If Brad looked scared before, he looked petrified at this news. His face went pale. Joan felt light-headed with worry. She reached through the bars again and took her son's hands. "I don't like this," she said. "Maybe we should-"
"Go back to the motel and ask them to open the door for you," Brad said, his voice wavering. "Tell them what's going on, and if they won't open the door, come back here and talk to the police. In fact, ask for Officer Lansing. He's the guy who arrested me yesterday."
"I'll be right back " Flank said, turning to head back down the hall. Joan watched him go, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Frank had looked ashen as he told them what he'd found, and as she turned back to her son she suddenly saw how Brad would look in thirty years: he would be an exact carbon-copy of his father.
"Everything's going to be okay," she said, forcing a smile and squeezing his hands through the bars.
Brad nodded, not meeting her gaze. "Yeah." But the tone of his voice suggested that he didn't believe her.
Frank had to threaten legal action if the front desk clerk didn't get off his fat ass now and accompany him with a passkey to room 6 and open the door. The clerk sighed, rolled his eyes, and moved himself off the stool behind the desk with a groan. "I'll probably get fired anyway for doing this, so let's go." He pulled the passkey to room 6 off the wall and swung around the counter. "Be right back," he called to somebody in the back room.
Frank felt his limbs grow heavy with trepidation as they approached the room. The desk clerk paused in front of the door, inserted the key, and opened the door, stepping back to let Frank pass. "Be my guest," he said.
Frank stepped into the room, the darkness seemingly sudden and final. He felt for a light switch, found it, and turned on the light. He stood at the threshold for a long time, not sure what he was seeing. He had almost forgotten about the front-desk clerk when he heard his voice behind him. "Well? Satisfied now?"
Room 6 was fine. The bed was neatly made, with no signs that it had been slept in. There was no sign of a struggle; no overturned furniture, no broken glass. Frank stepped into the room, his eyes sweeping around it. Lisa and Brad's Lexus was parked right outside the front door, but there was no sign of their luggage or any other personal belongings anywhere. He headed to the bathroom and turned on the light, inspecting the sink and countertop, the unused bathtub, the clean white towels lined up on the iron rung of the linen ring. He turned to the clerk who had followed him into the room. Are you sure you haven't seen Lisa Miller? Think!'
The clerk shrugged. "Only time I saw her was last night when she checked in.' He glanced around the room. "Are you sure she even spent the night here? Looks like she didn't even use this room last night"
Flank glared at the clerk. "What a brilliant deduction! What are you, employee of the month?"
The desk clerk's features went sullen. He shuffled on his feet nervously. "Listen, I have no idea if she was here last night. I got off at six-thirty, thirty minutes after she checked in. For all I know, she could have left right after I got off work.'
Frank turned back to the empty room. "Stay here," he said. "I'm getting the police."
*Whatever," the desk clerk said, following Frank out of the room.
Frank glanced at the Lexus as he headed outside. He peered inside the car-it looked normal, no sign of luggage anywhere. Of course, they would have put their luggage in the trunk, and he didn't have the key to open it. With a sinking sense of dread, Frank hightailed it back to the Ventura County Sheriff substation, wondering how he was going to tell his son that his wife was gone.
Six
Lisa Miller was very afraid.
She lay naked on a narrow spring mattress, her wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts, her mouth gagged. It felt like she had been trussed up like this for days, but the shrinking part of her rational mind told her that it was probably only twelve hours or more. She had long stopped crying; crying made her throat hurt and made her more tired. It also made it hard to concentrate and sapped her willpower. And if she wanted to get out of here, she was going to need all the willpower she had.
She had been so overcome with anger when Mr. Smith had barged into her room (last night?) that she hadn't even thought about what she had been planning to tell Brad this weekend. This was supposed to have been a romantic getaway. A second honeymoon of a sort, punctuated by romantic dinners, cuddling together on the bed and making love, sightseeing, and just spending quality time together. Lisa had something else she wanted to do as well; she had wanted to tell Brad that he was going to be a daddy.
