By Cuffed Locked

I was standing, barefoot, in a basement that stretched for miles. Walls of concrete rose endlessly in all directions. There was no ceiling. Just endless gray sky and a cold, metallic echo. A heavy iron collar clamped snug around my neck, and chains trailed from it in all directions. Not one, but dozens, all bolted into the ground like spider legs. They didn’t hold me still. They guided me. Each time I took a step, the slack on one chain would tighten, jerking me back. Every move required careful planning, and even then, I felt like a marionette tangled in its own strings.

In the distance, I saw Caleb. Arms crossed. Smirking. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt, jeans, boots. He looked clean, fresh, untouched by the dust and grime that clung to me. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets. Beside him stood Derek, spinning a pair of handcuffs on his finger like they were a toy. They approached slowly, bootsteps echoing across the hollow concrete floor.

“Well,” Caleb said, cocking his head, “Still here?”

Derek crouched behind me, one hand grabbing the back of my collar. The chain tightened hard against my throat. “He’s not going anywhere,” Derek said, grinning.

“Nope,” Caleb agreed. “Not without our say.”

Then he pulled something from his back pocket: something that looked like smooth black fabric. A blackout hood. “No more light,” he said, as he placed it over my head.

My world went dark.

My breathing quickened. I could hear them moving around me, laughing. Clinking metal. More chains. More cuffs. I felt my wrists being lifted, wrapped in cold steel and locked to the wall behind me. Ankles too. I was spread out, held firm by half a dozen restraints.

Caleb whispered in my ear: “Time doesn’t matter down here.”

Then Derek added: “We’ll come back when we feel like it.”

And then… silence. Hours. Days. Maybe weeks passed.

In the dream, I never screamed. I just waited. A willing prisoner. Hoping. Wondering. Wanting more.

***

A boot tapped my shin. I jolted awake. The ceiling was real. The chain around my neck was real. The cold cement beneath me was definitely real. And there they were — Caleb and Derek — standing over me. Both smiling.

Caleb squatted, a beer in hand, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Good nap?”

Derek gave me a wink. “You were muttering something about chains. That for us?”

I blinked at them, still caught between dream and waking. I could not believe I had been able to sleep with my hands locked behind my back in handcuffs. My left arm had fallen asleep. I wriggled my wrists and felt tingling in my arms. My throat was dry. My wrists ached. My pulse thumped in my ears.

Caleb looked refreshed. Clean-shaven. Wearing a new hoodie. Derek had traded his shorts for jeans and a baseball cap turned backward.

I knew it was still Saturday. Because I failed their first riddle, the crank had been zip-tied through Friday night, and when I was able to finally work on my release again Saturday morning I’d spent many hours cranking, getting the light to come on in short intervals, allowing me to try more combinations on the padlock. But I hadn’t made much real progress. Just 129 combinations, out of 9,999. But then I lost a second riddle and was handcuffed by Derek, hand behind my back, making it impossible for me to crank the light on and even attempt to work the lock. Cruel.

The cuffs were cold, tight, and unrelenting. I shifted my shoulders, trying somehow to find a position that didn’t strain my joints. There wasn’t one. My hands throbbed. My back ached. And the whole time, the chain around my neck reminded me of my captivity. But despite everything, I was still in this. Still fighting. Still trying to win. Even if they were just getting started messing with me.

Caleb tossed me a look. “Still chained? Good. I was worried you’d broken out and joined us at the beach.”

Derek grinned. “Still alive, too. That’s impressive.”

I didn’t respond. I’d learned by now that silence annoyed Caleb a lot less than sarcasm did.

“How we feelin’?”

“Sore,” I muttered.

“That’s the spirit,” Derek said, cracking his drink.

Caleb nodded. “So. You think it’s been six hours?”

I frowned. “I think so.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “You sure? Because we’ve got a double or nothing challenge for you,” Caleb explained. “You guess within fifteen minutes of when the cuffs went on, and we’ll take ’em off, leave the lights on, and give you a clue.”

“And if I guess wrong?”

Derek grinned. “Then the handcuffs stay on. Behind your back. For six more hours.”

The blood drained from my face.

“No hints, no negotiating, no retries,” Caleb said. “You’re either right, or you’re double screwed.”

I tried to protest, arguing that steps was the correct answer before and they should have not handcuffed me in the first place, but Derek shot me down. “Listen carefully,” he said. “The correct answer was footsteps. Not steps. Footsteps are what you leave behind, the prints, the echoes, the eerie little reminders of your passage through the world. Steps are just the act of walking. You take steps, yes, but you don’t leave them behind. They vanish the moment your foot lifts. Poof. Gone. No poetic trace, no lingering sign, no metaphorical footprint. Just movement. And let’s not even start on how steps can also mean stages in a process. Now, I’m going to give you exactly one chance to accept your failure with dignity.”

