Shackled

by Ray Garton

  Once they were in his office, Rex closed the door behind them and went to his desk. He swept up a magazine from the desktop and handed it to Lacey.

  Showing little interest, she took it from him and stared down at the cover. Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't quite sure, at first, what she was staring at, but it became clear soon enough.

  She was on the cover, Lacey ... who was identified, of course, as Crystal. She'd come to hate the name, along with everything and everyone else ... but as she stared at herself on the cover of Visions, it didn't bother her so much.

  On the cover, she was curled up against a white background, as if she were floating in the air. Her hip was cocked and one knee was bent upward as she lay on her right side, both legs in black-net stockings attached to a garter belt. And wrapped around her body, strategically hiding all the parts that would not be acceptable on a cover, was a long, fat, black-feather boa. Her hair fell over her shoulders in thick, full waves, and her face looked into the camera with just the slightest of smiles, her eyes filled with seductive promise.

  To the left of her, just beside her head, were the bold words "NEW CELESTIAL BODY DISCOVERED: CRYSTAL!”

  A part of her felt like groaning and rolling her eyes ... but she could not take her eyes off the image of herself on the cover of Visions magazine.

  That's me, she thought, again and again and again.

  She'd always wanted to be famous. Even when she was a little kid. But then ... who didn't?

  "Well," Rex said, sitting on the edge of his desk, "do you like it?"

  She looked up from the magazine slowly. "It's, um ... well, yes, I ... I just haven't, um, gotten used to it yet, I guess."

  "Look inside," he said. "You're in the middle. The centerfold."

  "Oh, god," she breathed as she opened the magazine and fanned through the pages, her eyes wide. She'd been told it was coming — not very long ago, in fact — but now it was here and it made her a little dizzy. Was she really going to be out there on newsstands, in convenience stores and bookstores where anyone at all could see her ... naked? Were adolescent boys and lonely men really going to be masturbating ... while they looked at her?

  Suddenly there she was, lying in every possible stage of undress on the pages that lay open between her hands. Lacey was so shocked that she didn't even realize that her mouth had dropped open.

  There she was lying on the grass ... there she was on silk sheets ... and again walking naked among bright roses. There were others, too, many others ... but then there was the centerfold. She opened it and gasped quietly.

  Three full pages made up of nothing but ... her.

  When she looked over at Rex, he was grinning. A few beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and temples.

  "Are you proud, Crystal?" he muttered.

  "Yeah, it's ... it's great, Rex. When do they, um ... well, I mean, when does the magazine — "

  "It's already shipped. Hits the stands this week. In fact, we had our ad people do some fast tap-dancing, and you know what? We've got you on bus shelters, on the sides of buses ... even on a billboard on Sunset Boulevard. It's small because it was the only one we could get at such short notice."

  He came toward her with both hands held out, and for a moment she thought he was going to embrace her. Instead, as he grinned, he covered her breasts with his hands and squeezed them, making a moist sound in his throat.

  Through clenched teeth, he mumbled wetly, "We're gonna make you big, baby. Big. You're gonna be a star. Just like I promised. Everybody's gonna know your name."

  For a while, Lacey thought after a moment, staring directly into his watery eyes. At least until you find the next girl you want to make a centerfold and a star.

  Rex's grin melted away, leaving only one corner of his mouth curled slightly upward. "Well? What do you think? You sure as hell don't look happy or proud."

  "Well, I, um ... like it. I do. Really."

  Then, even that slight curl of his mouth disappeared. "Don't you realize that this puts you in the running for the Vision of the Year? Don't you know how many young women would kill to be in your position?"

  "I am proud, Rex," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "I think it's beautiful."

  "Your mouth says that ... but your face doesn't."

  "Rex, look, I'm ... I guess maybe I'm tired. That's all." She tried to smile. "I love it. Really, I do. And the ads? I think that's great. I'd love to see them."

  "You would, huh?" His lips were bunched together in a crooked, wrinkled snarl. He squeezed her breasts tightly, painfully.

