Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - If Your Wife Takes You Here... RUN!

Episode Date: February 20, 2026

On their tenth-anniversary trip to a quiet little town, a man slowly realizes the smiles, the food, and the questions aren’t hospitality — they’re the beginning of something he won’t be able to escape. BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at betterhelp.com/dns. Quince: Go to ⁠quince.com/dns⁠ for free shipping and 365-day returns. ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠ - fresh, same-day roasted coffee delivered straight to your door. Use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout to get 20% off your first order. Over 80 exclusive bonus episodes are waiting for you. Unlock them now with a 7-day free trial of ⁠Dr. NoSleep Premium⁠. Cancel anytime. No commitment. Author: Jake Bible Check out Jake's latest collection of stories, They All Bleed: Ten NoSleep Stories, Volume Two: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G96H432Y * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Waking up in the morning with my guts churning isn't how I expected our first day of vacation to go. But here we are. I told you that dinner was off. I shout my I told you so from the very small bathroom of our very small room at Bertie's bed and breakfast. It's not where I wanted to stay for our 10th anniversary. I wanted to stay at the Omni and Charlotte. But that wasn't cute and cozy enough for my wife. As my insides purge outside, I glance up from my seat on the commode at the single bulb

contained in a highly decorative swath of glass above me. At wish, there was an exhaust fan in this very, very small bathroom, or even a window that opens would be nice. But cute and cozy apparently doesn't mean basic amenities. You know there are basic amenities as well as luxury amenities? The Omni and Charlotte? There's a quiet knock on the door. Then my wife, Alicia, says,

You need anything? Yeah. The choice not to eat that damn meatloaf, that damn woman served last night. I should call the health department on her. I hate the same thing, Reed. So it can't be the meatloaf. Alicia taps on the door again.

I'm heading down, okay? I'll wait for you in the front room. It's not the front room, remember? My voice is filled with mocking disdain. She made us call it the front parlor. Another wave of churn hits my guts. With the hateful look she gave me, I'm definitely not making that mistake again. I hear Alicia laugh quietly through the door.

Front parlor, got it. Don't be too long, okay? I'll be as long as it takes. Find out what's for dinner tonight so we can avoid it. Alicia doesn't reply, but I hear her walking away from the bathroom door. After a moment, there's a light click, and I know she's left the room. Fifteen minutes later, I think my guts are subtle enough that I can go downstairs and brave all the cute and cozy. I'm still a little weak in the legs with a slow burn in my belly as I descend the stairs. Three chances, all right? Those are the rules. I hear our host, Mrs. Bertie, say those words as I walk into the front parlor, looking for Alicia.

What rules? Oh, I am so sorry to hear you are having tummy troubles. The woman is in her late 70s or early 80s, and looking like she could still hike a mountain, then cook dinner for 12 afterward. Her curly white hair sits perfectly quaffed on top of her head, adding a couple of inches to her height. And it may be five feet tall,

she needs all the help she can get. There's a look on Alicia's face I don't like, but it's gone the second. And Mrs. Bertie turns to me with a food tray. Scone? Their ginger apple, which would help with your unfortunate diarrhea. My eyes shoot to my wife. I expect to see a mortified look on her face.

But instead, she covers her mouth, stifling a laugh while hiding an amused grin. Oh, we'll be talking about this later. That's for sure. Um, thank you, but no thanks. I sniff deeply and smile big. making sure to put on a show for the old woman. I'm good at putting on shows. How else could I have stayed married for 10 years?

But they smell delicious. Maybe tomorrow morning. Oh, tomorrow is muffin morning. Scones are a Tuesday morning item only. From the look on the woman's face, I know that she is completely serious. Well, in that case, maybe I should take one with us. I don't even try to hide my sarcasm.

