As the darkness subsided and his eyes began to focus, Jack Finnegan wasn't exactly sure where he was.

 

What he did know was that his head felt like it had been used as a punching bag.  His mouth held a metallic taste and when he spit on the cold cement floor he recognized the maroon puddle as blood.  As Jack's eyes adjusted to the dimly-lit room, he realized he was in a cooler of some kind. Boxes lined the walls, unlabeled and stacked six feet high.  He spotted a door at the far end of the room, large, metal, and without a handle.  The only light in this cell came from a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

 

Jack suddenly realized that he was seated on a metal folding chair.  His hands were handcuffed behind his back and his ankles were tied to its legs.  He tugged and jolted the restraints, but was unable to free himself of the bindings. He remained there, clueless, tightly secured to the chair, wondering what he had done to deserve this.

 

Time was foreign. Hours may have passed now, perhaps days. Jack heard a rattle at the door and a long awaited jingle of keys. A tall, dark figure walked in with several unidentified people following close behind. Jack could not see their faces through the blackness, but he could make out the well-defined silhouettes of three large men.

 

"Do you know why you're here?" grumbled the man Jack presumed to be the leader.

 

The man leaned into the light and Jack could see every gritty feature of his old, weathered face.

 

Jack couldn't speak. His mouth craved water like browning grass in a drought.

 

"Answer me!" screamed the man as he shoved his face so close to Jack's that their noses vibrated off each other's energies. "I'm not known for patience or my pity."

 

"N- No," Jack stammered. "I don't know why I am here."

 

The man grinned as he stood back up and reached out his right hand. The shadow next to him offered him something.

 

"Maybe I can help you remember," the man whispered. Jack could see the man's arms come together above his head and felt the brunt of a sledgehammer shatter the bones in his left hand. He let out an uncontrollable, shrill scream.

 

"Fuuuuck! I- I don't- I don't remember you!" Jack gasped.

 

 Excruciating pain filled Jack's body, making him frail and more vulnerable to the large man.  

 

A feeling of numbness was slowly taking over Jack as he struggled to remain alert in the metal chair.  The man paced in large circles around Jack with his hands placed precisely behind his back to excentuate his broad figure.  Jack's eyelids fought to stay open.  All he could hear was the distinct sound of the man's heel tapping on the cement floor. The tapping came to a hault, fighting the fear and exhaustion he opened his eyes to the man's straight face starring directly into Jack's eyes.  Jack pulled his head back, expecting physcial beating of some sort.  In surprise the man calmly stated...

 

"You have something we want, Mr. Finnegan. Something of great importance to my employer. You know what I'm speaking of, I presume?"

 

 Jack tried to comprehend the words that the man was speaking. Something they want? Of great importance? Jack had no idea what he was referring to.  All he knew was his hand felt as if it were on fire, and he could really use a shot of whiskey.

 

Jack's usual bravado began to return to him. He looked up at the man with a cocky half-grin, sweat beginning to bead up on his forehead.

 

"If this is about that library book, man, I told you I'm a slow reader."  The comment earned Jack a backhand across his face, causing him to spit blood on the floor once again.

 

"Don't play games with us!" the man shouts. "Enough of this. We're here to collect something you have taken without permission. Give us the envelope!"

 

The envelope? Jack thought to himself and was thrust into a flashback of last night. He'd thrown a poker night with four of his buddies. Half way through round nine of Texas Hold 'Em the flat went dry. Being the host, Jack went on the beer run to the Fastrack gas station across the street, leaving his buddies to play on without him. Admittedly a bit intoxicated, he'd bumped into some irritable men, knocking their papers onto the pavement. It didn't bother him at the time that one man handed him a small, manilla envelope which Jack assumed was his own and stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. If he were sober at the time he would have noticed the oddity in carrying such papers in a gas station parking lot. If he were sober at the time, he wouldn't have gotten into trouble with the wrong crowd.

 

Not phased by the situation, Jack entered the convenient store attached to the gas station.  He bought two cases of beer, a pack of cigarettes and oddly enough a single stamp.  Jack stumbled back to his house with a case of beer in each hand, the pack of cigarettes in his mouth and the stamp in his sneaker.  As Jack reached his front stoop he turned sideways and banged his side on the door to signal to his buddies that he needed a hand.  Jack's patience was as a minimum, after several knocks he put down the beer and opened the door.  He stood in the doorway, spit out the pack of cigarettes, and stared at the sight before him.  As anger filled his veins, Jack's face turned a translucent white. 

 

They had all left, poker table was flipped upside down, chips were scattered on the floor and the money was nowhere in sight.

 

"What the hell!" Jack yelled. "Where did you assholes go with my money?"

 

Jack started looking around to see if his buddies were playing a joke on him.

 

Then it hit him, not where they went, but a large piece of wood to the back of the head as he entered his bedroom. Now he remembered. That is how he came into this new, "little" predicament. 

 

Then he figured if he told these guys what they wanted to hear, he might get out of this little mess. So he told them about bumping into the guys at the Fastrac and how he had stuffed an envelope into his pocket.

 

"My best guess is that it's still on my table," Jack said carefully, not wanting his other hand shattered.

 

The old man whispered into one of the other guy's ears and he left from the room.

 

"Your best guess isn't good enough," yelled the old man. "In that envelope are documents that implement my associates here and I in some things we don't want to be implemented in. You know what I mean? We will do anything in order to get that envelope back."

 

"If he comes back and he doesn't have an envelope in his hand, you're in some deep shit."

 

He came back a half hour later...no envelope.

 

The old man turned away from Jack.  When he turned back around, he had a pistol in his hand, that he proceeded to aim at Jack's forehead. "Mr. Finnegan, my patience is wearing quite thin. Where is the envelope?"

 

Jack looked into the barrel of the gun.  It looked as large as a tunnel.  "I told you, I don't know! I don't even know why I was given that envelope. All I know is, I'm stuck here with you, asking me questions that I don't know a thing about!"

 

The old man smiles, a little sadly. "Then we have no use for you, Mr. Finnegan." The old man secures his grip on the gun, preparing to fire. Jack closes his eyes tight, awaiting the inevitable.

  

As the man slowly starts to release his finger from the trigger, Jack gets bombarded by a bucket of ice cold water. He finds himself soaking wet, blankets thrown all over, pillows on the floor and his three buddies hysterically laughing at the edge of his bed.  Although relieved the nightmare was over Jack was uncomfortable and pissed off at his friends. 

After calming down, Jack tried to retell the nightmare to his buddies but they just found it comical.   Jack was still in disbelief that it was all a nightmare.  He examined his hand but found no bruises and was not in any pain.  He got up from his bed and went to the living room, where the table on which he would have been playing poker, but it was in mint condition.  He spotted a stack of mail sitting on his countertop and sorted through it furiously trying to find the envelope of importance mentioned in the dream.  Again nothing.  Jack finally believed it was a only a dream.  Jack challenged his friends to a poker match to try and retaliate by striping them of their money.

 

 

The End