Survivor

by J. F. Gonzalez

  "And you're safe," Billy soothed. "Just stay where you are. We're gonna get them. How's Lisa doing?"

  Brad looked out the bathroom door, the sound of the television welling in the background. "Not so good. She's… she's all… she…" Brad's voice was shaky. "She needs help, Billy. She's so… so depressed and so… she's just so down that I'm afraid for her sanity. I think she's suicidal. She needs help."

  "We're gonna get her help, buddy," Billy said. "Don't worry about that!

  "No, I mean she needs help now." Brad gripped the receiver, trying to control his emotions. He described Lisa's outburst this morning, how she wished it had been her who had been killed instead of Mandy and Alicia. How the thought of what Jeff had probably done to that baby tore her up inside, how she wished she were dead because of her actions. He described the pain he felt as he watched his wife punch herself in the face repeatedly, punishing herself. "She's really, really in a deep state of depression, Billy," Brad said, and now his voice did crack. "She's been sleeping all day, and now she just sits in front of the TV like a goddamned vegetable. She looks like she's in shock or something. She won't talk and I… I'm trying to give her space to work it out, but… I'm afraid its gone beyond that. I really think she needs to be in a hospital"

  %et me make some calls," William said,"and if I can get her in somewhere nearby I'll have her admitted. Okay?"

  Brad nodded, fighting the tears streaming down his face. "O-kay, Billy. 'ITS-thanks"

  And hang tight; Billy said. "We're doing everything we can. We're gonna find these guys.'

  "Okay, Billy."

  "I'll call you later if I can get Lisa into a hospital somewhere, okay? In the meantime, stay put. You need anything, you let John know."

  When Brad hung up he sat on the toilet seat for a moment, still fighting back the tears. Then he stood up and carried the phone back into the room. Lisa was still sitting up in bed, staring at theTV, her eyes glazed over. He set the telephone on the nightstand, looked at his wife. "I love you, Lisa."

  Lisa stared at the TV; it was as if she had never heard him.

  And then Brad did break down and he sank to his knees, arms cradling his head as he slumped against the bed, and he cried heart-wrenching sobs at Lisa's feet. Lisa stared at the TV in a daze, watching as Jerry Springer encouraged familial violence to take place on his show.

  Sunsets in the deserts were beautiful.

  Tim Murray had just reached a crest in the hill he was hiking, and he paused to watch the sky turn red on his way back to where he had parked his SW, which he had gotten at the scrap-metal yard the night they disposed of Al, where it had been marked for destruction. A light breeze ruffled his hair, now cut closer to his scalp. He had shaved his beard off last night, revealing a face that was slightly cherubic, with pinkish skin. He had also changed eyeglass styles, wearing a pair of wire-rims that helped accent his face. He looked like a very different man from the one who had kidnapped Lisa Miller two weeks ago.

  The SUV was another quarter of a mile south along a remote trail. There was still enough sunlight left in the day to get him back to the vehicle. Then it was a trip back to Las Vegas and the motel he was staying in for the night near Circus Circus, on the other end of the strip. All his equipment was back at the room, behind locked doors. He wouldn't need much for the job tomorrow. Just one camcorder and that was it. No lights, no boom mikes, not even any plastic tarp to roll away the body and catch the flying blood.

  The weather forecast for tomorrow afternoon was calling for a storm.

  'Iim Murray grinned. Today's late-afternoon drive had been a scouting expedition. When he had gotten the call early this morning to get his ass to Las Vegas and prepare for filming, he knew he had to do some fast thinking. Rick Shectman had warned him that if he blew this one that he would end up worse than Al. Tim believed himhell, he'd seen what Animal had done to Al, and knew the sadist wouldn't care about doing the same to himbut he wasn't afraid. He was confident in his abilities; he knew that the desert outside of Las Vegas was the perfect stage for a snuff film, and it was just a matter of doing some exploring to find the right remote spot. The weather report only boosted his confidence. Not only was rain expected, but wind as well. It could very well turn into a sandstorm. What better way to fuck up DNA evidence and scatter a body?