I could give two shits about scones or muffins if I had two shits left to give. So, with a pained and insincere smile, I reached toward the tray. Mrs. Birdie snatches the food back and glares at me for a moment. Or I think she does. Her bright smile is back on her face so fast I could have imagined the glare. I mean, as I look at the old woman, how can someone so sweetly stupid-looking ever glare like that? The food is for consumption on premises, Mr. Curtis. I would get into all sorts of trouble with the health inspector

if he were to catch you out and about with one of my delights. They may even shut me down. And we can't have that. Can we read? Alicia gets between Mrs. Bertie and me. She knows I'm going to tackle that opening about the health inspector and run with it. She's probably worried I take the tray of scones from the old woman and run outside with it while screaming. Someone shut this.

bitch down before she poisons everyone. But my wife, being the constant diplomat, edges me behind her. So Mrs. Birdie's focus is off me. I lose my moment to lay into the old woman and grumble. Is there any way you could save a scone for my clueless husband, Mrs. Birdie? An afternoon treat with tea, perhaps? Will you be back for afternoon tea?

A look passes between them. I hope so. Your cooking was one of the many children. charming reasons we chose your lovely establishment for our anniversary. Ah, yes, your tenth. Traditionally, that would be a diamond, not a ginger and apple scone. Mrs. Bertie's eyes rest on me. I hope you have planned accordingly. If he hasn't, then I have. Alicia steers me toward the front door. We'll see you at tea, Mrs. Bertie. Have a wonderful day. You as well, dear. And I hope your tongue.

feels better Mr. Curtis, but if not, avoid the flower petal cafe. Their food is just too spicy. Thanks for the advice. Alicia nudges me, forcing me to say something more. Um, I guess we'll see you at tea. I'll have four varietals available for you to try. The old woman follows after us as we hurry through the front door. Have fun, you two. Once outside, I take a deep breath. I take a deep breath, of the cool, crisp autumn air. My stomach does feel better for the moment, and the fresh air certainly helps. Why do you have to pick a fight with everyone? Alicia asks me this, as she leads me down the sidewalk and away from the bed and breakfast. The town, whatever it's called, is only a few blocks square. So by the time I formulate an answer to my wife's inane question,

we're almost to the town square, where all the quaint and cozy and cute, little shop sit. The look of the place makes me want to throw up. Too bad I got nothing left. I don't pick fights with everyone. My voice is harsh because it's such a stupid question. Just the idiots who deserve it. Which to you is everyone. She sighs. Can we get through today at least without you pissing off half the town? I don't know, Alicia. I was thinking of being ambitious and going after the other half too, actually. I've already pissed you off. So what's it matter if I piss off the whole damn town? She huffs and purses her lips.

I'll pay for my barb. I can tell already. I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. What do you care about these backwoods yokels anyway? They're a bunch of inbred banjo players pretending they know what civilization is. A laugh at a storefront that has an actual box for a Red Rider BB gun sitting on display. Like it's the 1950s or something. in the window is a sign for old-fashioned candy in bulk. I can see a woman stocking shelves with actual jars of canned preserves or fruit,

or whatever they put in those big mason jars around here. Personally, the only mason jar I'd even think of picking up, better have a handle and be filled with a lot of alcohol. This place is lovely, and the people are lovely. Alicia's voice is tight and controlled. And you asked me where I wanted to go for our anniversary. If you didn't want to come here, then you should have picked the place yourself, Reed. I thought we go to Cancun or a Beezer or a South Beach.

Not some shithole that looks like a Gilmore Girls meets deliverance mashup. Cancun? Seriously? Alicia snorts. Ten years of marriage. And you think I want to go to Cancun? When have I ever given you the impression I wanted to go to Cancun? I don't know. Acapulco then.

Read, I have no desire to spend what little time you could make for us out of your oh-so-busy schedule in a damn Mexican tourist trap resort hell. I shake my head. Here we go. Oh? But you don't mind spending a fortune in some mountain hauler where a wedding between first cousins is just another Saturday? You are such a snob. If it means I'm better than this place, yes, Alicia, I am a snob. And I can afford to be.

