Sorry for the delay. Kinda took these past few months off to touch up a few things.

Enjoy.

Clyde felt the worst headache he had ever had, and there was a faint ringing in his ears as he regained consciousness. He sat up and looked around, confused.

His glasses were off, so everything was blurry. He looked around for them, but couldn't find them anywhere. As his vision started to clear as best it could, Clyde realized he was in a bedroom, on a mattress.

As he went to swing his legs over the side of the bed, Clyde grunted at how heavy his legs suddenly felt. Looking at them as hard as he could, Clyde swore it looked like…cinderblocks were taped to his feet. In fact, it looked like his feet were completely covered in tape, making sure the cinderblocks would stay in place. Reaching down to feel them to see if he was seeing things right, Clyde paused as he realized something was taped to his hands. Bringing them to his face and squinting hard, Clyde could tell that they were oven mitts; like the cinderblocks, the oven mitts were taped to his hands, duct taped multiple times around his wrists.

"Hello?" Clyde yelled out, only to wince in pain at how dry his throat was; it felt like he hadn't drank anything in days.

Not hearing anyone walking towards the room he was in (as his loss of sight made his other sense sharper), Clyde focused on where he was. He was in a modern-sized bedroom, with a door, a closet, and a window. The bed was propped up against the wall across from the closet. Clyde grabbed his right leg and pulled, swinging it over the bed, only to grunt as he immediately felt floor; there was no bedspread underneath him, only a mattress.

Sighing, Clyde brought his left leg over the mattress and focused on standing up. It took a few seconds, but he was finally able to do it. Shuffling over to the window, Clyde looked out of it; though his vision was still blurry, he could tell it was sunny outside. From what Clyde could tell, he was apparently on the second floor of a house on a fairly normal looking street. There were a couple houses across the street, and in one of the yards, Clyde could see what looked like a kid playing with a dog.

"HELLO?!" Clyde yelled out, tapping on the glass, hoping to get the kid's attention. However, despite how much he tapped (and banged) on the window, the kid didn't look up, instead continuing to rub his dog's belly.

"SWEETIE, ARE YOU UP? IT'S TIME FOR BREAKFAST!" A woman's voice yelled throughout the house. Clyde turned to look over his shoulder in worry. Even though it had been quick and he still felt an ache through his head, he could instantly tell that that was the voice of the woman who had knocked him out when she broke into his house.

Clyde stood in place for a moment, slightly worried. He then turned back to the window and started banging on it again, hoping to get the kid's attention.

"Clyde, Sweetie, stop banging on the window and come downstairs." Clyde nearly wet himself as he could hear the woman's voice right outside his door, "You father needs to leave for work soon, so come tell him goodbye."

Clyde stopped banging and warily made his way towards the door. His dads had told him that in case he was ever kidnapped, follow the kidnapper's rules so they don't get mad, while making sure to look for the opportune moment to escape. Clyde could do that; clearly this woman was unhinged, and had blinded and immobilized him so he could act as her son. Thinking it over, Clyde knew there were dozens of possibilities, but most likely it was along the lines of this woman was a bigot who lost her son in an accident, and upon seeing Clyde being raised by two dads, decided to kidnap him to "replace" her deceased son. That may not have been close to what was actually happening, but Clyde didn't have any other theories.

Clyde hesitantly (and clumsily) opened the door. On the other side stood a woman of average build. Squinting his eyes, Clyde could tell she was Caucasian with black hair, and appeared to be wearing a red dress suit.

"Come along, Sweetie," She said, smiling a wide smile as she reached down and, with surprising strength, pick Clyde up and carried him, bridal style, down the hall and down some stairs. As he was carried, Clyde looked around; they appeared to be in a normal house, blue-and-white-striped walls with some pictures hanging on them, purple carpet, a couple plants here and there. There were a few others doors in the hallway, but they were closed. Downstairs also appeared to be normal, with the front door in front of the stairs; the woman turned to the right, heading into the dining room.

She set Clyde down in front of two other people, who also appeared to be immobilized. Squinting, Clyde could tell they were a young gentleman and an older lady, both tied to reclining chairs and wearing blindfolds. Looking around, Clyde noticed that the backs of the recliners were cut out and replaced with…trash bags? As Clyde leaned forward to look at them, a fowl smell caught his nose, and he instantly knew what the trash bags were for.

"Honey," The woman spoke up, "Clyde wanted to say goodbye before you left for work." She then reached forward and took the man's lips off. Clyde figured it was some kind of gag made to keep him quiet while looking like he was smiling.

"LET US GO, YOU CRAY B*TCH!" The man snapped, lightly thrashing, "HELP, ANYBODY!"

"Of course I'll let you go," The woman said, hugging him, "And I'll gladly help you to the car." She then turned to Clyde, "Well, tell your father goodbye, Sweetie. He's gotta go bring home the bacon." She then began pushing the recliner out of the room, likely to the garage so she could give the impression that he had left for work. "Talk to Gramma," She called over her shoulder.