  Tim laughed. He looked back down at the boulders, where he decided they should film tomorrow. He had found this spot twelve miles away from a secondary road; the dirt trail had led northeast, and there had been no signs of civilization. When Tim had seen the small rise he had pulled over and begun the hike, telling himself he would only go out for a mile or so. A quarter of a mile in, he had come upon the little canyon. Away from prying eyes. Tomorrow they wouldn't have to hike this far back-they could bring her here in the SUV The storm would erase tire tracks, too. Ha

  Tim Murray clambered down the rocks, heading back down to the desert floor. He didn't think Rick suspected that he was planning on leaving the business. Tim had made the decision last night after his meeting with the producer and hearing his indifference to the fact that he'd produced a film in which Animal had murdered an infant and was thinking of using the sadist to indulge in similar atrocities for the pedophile underworld he'd sold the film to. Tim knew from experience it would only get worse. 1 wenty years ago, producing a snuff film was something he thought he'd never be involved in. Sure, he'd heard the rumors before. When you worked in underground pornography you heard the stories, but you never saw the actual product. Then, fifteen years ago, he'd actually seen his first one, at a private party. It had been old, an 8 MM reel shot in Mexico. Not too long after that, the party's host had asked Rick Shectman if he could make him one, and Rick had agreed and asked Tim for his assistance. And being that Tim knew so many people nobody would care about if they went missing, and because the money dangled in front of him was too good to pass up, he'd said yes.

  But f never agreed to kill innocent babies, he thought as he trudged through the desert, the warm wind blowing at his back. Junkie fuckups that cause nothing but trouble to society are one thing… babies are another. That was something people like Rick Shectman didn't understand. And that was why Tim Murray wanted no part of it. Maybe I'm getting too old for this shit, he thought. Fuck, twenty years ago you couldn't find anal scenes in mainstream porn, and now it's a mainstay. Nowadays people are paying to watch videos of chicks throwing up. People are getting more bizarre in their fetishes. And the underground is getting more hardcore. That first snuff film he'd seen had merely shown a woman being raped and strangled by two men on camera, their faces hidden by masks. Violent, yes, but not perversely so. Now Rick wasn't satisfied with a snuff film unless Animal sadistically tortured the person. Now the bar was being raised even higher by using chicks that looked like models, by using babies and children, and the fact that Rick was entertaining the thought of having Animal do a necrophilia or cannibalism film. Tim wanted no part of it. After this job was over, he was finished.

  The rays of the dying sun beat upon the back of Tim's neck. As he reached the desert floor, he heard the light churr of rattlesnakes rattling their tails, agitated that he was nearby. Tim stepped carefully down the path he had taken, being careful not to step near rocks or plants or gopher holes. They wouldn't have to worry about wildlife tomorrow afternoon in the heat of the day. It would just be the three of them: he, Animal, and Lisa.

  He still didn't know how they were going to get Lisa out here. Rick had told him he was working on that now, but to stay by the phone in his room; there was a good possibility his services might still be needed in assisting in the actual abduction. All Rick had asked of him in his original phone call was to make sure Animal was in Las Vegas by tomorrow morning. 'Choose a location, then have Jeff picked up at the airport tomorrow morning at eight. When you've picked out the location, call me. Make sure you and Animal are ready.' Tim had assured Rick that he wouldn't let him down.

  Tim was glad he wouldn't have to worry too much about abducti
ng the bitch this time. Rick didn't elaborate, but Tim guessed he was relying on his contacts on the East Coast to fly somebody in to assist in the actual abduction. How they were going to do it Mm didn't know, but it was out of his hands. He had one job, and one job only. Running the camera.

  And by tomorrow evening at this time they would have it. On film.

  And if the weather held up, everything elseincluding what was left of Lisa Miller after Animal was finished with her-would be washed away. By the following day, Tim would have his money, including his share of the bonus Rick had gotten out of the pedophilia group in the Pacific Northwest who had paid for the footage of the baby, and then he would begin thinking about his next plan.

  First item on the agenda: Completely disappear. Change his identity.