It's why you married me, right? Because I can afford to have standards above everyone else's. I married you because you were sweet and caring. She shoots a harsh look at me. And you're the one who brings up your money all the time. Our money, sweetheart. What's mine is yours. Oh, then what's the password to the offshore bank accounts you've kept secret from me?

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Shopify.com slash d'n.S. That stops me dead. And I stand there on the sidewalk in this stupid cute town with my mouth hanging open. I snap it shut and try to parse what the hell my wife just said to me. I don't know what you're talking about. Real smooth, read. Alicia continues walking. You want to have your secrets? Then fine. Have your secrets. I'm going to find a latte. I catch up to her and grab her arm. She yanks it away from me. What have I said about you grabbing me? Don't you put your hands on me like that ever again? A couple of women across the street. Obviously lesbians out for an early morning stroll with their mutt, glance our way. Then pretend they are studying the clouds or something when I shoot

daggers at them with my eyes. All good here, folks. She didn't sleep so well last night. asshole. Alicia stumps off toward, you guessed it, a cozy, cute cafe. I catch up to her again and just avoid having the door slammed in my face. Once inside, I get up next to her and lean close to her to her to say, Don't forget who's paying for this latte. She jerks away, plasters a huge, fake smile on her face, and saunters up to the counter. A large latte with nutmeg, please.

The plump woman behind the register gives her a big smile, and she looks at me, and I see the smile falter. Of course. The plumber punches in Alicia's order, then looks at me, that faltering smile still on her face. And you, sir? I'm surprised you have an actual computer register, and not some old-timey hunk of iron that dings after every transaction. Jesus, Reed! Alicia turns and walks off to a small, table in the corner. The plumber gets her attention on me. Um, well, while those old registers sure

are pretty to look at, they aren't very practical now, are they? Now, what can I get you? Do you have chai? Of course. Really? I don't hide the complete surprise in my voice. Okay, what about oat milk? I'm avoiding dairy this morning, because that old witch at the B&B almost poisoned me. The plumber's smile doesn't budge an inch at my comment. Yes, we have oat milk. Sweetened or unsweetened. You hear that, sweetheart? I shout to Alicia, who is sitting at the corner table, scrolling through her phone.

She doesn't even look up, just keep scrolling and scrolling. Hey, Alicia, they have oat milk. This place actually has oat milk. She finally lifts her gaze to me. Yeah, it's on the menu, sweetened or unsweetened. Then she goes back to her phone. I think of something snotty to say to her, but swallow it down and turn back to the plumber. Let's do sweetened.

And make sure there's extra froth. Extra froth, sir? Yeah, extra froth. From the oat milk. You ordered a chai, sir, with sweetened oat milk. Would you rather that be a chai latte instead? Of course, I wanted to be a chai latte. Who orders plain chai tea?

A billion Indians? I roll my eyes. Cute. But this isn't the slums of Calcutta, is it? I look about. Oh, it's close. One large latte with nutmeg, and one large chai latte with sweetened oat milk. Anything else, sir?

A scone, perhaps? A scone? Shit now. Just get us our drinks, will you? Coming right up, sir. She taps the register screen. That'll be 1784. 1784? For two large lattes? They better be sprinkled with gold. I'll make sure yours is worth its weight, sir.

I don't like the plumpers look she gives me, nor her snarky attitude, but I let it drop. She's not worth my time. I tap my phone to the register screen and am surprised it works. I keep my surprise to myself, not wanting to overload the plumpers three brain cells, and go join my wife at the corner table. Well, she was a fucking delight. I plopped down in the obviously secondhand chair. Language! There are other people in here!

I look about and notice the few customers for the first time. A middle-aged woman reading an honest-to-god newspaper over by an empty fireplace. A 20-something girl typing on a laptop up by the front window. A mom breastfeeding her baby by the far wall. Disgusting. I turn away quickly. Does she need to do that in here? That can't be up to health code.

