She walked back into the room just as Mr. Smith was replacing the mattress. The old pee-stained mattress was resting on its side against the bedroom wall. He patted the new mattress. "Have a seat. I'll be outside nailing up that window." He exited the room and she stood there for a moment, her mind numb and reeling. After a few minutes, she sat down.
She heard him clomp outside to his vehicle, then a few minutes later she heard him at the side of the cabin outside the bedroom window. She heard the sound of pounding along with his mutters, and then he began putting the wood up, securing it over the window. She sighed and tried to drown out the sounds of Mr. Smith hammering nails in the wood that would secure it to the windowsill. The room was dark from the boards already blocking the sun from the inside. She looked up at the ceiling, feeling her eyes grow heavy with tears again. The sound of those boards going up over the window was like nailing the lid of her coffin.
She sat on the bed and tried not to cry as Mr. Smith worked on boarding up the window to her prison. Her mind retraced yesterday's nightmare quickly: leaving the rest stop, the van's grille suddenly filling up the rearview mirror, Brad's panicked voice as the van dogged their every move for the next mile or so down the highway, then the whirling lights and sirens of the Highway Patrol. She had known the minute she saw those lights appear in the rearview mirror that it had something to do with the van, that the driver had pulled some kind of stunt. And when that cop had pulled them over with his holier-thanthou attitude and told them it was Brad that was driving around like an asshole, she'd felt an impending sense of doom. She had felt a sense of disbelief as the officer told her why he had pulled them over, and why he couldn't really give a shit about them-after all, the law is the law, and I'm only doing my job. And now as she sat naked on a bare mattress in a small cabin somewhere in Big Bear in the San Bernardino mountains, her mind flashed on something she had almost forgotten.
They had still been at the rest stop. They had stopped for bathroom breaks, and as usual Brad had finished first. Lisa had exited the women's restroom and joined Brad at a little scattering of picnic tables. There was a yellow sign with a blocky-looking drawing of a snake on it, a warning to tourists that rattlesnakes were in the area this time of year. Lisa had stood by the sign with a wild grin as Brad snapped a photo of her, and it was then when she had seen him walking by, casting his gaze on them.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember, summoning the image in her mind. Yes, she was positive it had been Mr. Smith. He had been wearing sunglasses, and the more she thought about it, the more the picture came to her mind. He had been standing by a large tree that overlooked the rest stop. She didn't remember him being there when they had pulled up, but she surely remembered glancing over at him when she left the ladies' room. She had quickly dismissed him, figuring he was just another tourist waiting for his wife or significant other to exit the ladies' room. There had been four other women in the restroom besides her, and she had dismissed it from her mind until she and Brad were shooting photos and horsing around, and then he had walked past them slowly, casually, and then Brad had said something that distracted her and then they were laughing over something and the guy was forgotten as they gathered their stuff together and headed toward the Lexus. He was gone anyway, both physically and from her mind, when they climbed into the Lexus and backed out of the parking space to hit the Interstate.
But hadn't there been a red van parked at the rest stop? Now that she thought about it, she could have sworn that there was. She could picture it now: him sit ting at the rest stop, carefully but unobtrusively watching as tourists came and went, waiting for just the right people to come along. And then she and Brad had dropped in. How did Mr. Smith pick them? Did he overhear a scrap of conversation they might have had as they walked to the restrooms together? Some bits of information that told him everything he needed to know? Did that information-talking about their vacation plans this long weekend-give him what he needed to know to convince himself that he would have at least two days to do what he needed to do before any alarm was raised about her disappearance?
The feeling of dread settled in her belly further. Now she was more terrified than before. The story he'd told the officer was bullshit. The thought of actually feeding her to this guy he called the Animal for a snuff film, all for the satisfaction of a faceless group of perverts, was more frightening the more she thought about it. He didn't appear to be bothered by the fact that he was playing a key role in her murder. He didn't seem to care when she told him she was pregnant. All he had been concerned about was the money he was being paid.