Clyde turned to the older woman. Like the man, he noticed that she had some kind of gag in (likely a combination of a pacifier-gag and wax-lips). Clyde didn't know what to say or do here, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Hello, Gramma?"

"MMmmm mmmhh mmmmmhhhh!" The lady shook her head back and forth, trying to respond. Clyde frowned. But then, an idea occurred to him.

He reached forward and placed a hand on the lady's knee. He turned towards where the woman had gone and didn't see her yet. He turned back to Gramma and whispered, "Can you hear and understand me? Grunt once for no, twice for yes."

"Mmmmm! Mmmmm!" The woman grunted, while also nodding.

"Ok," Clyde sighed in relief, "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"Mmmm!" Gramma grunted once and shook her head.

"Do you know the woman who is keeping us here?"

Gramma actually stayed silent for a moment, before she finally grunted twice and nodded.

"Do you know WHY she has you, me, and that gentleman here?"

Gramma grunted THREE times and tilted her head side to side.

"Maybe?" Clyde asked, at which Gramma grunted twice and nodded. "Ok," Clyde sighed, "I'm a little incapacitated, so I'm gonna TRY to remove your gag. I've got cinderblocks on my feet and oven mitts taped to my hands, and I'm blind as a bat without my glasses, so give me a sec. Ok?"

Gramma grunted twice and nodded, and a second later felt Clyde start to crawl on her, using one hand to push down on her leg while reaching for her gag with the other. She felt the oven mitt lightly brush her chin.

Clyde tried to grip the gag, but it wasn't easy. After a moment, he finally managed to get a grip on it…

"Clyde, darling, whatever are you doing?"

He was suddenly picked up, lifted off of the older lady by the woman who was acting as his "mother".

"Sweetie, you gotta be careful, Gramma's old and fragile. She could break under your weight. Now, come along, time for breakfast." She carried him to the kitchen, and Clyde looked back at Gramma, sighing.

As Clyde ate breakfast, the woman, "Mommy" as she asked him to call her, explained that after that "horrible scandal", she was taking him out of school to homeschool him. Clyde didn't even bother asking her to explain; he knew that he wasn't leaving for anything. And neither was she, meaning yelling as loud as possible for the neighbors to hear him was also out of the question.

"So, Mommy," Clyde said hesitantly, "What's first on the lesson plan for today?"

"Well, first I figured we'd go over some pre-algebra," She explained while munching on her toast, "After all, you've always been advanced." At this she paused and sighed sweetly, "Just like I always knew you'd be."

"Right," Clyde sighed, finishing up his breakfast, which Mommy then took to the sink, before coming back and picking him up again, carrying him to the living room, where she got started on the day's lessons.

Despite being incapacitated, Clyde was actually able to follow along fairly well. However, he quickly realizing it didn't matter what he said, as he was always "right".

"What is 25 times 25?"

"Um…2500?" Clyde guessed, never having been too good at math.

"Correct!"

Clyde had a feeling that was NOT correct, but he wasn't gonna question it. Their next subject was Social Studies.

"What's the capital of our country?"

"Washington BC. Wait, I mean-"

"Correct! Who was our first president?"

"George…" Clyde paused at this. It had truly been a slip of the tongue on the last answer, but something told him this woman wasn't exactly concerned with him getting the answers RIGHT, so much as giving him the school experience, "George Bush."

"Correct! Who discovered electricity?"

Clyde frowned at realizing he was right, before answering, "Abraham Lincoln."

"Correct again, Sweetie!" Mommy beamed at him, "You're so smart!"

Clyde shook his head. Like all kids he wasn't the biggest fan of school, but at the very least he wanted to actually TRY. This crazy lady clearly had no interest in doing that.

After a long day of "lessons", it was time for dinner. Mommy went and dragged Gramma into the kitchen, before exclaiming, "I think I hear your father pulling up." She then headed out to the garage, leaving the two alone yet again.

"She's crazy," Clyde said to the older woman, "She's clearly set on keeping us here for as long as possible. I…I don't know what to do. I'm sorry."

Gramma merely grunted in what Clyde could tell was meant to be an understanding tone. At that moment, Mommy came back, wheeling in Father's recliner.

"I made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner!" She exclaimed, as she walked over to the stove to get the food. Thankfully it smelled good, though Clyde was wary at eating it. Feeling his stomach grumble (the toast he'd eaten at breakfast having been long since digested), he reluctantly dug in. After all, he was already kidnapped and incapacitated, so why would she need to drug the food?

As Clyde ate, Mommy took the tape off of Father and Gramma's mouths and began feeding them. Of course, this was a little tricky due to the profanity that kept flying out of Father's mouth, but Mommy didn't pay any mind to it, just feeding him like one would a toddler. Gramma didn't even try to speak, likely knowing it would be futile.