Alicia shakes her head and sets her phone to the side. Reed, I need to ask you some questions. Three, in fact. What are you talking about? The first is, who is Monica? I'm about to ask her what the hell is going on, but the mention of Monica's name almost gets my guts churning again. Um, who?

Alicia sighs. So you aren't going to answer the question? Question. What question? I don't know any, Monica. I tried. She takes a deep breath. Second question.

Have you been embezzling from work? If I had my latte and had taken a sip, I would have either choked or done a spit-take. Good think the plumber clerk is taking her sweet-ass time. I clear my throat. Alicia, something has obviously gotten into you. How about we head back to the B&B and discuss it in our room? I think privacy is in order.

Alicia ignores me and looks up at the ceiling. Then she slowly lowers her gaze at me. Jesus, Alicia, if looks could kill. I laugh. She doesn't. I look around the cafe again. All eyes are on us. I'm about to shout for them to mind their own damn business,

but Alicia interrupts me. Last question. And this one is important, read. Please answer truthfully. It'll be so much better for you if you do. So much better for me? I can't help myself. I have to laugh.

What the hell has gotten into you? Seriously, Alicia, this day has turned weird. I'm going to need an explanation. The question is, do you have offshore bank accounts? Ones you hide and use for your other women? Like Monica or Natalie or Bianca? The bottom drops out of my world. But I don't let on.

Not for Alicia. She's my fourth wife. Does she think I'm a rookie at this crap? You have lost your mind. I don't know any of those names. And I certainly haven't embezzled from work or set up some secret offshore bank accounts in the Cayman Islands. I never said anything about the Cayman's.

I'm ready to defend myself, but the damn plumber interrupts. Here you go. The plumber stares directly at Alicia as she delivers our lattes. You look like you're ready for your drinks! Alicia nods as the drinks are set in front of us. I stare at the two oversized ceramic mugs. What's this? We need them to go. No, that's fine. We'll have them here.

We will? We will. A shrug, confused. After dropping these bombs on me, I expected her to want to head back to the B&B and Packer. things up. Maybe she's smarter than she looks. I give the plumber a big grin. I guess we're staying. Lovely. I'll let the doctor know. I frown as she walks back behind the counter. Doctor? What the hell does that even mean? Alicia raises her eyebrows, shakes her head, then silently lifts her latte up, and sips at it while her eyes stay locked on mine.

Alicia, look, I think you've gotten some bad information. I don't know. what is up your twat, but there's no Monica or Natalie or Bianca. What's up my twat? Classy reed. Alicia sets her latte down. Drink your damn chai. She returns to her phone as if she hadn't asked me those insane questions. I wait a moment, but she's obviously not going to engage with me. So I pick up my chai latte and sniff it. Smells good. I sip. Tastes good too. Although under the cinnamon, there's a spice I'm not familiar with. God, do they make their own chai spice mix here?

I hope not. They need to leave it to the professionals. So, what's the plan today? I finished half my chai, and am thoroughly bored with the stupid silent treatment I'm being subjected to. Let me guess. Shopping? I bet you want to buy every damn knick-knack in this damn town, don't you? I didn't come here to spend money, read.

Alicia drinks the rest of her latte and almost slams the mug down on the table. I had hoped maybe we could reconnect, but that's hard to do with a man who won't answer my questions truthfully. I groan and decide I'll throw her a bone. Get her mind off the other women. Are you talking about the bank accounts? Jesus, Alicia, I can explain. I set those up years before we were married, before we even met.

They're mine. Not yours. They weren't in the pre-nup read. Yeah, well, they wouldn't be very good secret bank accounts if they didn't stay a secret, now would they? So, you were what? Just never going to tell me? I hold up my hands up and mock surrender.

I was going to tell you eventually. But after this little hissy fit, I think we can drop the subject forever. It's going to be a long time before I kicked the bucket. So maybe think about adjusting your attitude. Be a good girl, and I'll tell you all of the details, and how many zeros are at the end of the account's tallies. Oh, I'm going to get all of that information. It's why we're here.