There was no question about it. She had to get out of here at any cost. She would run through the woods naked if she had to. She didn't care. What mattered more than anything was getting out alive. She didn't have just herself to think about anymore-the life of her unborn baby was at stake.
A thought suddenly came to her as she remembered being knocked out by Mr. Smith: Did the chloroform he gave me yesterday… did that hurt the baby?
Oh God, please no, please let my baby be all right!
The sound of Mr. Smith working outside became background noise as she sat on the bed and thought about what to do. When Mr. Smith left later today, she was going to have to do some roaming around the room to see if she could find something to help her escape with. She inspected the bed she was sitting on. Maybe she could take a piece off of it, use it to batter down the boards he had nailed over the window Surely if she was able to do that and wriggle out the window she wouldn't get very far because she was chained up, but if she stood outside and yelled long enough, wouldn't somebody hear her? Even if the closest cabin was a mile away, surely somebody would hear her during the day and-
"Hey, Tim? Jeff? Anybody here?"
Lisa's heart froze. For a moment she thought it was Mr. Smith, but then she heard the sound of nails being hammered into the wood outside the room. Mr. Smith was still outside boarding up the window. Which meant that-
Footsteps clumped from the back of the cabin and grew loser. "I was wondering when you would be coming back up. I saw your van and-" It was a woman's voice, and now Lisa looked up just in time to see her stop in the middle of the living room, silhouetted against the rays of the sun that streamed in through the halfboarded-up window. The woman looked like she might have stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. She was tall, with dark hair that fell to her shoulders. She had high cheekbones and a sharp nose, with full lips and dark eyes. Now those lips were open in a round 0 of surprise, her eyes wide with shock as she looked through the doorway at Lisa sitting naked on the bed, her ankles and wrists shackled together. "Oh my God!" she said.
Lisa was so stunned by the sudden intrusion that she didn't know what to do. Her brain was frozen. She thought the woman standing in front of her was an illu sion, a wishful thinking of her imagination. The woman took a step closer, her face still frozen in that Fcan't-be- lieve-I'm seeing-this expression, and said, "Are you okay? What the hell is-"
Mr. Smith suddenly appeared in the living room, grabbing the woman from behind, one arm locked around her throat in a chokehold, the other around her waist. The woman struggled, her eyes going wider, and Lisa watched as Mr. Smith tried to wrestle the woman to the ground. The woman tried to scream, but all that came out were muffled, strangled sounds of fear and anguish. Lisa watched, her stomach in a tight ball.
For a minute it looked like the woman had a fighting chance. She had a good six inches on Mr. Smith, and she used her height to its full advantage, throwing herself around, trying to offset the balance and throw him to the ground. But Mr. Smith managed to knee her in the kidneys and the woman went down with a muffled woof of pain, and then he had her. He brought her to the ground and, planting his knee on her back, he held her down. "Goddamnit, why did you have to barge in like that? Oh goddamn, goddamn…"
The woman had been stunned by the blow to her lower back, and tears welled up in her eyes. Mr. Smith hit her again, and the woman screamed and curled
up into a ball. The sound of the scream curdled Lisa's blood. She drew herself up on the bed in a protective gesture, not even aware she was whimpering.
Mr. Smith stood up, looking anguished as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Oh Christ, this is a mess. Shit!" He turned to the remaining chains on the floor, and Lisa watched as he trussed the woman up with them. "Debbie, why the fuck did you have to barge in like that, huh? Why the fuck did you have to stick your nose in my fucking business?" He repeated similar mantras as he trussed her up. By the time he was finished, the pain from the two blows to Debbie's kidneys seemed to have subsided. Now all Debbie did was sob loudly. She didn't resemble the woman who had stumbled into the cabin a few minutes before. Mr. Smith had reduced her to a quivering, blubbering thing.