  "Yes! And the competition? That's really ... well, I-I'm really excited. I am!"

  "You are." His face remained dark and he pulled his hands away from her breasts.

  "Rex ... how could I not be? She kept the smile, widened it, reached out, and stroked his shoulder.

  "I'm going to make you a star, you know."

  "Yes, yes, that's why I'm so excited!”

  "You're ... excited," he muttered, with a skeptical growl in his voice. "Well ... like I said ... I'll make you a star ... but you'll have to learn to appreciate it. Go to that bureau," he said, pointing.

  She turned away from him and went to the bureau, then turned to him again, waiting for instructions. "Open the second drawer." She pulled it open without hesitation, then waited.

  He said nothing.

  "Well? Now what?" she asked.

  "Now ... take out one of the socks ...”

  Now, in the room where, a few moments before, her eyebrows were being plucked, he lay beside her, panting and sweaty. He rolled toward her, pressed his face close to hers, and clutched the side of her head with one hand, hard, holding her there so she couldn't move her face away. She felt his hot breath on her face when he spoke.

  "Are you ready for the party?" he mumbled wetly.

  "Yes, of course."

  "You know what to do? What to say?"

  "Yes. Everything that you've told me to do and say. Time and time again."

  He smiled a little, saliva gathered at each corner of his mouth. "Who are you?"

  "Crystal Daniere."

  "How old are you?"

  "Twenty."

  "Where are you from?"

  "Chicago, Illinois."

  "What were you doing there?"

  "Pursuing a career in modeling."

  "How did you get in Visions?"

  "A talent scout found me. Terry Billens."

  "How do you feel about appearing naked in a national magazine?"

  "I'm proud of my body. I think the human body is a beautiful thing and no one should be ashamed of it."

  He released his grip on the side of her head and patted her cheek gently. "Good, good. You know, everyone will be here tonight. All the press — TV, papers, magazines. Entertainment Tonight, A Current Affair, People — you name it. They will be here. You have to remember that. You have to do everything right ... say everything right. No mention of your real name. Your real past is gone. You are now Crystal Daniere. No one else ... nothing else. And remember what will happen if you fuck up."

  She nodded, slowly at first, then with more conviction.

  "You're going to look beautiful, Crystal," Rex muttered, smiling, showing his teeth. "Absolutely beautiful; They will all love you. And so will I. As long ... as you do ... everything ... right.”

  After a long moment, she whispered, "Of course I will. I mean ... who doesn't want to be famous?"

  5

  In the blackness of a very thick sleep, Coll kept hearing Deanna's voice. As the blackness began to fall away, however, he realized that the voice did not fade.

  Pain throbbed in his head; it felt as if his temples were bulging with each agonizing pulsation. He opened his eyes and blinked several times, looking around blearily.

  He was lying on a bed, naked, staring at a ceiling, with walls on each side. A small room. Filled With red light. Like blood that had been spilled everywhere. He lifted his pounding head cautiously and looked around. There were
two doors in the room, one directly in front of him, the other to his right. There was a wooden straight-backed chair to the left of the bed and a small wooden table about the size of a TV tray beside it.

  Coll was not alone. There was a blurry figure standing beside him to his left.

  "Coll? Coll, please wake up. Please!"

  It was Deanna's voice, but ... how could that be possible?

  He thought hard and fast, going backward, trying to remember everything, and the last thing he could remember was ... being with Bent in that trailer, fighting away the black-robed people who had been chasing them through the desert.

  That seemed to make waking up a bit easier and he jerked his head back and forth, trying to shake away the murk, muttering, "Holy shit."

  "You're awake! Thank god! Please, Coll, get up! Talk to me! Help me! We're in trouble!"

  Coll tried to sit up, but the headache worsened and he became dizzy. The best he could do — and only with great effort, wincing at the knives inside his skull — was to prop himself up on his elbows.

  And there she was.

  "De ... anna?" he croaked, squinting at her through his pain. "Zatyou?"

  "Yes, Coll! Please, please get up!" she hissed.

  "What ... are you ... doing here?"