The thought of her pregnancy hadn't come up when Mr. Smith came into her room; what had come up was her sudden anger, and then the instinctual fight-or-flight mode. It wasn't until Mr. Smith was getting ready to carry her outside to his van that she thought of the baby.
She had feigned unconsciousness as Mr. Smith deposited her in the back of the van. For a time she must have passed out, because the next thing she remembered they were moving. She had been blindfolded, but she could sense that Mr. Smith was somewhere in the front driving. She had lain on the floor in the back, trying to calm herself down. The more agitated she became, the more her head hurt. Her mouth was dry, and the sweet, almost pleasant-smelling liquid he had knocked her out with was still in her nostrils. He had trussed her up more tightly this time, securing her wrists together tighter than before. Likewise, her legs were tightly bound together, as were her ankles.
But she wasn't gagged.
Lisa had waited until she felt calm and her throat was well moistened before she ventured communication. "Where are we going?"
"1 was wondering when you were going to talk," Mr. Smith said, keeping his eyes on the road. "1 could tell when you woke up; your breathing changed. How do you feel?"
"My head hurts," she said, saying the first thing that came to her mind. She decided that the best way to approach her predicament was to be calm and controlled. To let her rage take over was to invite more trouble from Mr. Smith. If she turned combative again, he might see fit to pull over and gag her again. Or knock her out.
Oh my God, did him knocking me out with that stuff was it chloroform? — did that hurt the baby?
"If you promise to behave and not cause a scene, I'll give you some water and aspirin at the next rest stop. How's that sound?"
Okay.
He drove silently for a while and Lisa debated whether or not to ask where he was taking her again when he answered her question. "As to where we're going, I'm taking you to a cabin near Big Bear. In fact, if you want, I can pick up some food for you at the next rest stop and whip something up for you once we get there. You must be hungry."
She was starving. "I could eat something," she said. Her mind was racing: Be calm, don't do anything to set him off If he was going to kill you, he would have done it by now.
And on the heels of that: Why is he taking me to this cabin?
She wondered if she should tell him she was pregnant. She had heard from would-be rape victims that telling your attacker that you were pregnant was a possible deterrent. Would it work with Mr. Smith? She was just about to mention it when he started talking. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, eyes on the road. "In fact, if I didn't need the money I wouldn't be doing this. That whole scenario that happened back along the interstate? Like I said, that was just to separate you from your husband. My name's really not Mr. Smith, and this van isn't even registered to me. Nobody will know what happened to you. I cleaned up at the motel, wiped everything down, even used gloves after I knocked you out. I took your luggage and your purse-they're in the back with you somewhere. I left your car at the motel because that will be the first thing they look for, and a stolen car is easy to trace. This is going to work out." It sounded like he was saying this aloud to reassure himself that what he had planned was going to work, rather than attempting to explain to her his intentions.
He's going to rape and kill me, she thought, a sudden lump rising in her throat. That's why he's taking me to this cabin
. That's why he didn't take my car. When he's done, hell bury me somewhere in the woods and nobody will know. Nobody will ever find out.
And on the heels of that: But if he was going to rape me, why did he say that he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't need the money? Is he kidnapping me for some kind of ransom?
"I'm pregnant," she said, not really knowing if this revelation would be an influence. It wasn't; Mr. Smith laughed.
"If you think that's going to get you out of this, you're a bigger fool than I thought. But I admire you for trying anyway. I know what it must feel like."
"You have no idea how I feel. And I'm not lying about being pregnant, either."
"You don't look pregnant."
"I just found out early this morning."
"Really?" He paused for a moment. "Have you told hubby yet?"
She didn't know what to say. "No," she said in a whispering tone.
"But you were gonna tell him, weren't you? This weekend?"
Lisa felt the anger and hate come boiling back. She could picture his cold gray eyes watching her in the rearview mirror. "Maybe I was. What is it to you, anyway?"