Mr. Smith tested her bonds. "Shit!" He turned and clomped outside. Lisa watched, breath held as she heard him rummaging around in his van. Then he returned a moment later with some rope. Mr. Smith tied Debbie up with the rope, trussing her up more securely than he had with the chain. When he was finished, he stood up and surveyed his handiwork. Debbie lay on the floor, arms tied behind her back, wrists tied together, her legs and ankles lashed together. No way was she going anywhere. "I'm sorry I have to do this, Debbie," Mr. Smith said. He looked around nervously. "You up here alone? Did Neal come with you?"
Debbie only cried.
"Fuck!" Mr. Smith stomped outside. Lisa heard him get into his van and start it. He backed it down the driveway and sped down the road.
Lisa waited, her stomach doing slow flips in her belly. If Neal was up here as well, he might be her chance to escape. That is, unless Mr. Smith didn't kill him first.
The wait for Mr. Smith to come back was torturous. Debbie cried the whole time, and shortly before Mr. Smith returned, her crying slowed down to trickles. Her eyes were puffy, and they glanced around the room, wide-eyed with terror. Lisa looked down at her. "What's your last name?"
"Martinez," Debbie said, hiccupping. 'Who are you?'
"Lisa Miller. Is Neal up here with you?"
"No" Debbie's face screwed up and she began sobbing again, heart-wrenching cries that tugged at Lisa's gut.
Mr. Smith stomped back in. He looked somewhat relieved to find Neal not at the cabin. "Is Neal coming up this weekend?" he asked the crying woman on the floor.
Debbie shook her head, trying to calm her crying down. "No… please don't hurt me!"
"I'm not going to hurt you' Mr. Smith was agitated. He bobbed back and forth on unsteady legs. "When is Neal coming up?"
"/ don't know!" Debbie cried.
"Shit" Mr. Smith ran his hand through his hair again. He looked at Lisa, then turned away and headed back outside. A minute later, he resumed his work at the window
Lisa sat on the mattress, her mind racing. Surely, whoever Neal was, he would grow worried when Debbie didn't come back, or when he couldn't reach her at her cabin. Debbie was most likely a neighbor and was acquainted with whoever Tim and Jeff were well enough to feel relaxed around them (Was Mr. Smith, Tim? Or was he Jeff7). If Neal wasn't around this weekend, how long would it take him to get worried and try looking for her?
Would he think of looking for her at Mr. Smith's cabin?
And if he did, would Mr. Smith-or worse yet, would the Animal-be here to kill him?
Lisa couldn't think of that now. To do so would be courting defeat. Neal was her only hope. Debbie lay on the floor, her crying trickled down to sniffles, and now the darkness in the room was like a permanent thing. Mr. Smith finished boarding up the window.
He trumped back inside the cabin. He looked in at the two women, his eyes darting to Debbie, then to Lisa. "I'm leaving, but I'll bring you some food. Are sandwiches okay?"
'Yeah."
"Okay." Mr. Smith disappeared, and a moment later she heard him in the kitchen.
Lisa looked down at Debbie. "Crying only wastes your energy," she said in a whisper. "We're going to need all the energy we can get, girlfriend. You better believe it if you want to get out of this."
Debbie lay on the floor, her eyes wide and staring. "Why is he doing this?"
"I'll tell you later," Lisa said. She turned away from Debbie and waited on the bed for Mr. Smith to return. Several times Debbie whispered up to ask her what was going on-why had Tim tied her up like this? Why did he attack her and tie her up? — but Lisa didn't answer her. "I'll tell you later," was all she said. "When he leaves." And then Tim-Mr. Smith to Lisa-was back with four sandwiches, a bag of potato chips, four bottles of Evian water, and several pieces of fruit. And then he was gone.
When the sound of the van's engine receded in the distance, Debbie asked Lisa again. Lisa looked down at the woman. "How well do you know Tim? And what's his last name?"