I gulped, defeated. These guys were playing hardball. Which is why I should have known better about this new offer. Guess the time and get light and a clue. Guess wrong and I stay handcuffed.

They both looked at me, waiting. Derek even pulled out his phone, like he was itching to check the timestamp. I took a breath, trying to remember how long it had felt. I hesitated. My muscles were screaming. My brain foggy. But I had no choice but to play, to gamble, to take yet another stupid risk.

A long pause.

“Three hours and… forty-five minutes?” I guessed.

Derek laughed immediately. “Oof. Not even close.”

Caleb made a buzzer sound with his mouth and sipped his drink.

“Wrong. Try six hours and twenty-two minutes. Which means…” He glanced at Derek, who leaned down and tugged on the chain gently with a smirk. “…you just earned yourself another six hours in bracelets.”

I didn’t answer. I just sank back against the wall, exhausted, bitter, but not broken.

They laughed, like brothers egging each other on.

I now sat again with my back against the wall. Handcuffed. Collared. Chained. The crank was just a few feet away, taunting me. The light glowed above my head, useless. I was tired. I was frustrated. But I wasn’t giving up.

Because if Caleb thought I couldn’t beat this? He didn’t know me as well as he thought he did.

 

Caleb and Derek (Earlier That Evening):

The bar was loud. Music was playing, games on the TVs. The place smelled like sweat, old beer, and summer heat. Caleb sipped his second whiskey and leaned back in the booth.

“Seriously,” Derek said between fries, “how long do you think he lasts?”

Caleb chuckled. “I dunno. Longer than I thought, honestly.”

“He’s stubborn.”

“Yeah,” Caleb agreed. “But I’m just gettin’ started.”

They clinked glasses.

Derek shook his head. “You really went all in with the chains, man. The collar? The padlock? You’re like a medieval jailer.”

Caleb smirked. “Hey, he asked for a real challenge.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You think he’s into this?”

There was a pause.

Caleb just smirked and took another sip. “He stayed locked in, didn’t he?”

They both laughed.

“He better pick up our bar tab,” Derek added. “Guy’s got free rent, free entertainment, electricity, and a personal audience with two legends.”

Caleb wiped his hands on a napkin. “That’s what I’m sayin. He should be grateful.”

“You gonna let him out on Monday?”

Caleb grinned.

“Maybe. Depends on how entertaining he is tomorrow.”

 

Mark again:

When the cuffs finally came off, it felt like blood returned to my body. Derek clicked them open like it was no big deal — a casual flick of the wrist — and I flexed my hands slowly, feeling the tight sting of circulation returning.

“You survived,” Caleb said. “Didn’t even cry.”

Derek leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “Kinda disappointed.”

I ignored them. My eyes were locked on the crank.

Caleb noticed.

He stepped aside. “Lights are yours again. For now.”

I moved toward the crank, jaw tight. I’d lost more than a day of progress — almost forty-eight hours of pure frustration. But I still had the code to crack, still had the combinations in my mind… and I still had something Caleb didn’t expect. I wasn’t done.

As I cranked, the bulb above buzzed back to life, flickering before stabilizing. A fresh burst of hope surged through me.

Time to get back to work.

I think it was Sunday. It was a long day.

I don’t know how many hours passed. Somehow I was past the number 3000. It felt significant. I couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was a subconscious echo of something Caleb had said. Maybe dumb luck. After dozens more tries, I was at 3128.

Then 3184.

Then 3217.

Nothing.

But at 3263, something shifted. The padlock gave a click — not the full release, but something inside shifted. It wasn’t unlocked… but it felt different. I stared at it, heartbeat racing. Was I close?

Before I could test the next number, the door opened.

“Hey, champ,” Caleb called from the stairs, voice light. “Got some good news for you.”

I didn’t look up. My hands were still at the lock, forehead beaded with sweat. Caleb held up my phone. “Your credit card’s been very generous.”

Derek grinned behind him. “Two rounds of drinks, beachside lunch, and one overpriced mojito,” he said. “Oh, and I ordered guac.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” I said, not looking at either of them.

“Oh, you did,” Caleb replied, casually. “Face ID still works when you’re asleep, by the way.”

He squatted down, looking directly at the collar still locked around my throat.

“You’re our guest,” Caleb said, mock-serious. “And this is a premium experience. Full service.”

“Plus tip,” Derek added. “Because that brunch was legit.”

Caleb stood, looking mildly impressed. “You’re close, huh?”

I didn’t answer.

To be continued …