  Then, when he felt safe and set up in a location nobody in the business would even think of looking for him, start thinking of a way to snare Rick Shectman and Animal under the cross-hairs of the federal authorities.

  He could do it. He was pretty confident that if the cops could get to Rick, surprise him somehow, they would have all the evidence they needed in Shectman's records. They could find the clients who had bought the baby snuff film, and sweeping arrests would be made. Tim would make a deal-he'd spill the beans on the whole operation in exchange for total immunity from prosecution and witness protection.

  But he'd only do it if he was one hundred percent confident he could get such a deal. He'd do some sniffing around first under his new identity. If it appeared that he couldn't make such a deal, he'd find another way to expose the group. Make an anonymous call or something. Maybe in the next day or so, if he was able to, he would get close enough to Rick Shectman's office to get the information he needed. He knew that was next to impossible-Shectman was extremely secretive about his clients, and rumor was he had the backing of the Russian mafia to protect him-but it was worth a try. He had to do something to stop the memories of the screaming going on in his head.

  The wailing screams of pain that sounded so much like the wails of an infant…

  … or a rabbit…

  Tim Murray took a deep breath. He felt a little better about himself now that he had made up his mind to expose the group. He thought about this as he walked back to the SUV Tomorrow was going to be a good day; he was going to go through the job, do it good to win back Rick Shectman's confidence in him, and then he was going to return to Los Angeles to get ready for the next step. He was looking forward to it.

  Twenty-six

  Morning.

  Brad sat on a chair at the desk, his back to the curtained window. Lisa was asleep, a snuggled form beneath the thick blankets. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, ever vigilant in monitoring her behavior and health. Every time her breath hitched just a little Brad would jump, wondering if she was in the throes of another nightmare. She had screamed herself awake three times last night, clawing at the air, scrambling to run away as if someone was chasing her, and each time she shot out of a dead sleep Brad would grab her, shake her out of her dream-state until she finally snapped out of it, looking around the room wide-eyed, uncomprehendingly, until she saw where she really was, that she really was safe, and then she would collapse into Brad's arms, crying fitful tears.

  For the past three hours, though, her sleep had been calm. Brad watched her as she slept, his own fatigue weighing heavily on him. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night at all-four hours tops maybe. Even then, what sleep he had gotten was in fits and starts. He had spent most of the evening pacing the floor of their room, watching mindless television programming with Lisa, trying to talk to her while she still sat unresponsive. He had ordered room-service dinners, had tried to get her to eat some soup, but the most she would do was look at it with disinterest. He had eaten the soup after he had finished his own food, then set the tray back outside their door.

  He had tried to talk to Lisa, but she wouldn't respond. He'd told her that everything was working out, that Billy told him the authorities were closing in on this Tim Murray character and that they should know by tomorrow morning if he was in custody. He also told her that he was going to get her help, they'd get through this together, do whatever it took. And then he would wait for some kind of reaction-anything-and be greeted with that same blank, unresponsive look.

  He tried to take solace in calling his parents. He gave them the latest news, expressing his anguish that Lisa wasn't getting any better. His mother informed him that they had found Lisa a good psychiatrist in California, that they had called him after talking with William Grecko, and that William was working on getting Lisa transferred to a maximum-security hospital for her own safety under this psychiatrist's care. "Billy thinks he can have her in by tomorrow evening," his mother had told him, and Brad felt a little better upon hearing that. His father was obviously still reeling from the shock of all that had happened in the past forty-eight hours and kept mostly silent, listening in on the extension, voicing his support and hopes that things concluded soon. Talking to both of them had made him feel a trifle better.

  He had called Lisa's parents and informed them of the latest, making special effort to let them know that they were close to not only catching the scumbags who had done this, but getting Lisa psychological care as well. Lisa's mother, Emily, had burst into tears when Brad tried to get Lisa to talk to her mother, Brad had heard Emily break down as he sat on the bed, trying to get Lisa to talk. Lisa's father, Dean, came on the line and asked Brad to call them tomorrow morning. "Even if nothing happens, just call" he'd said. Brad had agreed, and that had been the end of the phone calls for last night.