I just hoped you would have fessed up to it all, including the women. There are no women, Alicia, only you. You really turned into a prick, you know that. You weren't at first, but I suppose that's your M.O. Be charming. Suck us women in. marry one of us. Then just keep stringing us along. String you along, I down the rest of my latte.

String you along. You can leave any time you want, sweetheart. The pre-nup is rock solid, so it's no skin off my ass. You'll get the clothes on your back and whatever trash you brought into the marriage. That's it. I'm sure you could go back to waiting tables for the rest of your living expenses. I wait for the explosion from Alicia, but it doesn't come. She just watched her. She just watched. She watches me closely, a snarky little smile in her lips. What? Nothing read. Just...

She stares at me. Watching me closely, that smirk still on her face. I look around and all eyes are still on us. I'm done. Can we get out of here now? I haven't finished. Then we'll get the rest to go like we should have in the beginning. I lift my hand and snap my fingers.

Hey! Cafe lady! Can we? Can we get a to-go cup here? The plumber looks up from whatever little busy work she's doing behind the counter and smiles at me. I think not. You were asked your three questions. Now we wait for the doctor. What are you talking about?

I turned back to Alicia. What is she talking about? The second I asked the question, a sharp pain stabs me in the stomach from the inside. Then another and another. Oh, no. I slowly get up for my stomach. seat. I look about for the sign I need and hurry to a small hallway in the very back of the cafe. But when I reach the door, I almost cry. A handwritten sign saying, out of order, is taped to

the restroom door. Hey! I hurry back to the counter and the smiling plumber. Do you have another bathroom? More pain stabs me, and I feel the discomfort slowly pushing past my stomach and deep into my intestinal tract. Oh, I'm so sorry, but no, we don't. And honestly, It's best if you just sit down and wait for the doctor to arrive. The plumber looks rather pleased with herself. Then her expression changes to one of faux sympathy. But if you insist on leaving, there are public restrooms in the building by the gazebo in the square. She points out of the cafe at the small park in the center of town.

It's just a short walk that way, but you won't make it. I see the gazebo and can just spy the small building on the other side of it. That is not just a short walk. It's like a full block. And as my guts begin to revolt, I know she's right. But I can't make it all that way. But screw this chick. Screw all these women in this place, including my wife.

To hell with all of you! I shuffle and let my way out of the cafe, keeping my legs as clenched together as I can. A car slows down, and an attractive blonde woman grins at me. And she waves. I waved back because she is hot, but she frowns at me. Better hurry! Alicia's voice comes from right behind me, nearly scaring the crap out of me. Wouldn't want to have an accident out here in public read.

You good, honey? You ask this prick your three questions? I'm good. Doctor is on the way. Wonderful. I look forward to getting to hang out. The woman glares at me. Once this one is all settled.

I glance over my short. older, and Alicia waves at the attractive blonde as the woman keeps driving. What the hell is happening? I step out into the road, taking very careful and deliberate steps as I try to make my way to the gazebo and its accompanying facilities. Alicia takes my arm and studies me, helping me cross the street. Read, those accounts of yours? How many of them are there exactly?

Six, and they... I pause. Why the hell did I say that? Uh, none of your damn business. Oh, it's my business, Reed. It's my only business now. We get to the grass, and every step is agony, despite the soft and squishy ground.

Pain is no longer coming from just my belly, but radiating up my arms and legs. It's like my nerves are on fire, and my insides are a churning tsunami. I make it halfway to the gaze before I fall to my knees. Then the unspeakable happens. Uh-oh, Reed.

I think you had an accident. My smiling wife crouches in front of me. Her hands on my cheeks as my bowels empty into my $300 jeans. And if you tell me all the details of those accounts, then we can avoid any future accidents, and all of this embarrassment can be over. What the fuck?

I am gasping and panting as cramps in pain ripped through me. What are you? talking about. Give me help, bitch. Shut up about the accounts. Alicia sighs and stands up. Okay.