  "We're in trouble, Coll! They're going to kill us! Both of us! And your friend Bent, too! Unless you do what they want! Now, now ...” She took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. "Please get up and talk to me, Coll."

  She was naked, her usually full auburn hair stringy now, as if sweaty or greasy. She stared down at him with more intensity than he'd seen in her face ... how long? She looked anxious, rushed, even a bit angry, as if Coll had done something wrong again, screwed up, given in to his faulty personality.

  Coll stared at her, groaning from the relentless pain in his head. "Zat ... really you ... Deanna?"

  "Yes, Coll, it is, now please get up and talk to me! They're going to kill all three of us if you don't tell them what they want to know!"

  Nothing made sense to Coll. The only thing he understood completely was the pain, that damned pain. He managed to sit up, very slowly, on the side of the bed, holding his head between his hands. After a moment, he lowered his left hand and turned toward her.

  How could she be here? And ... where was here?

  "Where's ... Bent?" he asked, wincing.

  She sounded at once breathless and impatient when she said, "He's with them now. They'll be here before long, but right now, they're trying to get him to talk."

  "Talk? And say what?" His voice was suddenly clearer; faint alarms were going off inside him, warning of danger.

  "What you've been doing. And why. And who you've told."

  "Do ... doing?"

  He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes and battled the pounding in his head in order to think.

  He'd been with Bent ... helping with an assignment ... a little boy ... the black minister ... and ... yes, the Satanists. He lifted his head suddenly and stood, turning to Deanna.

  "Who are they? These people?"

  "I thought you knew," she said, sounding rather panicky all of a sudden. "They kidnapped me! I don't know who they are! Coll, what's going on? Why are they doing this?"

  He took a stumbling step, feeling dizzy. "They want to know ... what we're doing and ... who we've told?" he asked, thinking, Then Bent must have been more right than any of us suspected.

  "Well, what are you doing, Coll?" she asked, her voice breathy. "And why? And who have you told about it? What's going on?"

  He swayed a bit as he stood there looking at her, trying to bring her blurred face into focus, trying to make some sense of her questions, of everything. Dizziness fell over him in a wave then and the red-lit room began to spin and tilt like a carnival ride out of control. He saw the floor rushing at him, as if to attack ...

  ... then everything went black ...

  6

  They found the trailer out in the desert beside the small gas station with no trouble at all. Bent's directions had been very clear. They arrived late in the afternoon as shadows began to crawl across the flat, dusty ground.

  But as Ed pulled the Sundance off the road and slowed to a stop in front of the trailer, Ethan found the deadly stillness of their surroundings a bit disturbing. Everything appeared to be completely deserted. There was a battered pickup parked at one end of the trailer, but no other vehicles near the gas station and store, unless someone had parked in back.

  As the three men got out of the car and closed the doors, Ed said, "Well, looks like nobody's home, huh?"

  "It's hot," Ethan said. "Maybe they're inside sitting in front of fans, or something." As he headed for the trailer, he thought, But Bent said they had no electricity. A few feet from the trailer's door, he stopped, trying to ignore the heavy feeling inside him, like a brick that had been dropped down his throat. "Well, I, uh ... guess we should knock."

  Doc walked ahead of him, that long black ponytail swaying gently over his back. He leaned forward to look at the metal step below the door. He looked at Ed, gestured with a nod, and Ed joined him, hunched over the dirty, crooked step. Doc pointed vaguely at something, muttering, and Ed nodded slightly.

  "What's wrong?" Ethan asked, hurrying toward them. "What are you doing?"

  Ed stood and faced him, smirking, his square jaw jutting just a bit. "Blood on the step. Just a little." He looked down again, hands on his hips. "But it looks like it's been here for a while. All hardened and dry, you know? Take a look, Padre."

  Frowning, Ethan leaned forward and looked closely at the corrugated metal step. There were several tiny lumps of dry, reddish-brown substance with smooth, rounded surfaces ... little droplets of dried blood.