"Just that I want to know what I'm dealing with. I can understand now why you were so feisty back there at the motel. Your maternal instinct kicked in. You weren't just thinking about saving your own skin, you were thinking about the unborn baby in your womb. Weren't you?"
'flying to push the anger down, she nodded. "I guess you could say that."
Mr. Smith sounded like he was considering this. "If what you're saying is true, then they might actually like this."
Those words had a chilling affect on Lisa. She felt a pit of ice creep into her belly. "What do you mean? Who are they?'
"Later," he said, dismissively. The rest stop is coming up and I'll be pulling over. Remember. One peep out of you and you are one dead bitch. Got that?"
She had been forced to remain silent, struggling silently with her tears as he gagged her, then exited the van. The few minutes he spent in the AM/PM mini-market felt like hours, all the while safety and freedom only a shout away as other travelers pulled up beside them and people walked past the van to the convenience store. She had tried maneuvering around in back of the van in a vain attempt to see if she could chance opening the door and making a run (or a stumble) for it, but she was bound so tight that she could barely move. If she screamed, there might not even be a chance she would be heard. She would have no way of knowing where Mr. Smith was because she wouldn't see him until he opened the front driver's-side door of the van, and he would surely know she had been screaming for help. She believed he really would try to hurt or kill her. And she couldn't do anything that would jeopardize herself or the baby. She had to wait until she saw a better chance to escape and then take it.
When he came back, he had a bottle of Evian water and some Anacin. He crawled in the back and helped her sit up. Then he popped two Anacins in her mouth and held the bottle up for her to drink. She thanked him, and he managed a faint smile. "Got some ready-made sandwiches for you, too. You'll eat one when we get to the cabin."
He kept his promise. They had arrived at the cabin a little under an hour later, and he got her into the bedroom through a side door. She could tell they were in the mountains by the brief scent of pine and the brisk, cool air as he ushered her through the door. Ten minutes later, he took the blindfold off and he was patiently feeding her as she sat up on the narrow bed, holding the Evian bottle up for her to drink. When she was finished, he instructed her to lie down on the bed, and then she felt him struggle with the knots he had used to tie her up. "You'll feel some of these loosen up, but don't move or try to do anything. You try anything, I've got a hammer right here that III use to smash your skull." She had lain down, fighting the tears as he practically untied her. Then he quickly peeled off her clothes, then told her to turn over. When she turned over, she saw that he indeed had a hammer. She was almost tempted to try rushing him again; she could surprise him, try to claw out his eyes or something, but he had that hammer, and he was holding it in his right fist, ready to swing. She couldn't risk it. He told her to lie down on her back, and then he slipped the rope he had tied around her arms down to her wrist and tightened it with one swift tug. He had her wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts within a minute, and then he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. "You'll be fine for the night. If you gotta piss, go ahead and piss on the mattress. I'll be up in the morning to change it and bring some other things."
"What are you going to do?" Lisa was sobbing, and now her emotions did gain the upper hand. All she could think about was how this man was destroying all her hopes of having a baby with Brad, a dream she had been working to achieve for the past two years. All she could think about was saving herself so that her baby might live. "You sonofabitch, why are you doing this!"
"1 told you," Mr. Smith said calmly, a look of indifference on his bearded face. "It's nothing personal. I need the money, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."
"I don't understand!" she wailed, trying to sit up in the bed. "Please let me go! I swear I won't say anything. I won't tell anybody-"
"It's too late for that now," Mr. Smith said, looking down at Lisa calmly. "Look, it's nothing personal. The people I'm working for… well, the dients they're working for, they wanted somebody just like you. They were getting tired of using runaways, drug addicts, and vagrants, the kind of girls they had been using all along. They wanted somebody who has a clean, wholesome image. Somebody who actually has a life. It took me two days to find you." He grinned down at her.
She still didn't understand; Mr. Smith said that he wasn't going to hurt her, but what he was implying sug gested that somebody else was. She sobbed hoarsely, her vision blurred with tears.