  Around eleven-thirty, Brad decided that Lisa had had enough TV and turned it off. He had skimmed down to his boxer shorts and slid into bed beside her. Lisa had still been sitting up in bed, her eyes still staring ahead of her at the blank TV Brad had gently taken her shoulders and said, "Come on, honey, let's try to get some sleep." Moving her to a lying position had been like moving a mannequin, and once he'd gotten her to lie down, Brad lay down himself. He'd faced her, noting her still-open eyes, her blank expression unmoved. Then the floodgates opened and he bawled. He cried and sobbed, reaching out blindly for Lisa, who didn't resist or react, and that made him cry harder. And as Brad cried, the frustrations and anger and sadness welling out of him, tapped from some deep well within his soul, he felt yet another pang of rage toward the men who had done this, and that had dried the well of his tears. That anger had kept him awake most of the night, lying in bed beside Lisa, both of them staring up at the ceiling; Brad feeling the twin emotions of rage and sorrow, Lisa trapped in her own private hell, battling her own demons.

  At some point, Brad must have gotten some sleep. He remembered coming to awareness and glancing at the clock on the nightstand and seeing that an hour or two had passed. On the third sense of wakefulness, he'd turned to check on Lisa and saw that she had drifted off to sleep finally. He'd watched her for a while then, lying on his side until he fell asleep for another hour and a half.

  He woke up again at six-thirty, then dosed his eyes, trying to fall back to sleep again. Sleep didn't come back, though, so he got up after thirty minutes. He took a peek outside; it was overcast but not yet stormy. The news report last night reported that Las Vegas was in for a torrential rainstorm that was expected to arrive this afternoon. Brad had slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, then sat in the chair by the bed, watching Lisa sleep.

  He glanced at the dock again. Seven thirty-five. He yawned. He wasn't going to get any more sleep, but maybe Lisa would. He hoped so. He mentally added up the numbers of when he figured Lisa might have fallen asleep, guessed that it had been around four-thirty or five. He hoped she slept in till at least one, and with that in mind he got to his feet, walked over to the desk, picked up the phone, and called room service.

  William Grecko had been in his Santa Ana office for only fifteen minutes when his private line rang. He picked up on the first ring. "Yeah?"

&
nbsp; "William? It's Detective Orr. How are you this morning?"

  "'that depends on what kind of news you've got for me," William said. He felt like shit. He'd cut himself shaving, and his head pounded from a hangover. The coffee in the percolator was still brewing, and his stomach churned. "What's up?"

  "You know that the surveillance photo of the suspect known as Jeff went out over the wires yesterday evening, right?-

  "Yeah. Anything yet?"

  'Nothing" Detective On sounded frustrated. He was the only investigator on the case who William felt was taking it seriously. "We got no ID yet. FBI has been checking their records, and so far nothing on that end, too. We're discussing putting the photo on the FBI Web site, maybe some other places"

  "And what's keeping you from doing it?" William felt his jaw clench.

  Detective On sighed, and William could sense what was coming instinctively. "Listen, we're hitting dead ends everywhere on this. Golgotha personnel have been questioned extensively, including all the board of directors. They're really pissed, and the Orange County Sheriff's Department is double-pissed. The Golgotha people are talking lawsuits, and so far we have nothing on them. No DNA evidence, no material witnesses, no nothing on this thing. You were at that cabin yesterday with us, William. You know there's not much else we can go on without-"

  "So what am I supposed to do?" William asked, his voice breaking. "How am I supposed to protect my client from-"

  "Listen, I'm sorry. But there's not much to go on except for Lisa Miller's word that she saw the Martinez woman being kidnapped and abused. We have no suspects, at least none we can name. We've turned up nothing in all the databases. We've-"

  "What about the FBI?" William said, feeling his head pound. He closed his eyes, trying to control himself and get past the pain. "I've read a lot of shit about snuff films the past few days, and everything keeps pointing to the FBI, that they've been investigating illegal pornography for years."