They said assholes like you were hard to break, but I thought maybe they were wrong. You aren't exactly complicated read. But in the end, all you are is a greedy, loathsome bastard. So I suppose I was being optimistic. Stop talking and help me! I'm on my hands and knees.

everything coming out of my back end at once. My arms are shaking, and I know I'm about to pass out when several pairs of shoes come into my low view. It takes all of my strength to lift my head. When I do, despite the horror I'm subjected to, I laugh. Standing in front of me is Mrs. Birdie and the plumber from the cafe, plus the two women from inside the cafe, and the two who were walking their mud earlier.

Hey, hey! Someone call me a doctor. Wow. You really don't listen, do you? She's already on her way. The women look at Alicia and not me. He give you what you need? Nope.

Too bad. It's rarely that easy, but you never know. I hang my head exhausted. Oh, look. The doctor is here. Oh, thank God. My arms give out. and I fall face first into the soft grass.

I want to say more, because I have a lot to say to these stupid women. But a fresh wave of pain rips through my nerves. It climbs and builds, finally crescendoing into an agony I have never felt before. Then, as hands grip me by my limp arms, everything fades out. When it fades back in, I smell disinfectant and can hear a quiet beeping. A hospital. I'm in a hospital I want to shout for help

but my throat feels like cheap dollar store sandpaper and not that I've set foot in a dollar store but I can only imagine my mind clears a bit and I tried to push up onto my elbows for a look around but I can't get the leverage

what the hell is this shit I shake my wrists both of which are shackled to the sides of the hospital bed I'm lying in hey hey what the hell What hell is this? Shut up, man!

The man's voice comes from somewhere to my left. I'm trying to sleep here, asshole. I turned my head, but my view is blocked by a pillow. I'd move the pillow, but my goddamn wrists are shackled to the goddamn bed. Where the hell am I? Why am I being restrained? The why is your own problem to deal with. I'm guessing you aren't a nice person.

Maybe a real shit head to your wife. The man laughs long and hard, and I quickly realize he may not exactly be sane. That's what mine says to me, that I'm a real shithead, that I deserve every second of misery I'm in, because it can't even come close to making up for the misery I put her in. He laughs again, and it devolves into a cry. They can keep taking parts all they want, but if she's going to act like that, then I'm not telling her, Jack. shit. No way she gets the combination to the safe. No fucking way. He's sobbing now.

Hey, hey, stop crying, will ya? I swallow hard and it feels like glass. What do you mean they can keep taking parts of you? What do you think I mean? Finkers, toes, hands, legs, ears, eyes, whatever can be taken, they're going to take it. Peace by piece, man, until you talk. He shrieks at the top of his lungs. But I ain't telling them shit. Never! I don't know what to say.

I mean, what can I say to that? As the man continues to shriek and shriek, I hear the room door open and footfalls rushing in. Mr. Meyer, calm down. You will bust your sutures again if you keep thrashing like that. They're going to take your junk, man. That's the last bit. They're going to take your junk. Keep fighting, man.

Keep fighting. He shouts more, but his words quickly slow, then slur, then stop. A pretty face suddenly appears in my view. I wonder what the rest of her looks like. And how are you, Mr. Curtis? How am I? I'm shackled to a hospital bed. How do you think I am?

First, we're a small private care facility, not a hospital. Second, the shackles are for our protection. We know you are not a good person, Mr. Curtis, as we've seen the photos of the bruises you've left on your wife's arms. So we're not going to take any chances. None of this makes any damn sense. You can't keep me prisoner here. I want to talk to the police.

I want my lawyer. Where the hell is my wife? Then the part she said about the bruises sinks in. How could she know about those? Alicia is very careful to wear long sleeves after she's pushed me too hard and gets herself hurt. I mean, it's her fault it happens, not mine. She should be the one shackled to a damn hospital bed, not me.