Mr. Smith leaned forward. "The… clients who we're doing this for… they've got some real expensive tastes. 'They've got a taste for… well, let's just say they have a taste for some pretty hardcore shit."
"What are you talking about?" Lisa wailed.
"They're into extreme hardcore and snuff films," Mr. Smith said, once again indifferent. "Surely you've heard of snuff films, haven't you?"
Lisa shook her head, feeling her flesh break out in goose pimples. She had never heard of extreme hardcore or snuff films, but she instinctively felt that whatever they were, they were bad.
Mr. Smith leaned forward slightly. "Extreme bondage… S&M… surely you've heard of those, haven't you? You don't strike me as being that naive."
Lisa nodded, a shudder running through her body. She was going to be raped! Raped and tortured for some per- vert's private porno film collection. She began to sob again. "Well… yeah… but… I still don't understand… bondage… isn't that like… I thought… I thought… that was just… regular porno people doing that!"
"The clients that my associates and I are working for have tastes of a more brutal nature," Mr. Smith said, indifferently. "It's a very small circle of people, really. They gather at various intervals throughout the year in the privacy of their own homes, and buy and sell various tapes that my associates, and others, produce; mainly extreme hardcore S&M films, sometimes snuff films. Regular porno people don't associate with this stuff. You'd have to be crazy or a fool to want to appear in one of these things. Unless you're a complete sadist like Animal." Mr. Smith's features were grim. "Of course, there are some hardcore freaks-masochists-who get off on that kind of shit. Some of them appear in the hardcore S&M and torture flicks, but the others? Snuff films? Like I said, our clients were getting tired of watching the same chicks and butt boys time and time again and wanted something different-something fresh." Mr. Smith grinned slightly. "It's nothing personal, really."
"You're going to kill me," Lisa whispered, looking up at Mr. Smith with fear.
"I told you that I'm not going to kill you," Mr. Smith said. And I'm not going to hurt you. I'm supposed to take care of you to assure my associates that you are in the best physical appearance as possible for our shoot. Then when Al
and the Animal get here sometime tomorrow or the next day-"
"The Animal?" Lisa said, dread suddenly filling her even more at the sound of the name.
Mr. Smith cocked his head at her. "Yes, Mrs. Miller. I was telling you the truth when I said that I wasn't going to hurt you or kill you. But your costar in the snuff film we'll be shooting… the Animal… he will."
Lisa's hands were shaking, and when she spoke her voice quivered with fear. "Please. You don't want to do this.*
"I'll be back tomorrow," Mr. Smith said. He turned and exited the room.
She found her voice and let loose with a wail. "Please let me go! Pleeeaaase!"
Her wail fell on deaf ears. Mr. Smith exited the cabin, and a moment later, amid her heavy sobs, Lisa heard him start the van up, back down the gravel path, and head down the highway.
Seven
The three nights and two days Brad Miller spent in the Ventura County slammer were the longest of his life.
Fueled by his anger over the initial road rage incident that sparked his incarceration, he got little sleep that first night, and when he found out that Lisa was missing, his nerves went on a frenzy. He continually paced the length of his cell while his mother stood by, helpless as he drove himself deeper and deeper into worry. "I don't like this, Mom, this just isn't like her, I don't like this, why aren't they doing anything!"
That first day, Frank Miller succeeded in getting ahold of Officer Chris Lansing, the patrol officer who had placed Brad in custody Friday. When he told Officer Lansing that Lisa was now missing from her motel room, with no clue as to where she could have gone, Officer Lansing grew concerned. "And Brad hasn't seen her since his arrest?"
"That's right," Frank had said. He had cornered the officer as he strolled in to begin his two-to-midnight shift. "And everybody I've talked to in this fucking building says they can't do anything about it because she can't be considered missing yet!" He spat that last sentence out with an air of contempt. "Fucking bullshit, if you ask me."
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