once-over. “You’re holding up. Still got a little fight left in you. Good.”

He and his friend started heading back up the stairs. I watched their silhouettes disappear, their voices echoing faintly.

“Dude,” the friend said, “this is next-level.”

“Yeah,” Caleb replied. “He’s doing better than I thought, honestly. I haven’t even started messing with him for real yet.”

The door shut.

And I was alone again.

I sat back on the mattress, chewing the protein bar slowly. The chain tugged a little every time I leaned forward, a reminder that none of this was hypothetical.

I was really here.

Still locked.

Still collared.

Still playing this twisted escape room game Caleb had dreamed up — and still hardly closer to the right combination.

But I felt sharper now. More rested. Focused. And somewhere, deep under the frustration, the hunger, and the fatigue… I could feel something else.

A current of excitement.

I didn’t know what was coming next. But I knew one thing:

I wasn’t done.

I got back to work on the crank, testing more combinations in numerical order.

***

It was a very long day of constant work, with only inches of progress. It felt like an eternity, but suddenly and without warning the main light came back on with a low electric buzz. The door cracked open, and daylight came flooding back in, momentarily blinding me. The sound of footsteps on the stairs. Caleb appeared first, fresh as ever, his skin faintly sunburned from the beach, sunglasses pushed up into his thick hair. Behind him was the same friend from earlier: no shirt this time, more tan now — and casually holding a pair of metal handcuffs in his hands.

“You miss me?” Caleb asked as he stepped down into the basement.

I didn’t answer. I was eyeing the police cuffs in the other guy’s hand.

“You brought a prop?” I asked.

Caleb’s friend grinned and started clicking the handcuffs, making that familiar ratcheting crunch sound. “Heard you’re into challenges…”

“This one’s optional,” Caleb added. “Kind of.” He knelt beside me now, eyes level with mine. The grin was there, but there was something colder behind it — not cruel, exactly. But definitely serious.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You want a shortcut?”

I didn’t respond.

Caleb leaned in closer. “I’ll give you a hint at the combination. Right now. That’s huge.”

I looked at the handcuffs again, the sight of which caused a burning in my gut. “I’m listening.”

“This time,” Caleb said, “I’ll give you a hint. A clue. Something to help you narrow the field.”

He crouched, elbows resting casually on his knees, right in front of me.

“But first… you gotta earn it.”

I sighed. “Of course.”

Derek leaned against the concrete wall, still holding the handcuffs menacingly, glaring into my eyes.

“We give you a riddle,” Caleb said. “One chance. Get it right, you get a real hint about the code. Something useful. Maybe even narrow the field in half.”

“And if I get it wrong?”

Caleb nodded to the cuffs.

“Derek locks your wrists behind your back. For six hours. Light stays on, but no cranking. No padlock. Just you. Sitting. Thinking.”

I hesitated.

The cuffs glinted under the bulb. Caleb followed my gaze. “You don’t have to take the bet,” he said. “But you’re not gonna win this thing by playing it safe. That’s what you said about your last escape room, right? No risk, no challenge?”

He grinned.

“So. You in?”

I stared at them both for a moment, then nodded once.

Caleb didn’t miss a beat.

“Alright. Here’s your riddle.” He spoke slowly, his voice clear and confident. “The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”

It hit me like a punch — it sounded familiar. I repeated it silently. The more you take, the more you leave behind… My brain tried to claw through the fatigue, the fog of captivity, the ache in my wrists and spine. The more you take… Time? No. Time can be taken but not left. Steps. My chest tightened. Steps!

“Is it… steps?” I asked, watching Caleb’s eyes.

He paused just long enough to let my heart lurch. Then he shook his head. “Nope.”

He stood.

Derek was already behind me.

“Wai—” I started, but I didn’t get the word out before my arms were pulled behind my back and cold steel snapped tight around one wrist, then the other.

Click. Click.

Not too tight. Not rough. Just… final.

Derek leaned close and said in a low voice, “It was footsteps.”

“You knew what I meant,” I protested.

“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb said, already turning toward the crank. “You said steps, and steps are not the same as footsteps, dumbass. That’s not the answer.”

He tugged at the handcuffs now locked behind my back.

“Six hours.”

Then he looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, and you would have gotten a great hint. I was gonna tell you how many threes there are in the full code.”

He grinned. “But now? You can just sit here and wonder.”

They walked up the stairs, voices light and casual.

“We still hitting that bar later?” Derek asked Caleb.

The door shut.

To be continued …