Your wife is consulting with the doctor, but they'll both be in soon. How comfortable are you? Do you need another pillow? Another pillow? No, I don't need another damn pillow. Uncuff me and get me out of this damn place, you crazy bitch! So you're comfortable then? She shakes her head. Well, we can't have that. Without warning, the nurse pulls the pillow from behind my head and holds it to her chest. There, that should be very uncomfortable. The angle of the bed is going to put a nasty crick in your neck in about five minutes.

We'll see if you want to call me a crazy bitch then or not. I bet you'll be begging the for this pillow soon, though. Be nice, and maybe you'll get it back. Then she walks off, and I can't get a good angle to see her leave. All I hear is the door open and her footfalls before I hear the door close, and I'm left with the snotty, passed out snores of whoever that Mr. Myers guy is. I look about and can see an IV dripping next to my bed, a bank of fluorescent lights above me that are giving me one hell of a headache, and a whiteboard with writing on it on the wall directly across the room for my bed. I squint and can just barely make out a list on the board.

Parts of the body are on the list, with one already crossed out. Right foot. That's when I notice another sensation. A brutal itching is coming from the end of my right leg. I twist my ankle, trying to figure out the source of the itching, and a horrible realization slams into my mind.

I can't feel my right foot. But I am starting to feel a lot of pain where my foot should be. Left alone for what feels like ours, the pain builds and builds, until I can't take it anymore. Someone help me! A few seconds later, the door opens, and two sets of footfalls echo in the room. Then my wife's face appears above me. Hello, Reed. How are you feeling? Get the hell out of here! I see spit fly up from my mouth and land on her cheeks. Someone out of my view hands are a tissue. Alicia wipes my spit off. Then lets the tissue drop onto my chest.

She leans in close. Reed, are never getting out of here. Not all of you, at least. But the sooner you tell me all the details of those offshore accounts, the more pieces of you get to keep. So think hard on what you want to tell me. I ain't telling you shit, you stupid bitch! Alicia shakes her head and steps out of my view.

Then a pinched-faced woman, who is obviously one of those awful butch lesbians, takes my wife's place. Hello, Mr. Curtis. I'm Dr. Chambers. If you're a doctor, then get me out of here. I'm afraid I can't do that. You are an awful man.

And to let you go free before your wife has what she needs, well, that takes some work. And my job is to dole out that work one piece at a time. She looks up and me and down and smiles. Now, how does your foot feel? or, I mean, how does where your foot used to be feel? It hurts, you bitch! Excellent. Now, I have a question for you, Reed.

May I call you Reed? No! You can call me the guy who was going to sue your ass into oblivion. Is what you can call me. Better listen to the doctor, Reed. It'll be easier on you that way. You don't want to leave it up to me. Your wife is not a fan of yours, Reed.

neither am I, but I did take an oath, so I'm going to let you pick what comes off next. Left foot or left ear. I frown, not quite sure what she's offering me. Even though deep down, scratching at the back of my mind, I know exactly what she's asking. I want to speak to the damn cops! The doctor shakes her head. Your wife does say you will do this the hard way. Oh, well, we'll take the ear since you have a hard time listening.

listening anyway. A nurse will be back soon to prep you for surgery. She starts to walk away, then turns back and smiles. Oh, and to warn you, unlike your first surgery, the rest will be without anesthetic. Keep that in mind the next time I give you a choice, Reed. Then she's gone, and Alicia is back. She paths my cheek. All you have to do is tell me the details of those offshore accounts, and this can all be over. sighs and looks about. Isn't this town wonderful? All I have to do is promise them 10% of what I get

out of those accounts, and they take care of the rest. I'm so glad that Brenda recommended this place. She said it did wonders for Arthur. Brenda? Arthur? Can you mean the gallways? They've been on vacation in Europe for the past few months. Alicia pats my cheek again. You keep telling yourself that read. You just keep telling yourself that. Then she's gone. And all I can do is scream and scream and scream. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story,

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