Ryan and his friends, from their old Fox Patrol, now in their early 20's, were esploring their old Boy Scout camp when they found a locker full of ropes. "He guys, look what I found. I got an idea. Let's get revenge on Mr. Patrol Leader Billy, jump him, tie him up and torture him like he did to us when we were kids." Billy, now 22 was daydreaming. Wearing his traditional white t shirt and dreams, muscular arms folded in from of him, he did not hear his 6 patrol mates sneak up behind him, intent on revenge
.What Comes Around
Ryan adjusted his baseball cap, squinting against the afternoon sun as he and his five friends hiked up the familiar trail. The old Boy Scout camp hadn't changed much in the decade since they'd last been here. They'd all grown up, filled out, moved on with their lives, but coming back here made them feel like teenagers again.
"Can't believe we let Jason talk us into this reunion," muttered Chris, the stockiest of the group, now working construction in the city.
"Come on, it's good to get the old Fox Patrol back together," Jason replied, always the enthusiastic one. He'd organized this whole trip, convincing everyone to take a weekend away from their adult lives.
Mike hung toward the back of the group, quieter than the rest. He'd been that way ever since college. Whenever conversations about their Scout days came up at their occasional meetups, he'd grow particularly silent.
"Billy's meeting us at the main lodge later," Jason announced.
At the mention of Billy's name, a subtle tension rippled through the group. Mike's shoulders visibly stiffened. Chris coughed awkwardly. Ryan found himself unconsciously rubbing his wrists, a habit he'd never quite broken.
"Great," Ryan said flatly. Billy had been their patrol leader back then—older, stronger, and all too aware of his power. The others mumbled their acknowledgment, no one quite meeting each other's eyes.
"Let's check out the old patrol cabin first," suggested Ryan, suddenly taking charge in a way that surprised even himself. "For old times' sake."
The small wooden structure hadn't weathered the years well. Inside, dust covered the bunk beds and old wooden footlockers. While the others reminisced about midnight feasts and ghost stories, Ryan found himself drawn to a large metal trunk in the corner. He knelt and pulled at the rusted latch. It gave way with a groan.
Inside, coils of rope—different lengths, different thicknesses—lay neatly organized just as they had been years ago.
"Hey guys," Ryan called, his voice oddly tight. "Look what I found."
The others gathered around, their expressions changing as they stared at the familiar ropes.
"Remember these?" Ryan asked quietly.
No one spoke for a long moment. Then Mike, surprising everyone, reached in and lifted a length of rope, running it through his fingers with practiced ease.
"I remember," he said, his voice barely audible.
Mike was thirteen, tears streaming down his face as Billy cinched the rope tighter around his wrists. "Standard procedure for failing the orienteering test," Billy had announced to the rest of the patrol. "You get lost, you learn what it means to be helpless." The other boys had looked away uncomfortably as Billy secured Mike to a tree, leaving him there for two hours while the rest continued with their activities.
Ryan watched as Mike's fingers trembled slightly against the rope.
"I have an idea," Ryan said, his voice different now—harder. "Let's get revenge on Mr. PatrolLeader Billy. Jump him. Tie him up and torture him like he did to us when we were kids."
The suggestion hung in the air, dangerous and tempting. For a moment, no one responded.
"Are you serious?" Jason finally asked, but his tone wasn't dismissive—it was curious.
Chris let out a low whistle. "Man, I've thought about getting back at him for years."
"We all have," said Eric, who had barely spoken since they arrived. He reached into the trunk and pulled out a coil of thin, sturdy nylon rope, testing its strength between his hands. "This stuff hasn't aged a day."
Ryan looked around the circle, meeting each friend's eyes. They'd all suffered under Billy's "leadership," all endured his power trips disguised as "teaching moments" or "discipline." And now, they were adults—stronger, smarter, and six against one.
"He'll be alone at the lodge waiting for us," Ryan said. "Perfect opportunity."
Ryan remembered being forced to strip down to his white undershirt, shivering in the autumn chill as Billy methodically bound his wrists to his ankles in what he called a "stress position." "This is what happens when patrol members can't follow basic instructions," Billy had announced to the others. Ryan had stayed that way for an hour, muscles screaming, unable to move without causing himself more pain.
"I'm in," Mike said, tucking a length of rope into his back pocket.
One by one, the others nodded, a strange energy filling the cabin. They spent the next half hour selecting ropes, refreshing their memory of knots, and planning their approach. They moved with a quiet efficiency born from years of Scout training—training that Billy himself had drilled into them relentlessly.
Billy was waiting by the main lodge, muscular arms folded across his chest, his white t-shirt bright against his tanned skin. At twenty-two, he still had the confident posture of someone used to being in charge. He didn't hear the six men approach from behind, their footsteps deliberately silent on the pine-needle-covered ground.