  Ethan swallowed hard as his mouth became dry and stood to face Ed. When Ethan spoke, his voice quavered slightly and his words sounded hollow. "Maybe one of them had a cut, or a nosebleed, or maybe — "

  "Look, Padre, we're just here to point this stuff out to you. You don't have to come up with any explanations for us." He smiled and showed his white teeth, eyes squinting against the sun. "Now, why don't we knock on that door and see if there's anybody inside who can maybe tell us where that blood really came from."

  "Yuh-yes. Um, yes, I'll do that." Ethan leaned forward and knocked on the door, not wanting to put his foot on the step. He moved back, and they waited.

  There was no sound inside the trailer. No movement, no muffled voices. Nothing.

  Ethan moved forward to knock again when he heard a clattering sound some distance to his right. He stopped and turned to see a tall, lanky man coming out of the small store and walking toward them slowly, his long arms swaying lazily at his side. His hair looked dirty, a bunch of keys hung from his pants, and he wore a filthy T-shirt beneath a denim jacket. That struck Ethan as odd, the jacket. The desert heat was stifling.

  "What can I do ya for?" the man called, long before he reached them.

  "Right jacket pocket," Ed muttered to Doc, and Ethan saw Doc nod his head almost imperceptibly.

  Ethan frowned and sucked his lips between his teeth, suddenly feeling very tense. Right jacket pocket? he thought. What does that mean?

  Then he noticed that the right pocket of the man's denim jacket bulged and the jacket was being pulled to the right by the apparent weight of the bulge.

  Ed turned to him with a smile and said very quietly, "You just hang back now, okay? We'll take care of this." He and Doc moved forward to meet the stranger. Ed's hand was outstretched to shake as he said genially, "Hey, buddy, maybe you can help us." He and the stranger shook hands, but the lanky man was reluctant, cautious, his expression stern. "We're lookin' for the people who live in that trailer right there. You know where they might be? When they might be back?"

  "Oh, them folks left a while back. I don't know, maybe a week ago. Maybe longer. See, this is all my property here. I let 'em live there, but they was hard up for money, so they sold me their pickup, trailer, and everything i
n it. And, hell — " The man chuckled. " — that truck ain't worth shit. Dead as Kennedy. Trailer ain't much good, neither. But they needed the money."

  "So where'd they go?" Ed asked, putting his hands on his hips again.

  "Far as I know, they used the money to catch a bus. Went up north, I think. Don't know where, though. What'd you need from 'em?" the man asked with a crooked smile, the hardness in his face melting away for a moment.

  Ed said, "Your gun."

  The man's smile dropped away as he asked, "What the hell you think you're — "

  Suddenly Doc shot forward and gave the man a backhanded slap, then drove an elbow into his chest, knocking him to the ground. The man spun around as he fell, landed facedown with a loud grunt, and both men were on him in a heartbeat.

  Ed jerked the man's hands behind his back, slapping the wrists together. Meanwhile, Doc removed from his back pocket a long, narrow strip of white plastic — like the ties used to close garbage bags — wrapped it around the man's wrists in a figure 8, then joined the two ends and jerked; the strip made a loud, zipper like sound. While Doc was binding the man's wrists, Ed was groping in the right pocket of his denim jacket. He removed a dark compact pistol as Doc flipped him over hard on his back.

  On one knee, Ed pressed the gun to the man's tightly closed mouth and said, "A SIG-230. Pretty damned spendy for a gas-jockey, don'tcha think, buddy?"

  Ethan felt sick and rushed toward them, calling, "No, don't hurt him! Please, don’t!" Ethan stood over them, breathless and frightened.

  Ed looked up at him with a smile that closely resembled a snarl. "Listen, Padre, we're doin' what we were sent here to do, okay? So, if you don't mind my sayin' ... back off." he roared, his voice hitting Ethan like a fist in the stomach.

  Ethan took a step back, looking down at the three of them with a sick expression on his face.

  "Now, fella," Ed growled quietly at the man, "since you've got yourself a gun like this here, then you've probably got a pretty good idea what's gonna happen if I pull this trigger right now, don'tcha?"