After dinner (which was pretty good, in Clyde's opinion), Mommy picked Clyde up and carried him up to his room, tucking him in.

"Goodnight, my little angel," She said, pecking Clyde on the forehead.

Clyde merely responded with a desolate, "G'nite," before closing his eyes, half-hoping when he opened them next, he'd be back in his own bed, with this all having been nothing but a jacked-up nightmare.

At that, Mommy made her way out of the room, closing (and locking) the door behind her.

The rest of the week was the same for Clyde: get up, fake family breakfast, fake school, fake family dinner, Mommy acting unhinged, Gramma and Father demanding to be let go whenever their mouths were uncovered.

Every morning he tried to get the neighbor's attention, but the kid never looked up from petting his dog's belly. Clyde had to wonder if Mommy had paid off the neighbors to completely ignore anything strange coming from her house.

Clyde stayed in his pajamas, though every other night was bath night. At least he was staying clean, even if some random lady was bathing him like a toddler.

Finally, on Friday, after a week of this madness, Clyde was about to lose it. The way this crazy lady was acting like nothing was wrong, like she HADN'T kidnapped him and the others, just made him want to scream.

Gramma and Clyde were currently sitting in the living room, watching TV that evening. By some luck, Mommy had apparently NOT shopped for the long-term, so after dinner she had to run out and get some food. She had, of course, made a big show of locking the door behind her, telling the others she was just running to the store at the end of the block and would only be a half-hour at most.

Of course Clyde had thought about trying to remove Gramma's gag again, or even going out into the garage and trying to get answers from Father (Mommy had force fed both rather quickly at every meal, so they didn't have time to say much other than curses and death threats). Sadly, he decided against it, knowing Mommy would be very sore if she caught him when she got back.

Feeling nature start to call, Clyde got up and slowly made his way to the bathroom; he didn't have to GO, but with the cinderblocks, he knew it'd take him a good few minutes to walk to the bathroom, so better to get started sooner rather than later.

As he walked, Clyde sighed miserably; he'd watched the news with his dads, as well as some (mature, he really shouldn't have been watching them) cop shows with Lincoln and the guys, so he was well aware of kidnapping. But still, he never thought HE of all people would be taken. So far Mommy hadn't done anything to hurt him, though he had overheard her and Father "talking" when she would take him to the garage every morning.

Paying attention, Clyde had noticed that Father and Mommy likely knew each other; there was also some notable coldness to Gramma, as well. But why was HE here? Again, Clyde had a few ideas, but none were concrete. Really, he should try to get Gramma or Father's mouths free so he could ask them some questions, because it really didn't feel like the crazy lady had taken him at random.

Finally getting to the bathroom, Clyde groaned as he knew this was going to be a hassle with his hands trapped in these over mitts. Still better than having Mommy here "helping" him. Struggling with his pajama bottoms, Clyde got them undone, letting them drop to his ankles.

*thud*

Clyde froze at hearing the light thud. Had he bumped into something and knocked it over? Squinting, Clyde looked around, before his gaze fell to the floor…and his heart leapt out of his chest.

It was his walkie.

Clyde knew this may be his only shot. Taking a deep breath, he quickly began gnawing at the tape around his hands, desperate to get it off so he could remove the oven mitt and be able to use his walkie.

After a good couple minutes, Clyde finally succeeded. He quickly shook off the over mitt before reaching down and grabbing the walkie. He shook it a few times before pressing the button and speaking.

"Lincoln! Are you there? Linc?"

He could only hear faint static and knew the batteries were likely almost gone, so he grabbed the bathroom sink and pulled himself up, saying the first thing that came to mind, "I hope you're hearing this, buddy, I really need help! I've been kidnapped by some lunatic! Lincoln, please help!"

At that moment, Clyde's other hand, still trapped in the oven mitt, finally slipped, and he fell to the ground, hitting his chin on the sink as he did so.

Lightly dazed, Clyde reached for the walkie, finding it dented from the fall. He shook the walkie back and forth, knowing the mixed signal and batteries dying were not good. He could only hope that Lincoln had heard his message.

"Clyde, sweetie?" Clyde froze and felt his blood run cold as he turned and saw Mommy standing there, a frown on her face. "What is that?" She asked, glaring down at the walkie.

"Um…" Clyde knew he was in trouble, serious trouble as she advanced towards him. He silently prayed that Lincoln would be able to help.

Clyde's prayers were answered…sort of.

In the Loud house, in Lincoln's room, the entire family was staring at the walkie in shock. Due to their paper-thin walls, most of them had been awakened by the walkie, and all came running at Lincoln's shouts. They had each heard Clyde's panicked message.

"Things…just got a LOT more intense," Lincoln muttered, as Lori was already on the phone dialing 911.

So, Clyde has discovered just how unhinged his kidnapper is, and has now attempted to call for help. Hopefully the Louds will be able to answer the call and find him!

R&R