Debbie opened her mouth, dosed it. "His last name is Murray. I… I don't know him that well, I guess. I mean, we're neighbors, I see him and his friend Jeff and their other friends up here every so often, but-"
"Listen to me very carefully," Lisa said. "And try not to freak out. I know that will be hard to do. It took all of my willpower to not collapse, and if we're going to get out of this we're going to have to work together. You and me. Okay?"
Debbie nodded, her face stony. And then Lisa shuffled closer to Debbie and told her, and Debbie did freak out.
Nine
"You people are a real piece of work, do you know that?"
"Ma'am, we're doing everything we can. Now, if you'll please-"
"Please nothing. My daughter-in-law is missing, and you not only refuse to believe that, but you've been holding my son now for two days without a legitimate cause for-"
"Ma'am, we've been through this before." The officer on the other side of the desk was trying hard to remain calm, but was clearly becoming agitated the more Joan Miller kept arguing with him. "There's nothing we can do until Monday morning when Brad is arraigned. I know Officer Lansing has been helping you and your husband through this, but-"
'Tbat's enough, Officer," Frank Miller said. He grasped his wife's elbow firmly, pulling her away from the reception desk. "Come on, Joan."
"But-" Joan looked torn between wanting to leap over the desk and throttle the officer and breaking down in tears.
"It's okay. They're doing everything they can. All we can do is wait." Frank looked like he had aged ten years in the past twenty-four hours.
"Wait for what?" Joan's voice was full of anguish. The tone of it caused several people in the lobby of the sheriff's station to turn their way. "For that scum Caleb Smith to-"
"Enough!" Frank grasped his wife more firmly and led her away from the reception desk and got her outside.
Once outside, Joan turned on her husband. "Goddamn it, FYank, don't you dare do that to me again!"
"You listen to me," Frank said, holding his ground firmly. He grasped his wife's shoulders, his eyes boring into hers. "The facts are, these people are doing everything they can already. To release Brad from custody would not only be a violation of California law, it would get them in a hell of a lot of trouble. Like it or not, there's legal protocols they have to follow. As for the accusations against Caleb Smith-"
"Accusations my ass! That bastard has done something with Lisa! Don't you see it?" Joan's voice practically screeched. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep.
It was late Sunday afternoon, over a day and a half since arriving to keep Lisa company for the weekend while they tried to get Brad out of jail. In that time the situation had grown from bad to worse. The sketch of Caleb Smith had been put over the wire and so far there had been no word. The police were searching for the van and it hadn't turned up. Their lawyer friend, Billy Grecko, had called at the hotel room this morning, and when confronted with Lisa's disappearance told them he was going to put in a call to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He knew an agent there whom he was on good standing with, and he was sure he could convince him to get a missing-persons investigation started, at least give the Ventura County Sheriff a good kick in
the ass to get going quicker. Meanwhile, Brad was still sitting in a cell, getting by with little sleep and food. The more the hours passed with no word on Lisa, the more frantic he was becoming behind bars.
"They are accusations right now,' Frank said, his voice firm. "Mind you, I have just as strong a feeling as you have that he has something to do with all this. The only thing we have going for us right now is the fact that this Caleb Smith guy doesn't appear to be who he is. If it wasn't for that… if they had actually found him and discovered he has a strong alibi, we wouldn't have a leg to stand on.'
Joan was crying now. She sank into her husband's arms and he held her, paying no heed to those who were coming in and out of the sheriff's station casting them curious looks. Joan hadn't cried. like this in years-hell, Frank had never seen her cry like this before. He just hoped his strength didn't sap away nearly as fast as hers did. He was now the rock that held them together.
"Why is this happening to us?" Joan sobbed against Frank's chest. "Why?"
"I don't know, honey," Frank murmured, holding his wife close. "I don't know."
They remained that way for a while, and Joan calmed down. Finally, she broke away from him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "Look at me. Blubbering like an idiot."
"It's okay. You needed that cry. It's been long overdue."
Joan looked at her husband; she looked lost. "I'm sorry. I've been trying to hold it all together. It's just.. " She threw up her hands in despair.
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