"Hey, Billy," Ryan called out casually.
Billy turned, a smile starting to form—then faltering as he registered the expressions on their faces. Something primal in him recognized danger, but his reaction came too late. They surrounded him quickly, Chris and Jason grabbing his arms while Eric swept his legs out from under him. The takedown was swift and practiced, exactly as Billy had taught them years ago.
"What the hell?" Billy struggled against their grip. "What are you guys doing?"
Mike pulled the rope from his pocket, the thin nylon whistling slightly as it cut through the air.
"Remember these, Billy?" Ryan asked, holding Billy's wrists together as Mike began wrapping the rope around them, using a double constrictor knot—perfect for binding with minimal slippage.
Chris was fourteen, forced to wear only his white undershirt and jeans after Billy accused him of stealing another Scout's pocket knife. "Strip down so I can check your pockets properly," Billy had ordered. After finding nothing, rather than apologize, Billy had tied Chris's hands behind his back and bound them to his neck, so any downward movement would choke him. "A lesson about false accusations going both ways," Billy had said, leaving Chris bound for the remainder of the evening meeting.
"Guys, come on, this isn't funny," Billy said, his voice rising as he realized this wasn't a joke. The rope bit into his wrists as Mike finished the knot with practiced efficiency.
"No, it isn't funny," agreed Ryan. "It wasn't funny when you did it to us either."
They worked methodically. Eric bound Billy's ankles together with a surgeon's knot followed by two half hitches—ensuring the rope would tighten if Billy struggled. Jason pulled Billy's shirt up and wrapped rope around his bare torso, cinching it tight enough to restrict his breathing slightly, exactly as Billy had done to Jason years before.
Jason had been tied to a tree with rope wrapped painfully around his chest, binding him in place after he'd questioned one of Billy's decisions. "Leadership means learning when to keep your mouth shut," Billy had told the group as Jason struggled to breathe properly against the constricting rope.
As each new restraint was added, their movements became more aggressive, their faces harder. Each loop of rope brought back memories that fueled their anger.
"Remember when you left me tied up in the rain for three hours?" Mike asked, his voice shaking as he expertly bound Billy's arms behind his back, rope crossing between his biceps and pulling them uncomfortably close together.
"That was training," Billy gasped, starting to understand the seriousness of his situation. "It was supposed to teach resilience."
"Training?" Ryan laughed bitterly. "Is that what you called it?"
They secured a rope to the bindings between Billy's arms and threw the free end over a sturdy branch above. With three of them pulling in unison, they hoisted Billy partially off the ground, his weight now hanging painfully from his bound arms.
Eric had been suspended by his arms from the same branch after failing to correctly identify edible plants. The pain had been excruciating, shoulders threatening to dislocate as Billy lectured the group about the importance of survival skills. "Pain is the best teacher," Billy had said, watching Eric struggle against the ropes.
Billy's face contorted with pain. "Please," he gasped. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—"
"Didn't know what?" snapped Chris. "That it hurt? That it was humiliating?"
"That we'd remember?" added Ryan.
Billy's pleas grew more desperate as they continued adding ropes, each new restraint accompanied by a flashback that only fueled their anger. When Billy begged for mercy, Mike stuffed a bandana into his mouth and secured it with yet another length of rope.
Ryan remembered being gagged when his cries became too loud during one of Billy's "disciplinary sessions." The humiliation of being silenced had been almost worse than the physical pain.
The more they bound him, the more memories surfaced, and the angrier they became. They worked with mechanical precision, using the very knots Billy had once proudly taught them. Clove hitches. Bowlines. Timber hitches. Each one perfect, each one painful.
By the time they finished, Billy hung suspended by his bound arms, other ropes holding his body in a stress position that made even the slightest movement agonizing. His face was red with exertion and fear, tears streaming from his eyes.
They stood back, looking at their handiwork. The forest was silent except for Billy's muffled sounds of pain.
"What do we do now?" Jason finally asked, the adrenaline beginning to ebb.
Ryan stared at Billy for a long moment. The patrol leader who had once seemed so powerful now looked broken and small.
"Let's go get pizza and beer," Ryan said finally. "I'm starving."
One by one, they turned and walked away, leaving Billy hanging from the branch, suspended by the very knots he had taught them to tie.
Six months later, Ryan ran into Mike at a mutual friend's wedding.
"Heard anything from Billy?" Mike asked quietly during the reception.
Ryan shook his head. "Not since that weekend. None of us have."
What they didn't know was that Billy now spent his evenings alone in his apartment, methodically tying intricate knots around his own limbs, seeking to recreate the helplessness he had once inflicted on others and then experienced himself. The ropes had become both his punishment and his strange comfort.
What comes around, comes around. The cycle continued, transformed but unbroken.
No comments:
Post a Comment