But one more downpour and the hills began to blush green beneath their yellowed summer coats. And then Christmas approached.
Good cheer rang through the air like Salvation Army bells, and fat Santas popped up everywhere. Yuletide aromas wafted from kitchens as families celebrated homecomings with splendid food, songs, presents, and all the special trappings of Christmas. And Janice and Cameron Hooker, like most people, spent Christmas with their families. They exchanged neatly wrapped packages that were soon torn open with excited cries and thanks. They shared sumptuous meals and good-humored banter and never let on that anything was amiss at 1140 Oak Street.
Meanwhile, Colleen spent another dark, cheerless day locked up in the basement. It’s depressing to spend Christmas alone, and Colleen’s could hardly have been more solitary. But to compound her loneliness, her birthday came with the holiday season, so this time of year had always been doubly special.
This year’s birthday should have been an extravagantly celebrated event, but on December 31, New Year’s Eve, Colleen spent a sad, lonely birthday in the box. She turned twenty-one.
The holidays did yield one surprise. Cameron gave Colleen a blue terrycloth nightgown. It was long and warm. She’d been complaining about being cold in the workshop during the night; now she had something to wear.
Soon it would be eight months since that spring day when Colleen Stan had unfortunately climbed into Cameron Hooker’s car to sit in the back seat next to that head box. No one can accurately say what those long months had done to her mental state. The human psyche is a malleable thing—it bends. And it can break. A few hours of simple isolation and sensory deprivation would be an ordeal; a day or two would be cruel; months is macabre, brutal beyond imagining. But more than an extreme solitary confinement, more than a living death in a box the size of a coffin, Colleen had suffered a netherworld of terror and pain. She had been subjected to recurrent whippings and hangings, as well as incidents of strangulation, dunking, burning, electrocution, and sexual molestation.
Now, after months of continual humiliation and abuse, whatever tenuous grasp on reality Colleen had left was about to be replaced by an elaborate and terrifying fiction.
Cameron Hooker had a vast collection of pornography, ranging from Playboy to hard-core S/M (sadomasochistic) and B&D (bondage and discipline) publications. Some of it impressed him so much that he felt compelled to take photographs of the photographs in the magazines. In any case, the magazines that he retrieved from the pulp plant at work and that he bought at various adult bookstores were more than simply entertainment—they were inspiration.
Cameron especially enjoyed one underground newspaper, Inside News, which he bought regularly. But however interesting its articles usually were, the January 1, 1978, edition was riveting. He looked at page six, and an idea hit him so hard it must have nearly made his ears ring. He read it over and over again, and then he showed it to Janice.
“They Sell Themselves Body and Soul When They Sign THE SLAVERY CONTRACT,” it was headlined, and not only did it detail the supposed hot trade in female flesh in the United States, it had a sample of the slavery contract. Could they get Colleen to believe this? Apparently, the possibility was exhilarating.
Hooker had to somehow duplicate the slavery contract, but this proved difficult. He tried photocopies, but they only looked like photocopies, and he wanted something that looked authentic. He tried lifting the print off the page, but that ruined the newspaper. He bought more copies. A convincing counterfeit was going to require some work and even a little cash, but, well, this was an investment.
* Finally, Cameron rented a typewriter and had Janice type the slavery contract. For the space designated “Master,” he instructed her to use an alias, Michael Powers, instead of his real name, on the line marked “Witness,” to use Janet Powers for herself. Then, with some stencils he had bought just for this purpose, he carefully reproduced the calligraphy at the top. And for a final touch he put a seal at the bottom of the page, an “S” with a cross through it. When it was done, he had an exemplary piece of work.
On the evening of January 25, 1978, Cameron Hooker came downstairs into the basement with high expectations. He opened the door of the workshop. Colleen was inside, without the blindfold and unrestrained, sitting in a chair.
For the first time since May, she saw the face of her abductor. It was a large face, with blunt features, wire-rim glasses framing sleepy-looking eyes, sideburns bracketing broad cheeks, and full lips that pursed in irritation. This face loomed over her. He seemed extraordinarily tall.
He gave her a clipboard with paper and pen and told her to practice writing her name. She didn’t understand why he wanted her to do this, but did as she was told. Then he handed her a newspaper article and told her to read it.
Colleen had read nothing in 251 days. Now she was confronted with a story about the buying and selling of women. She tried to focus on the words, trying to understand. . . .
With mounting horror, she read that “the S/M rage” had created a demand beyond common prostitution and had given rise to a new, more depraved trade. Even in the United States, it said, women are forced to sign contracts totally relinquishing control over their lives, their bodies, their souls. Sold into slavery, these women have no rights and no recourse; their owners can do with them whatever they wish. An underground brotherhood of slave traders, as large and well-oiled as the Mafia, not only controls this traffic in young flesh, but also enforces order, hunting down and punishing runaways.
By the time she reached the article’s end, Colleen was thoroughly shaken. That such evil commerce could exist in America was hard to accept, but here it was in print. And didn’t the picture of the woman, naked and bound, look all too much like what she’d suffered uncountable times? Hadn’t she been snatched from her ordinary life and suddenly deposited in a hell far removed from what she’d once believed to be the realm of possibility? Was it so difficult to believe that what had happened to her could happen to anyone?
Cameron interrupted her thoughts. “They know you’re here,” he said. Colleen was confused. Who? Did he mean the police? A quick beat of hope passed through her.
But Cameron explained that it was the Company who knew she was there. The Company: the organization described in the article, a network of slave traders who turned captive women into profit. And now that the Company knew he held Colleen Stan prisoner in his basement, he would have to register her.
Janice was standing next to him, a sheet of paper in hand, a knee brace and bandage on her leg. Cameron took the paper and handed it to Colleen, telling her that the Company would take her away unless she signed it. Alarmed, Colleen saw that she was holding a contract exactly like the one in the article, a slavery contract, with “This Indenture” written in heavy black ink across the top. Clasping the official-looking document, she tried to comprehend its arcane and legalistic language. It read:
THIS INDENTURE, Made the 25th day of January in the year of Our Lord One Thousand Nine Hundred and Seventy-Eight, BETWEEN Colleen Stan, hereafter known as Slave; AND Michael Powers, hereafter known as Master; WITNESSETH:
That Slave, for and in consideration and in humble appreciation of such care and attention as Master may choose to afford her, has given, granted, aliened, enfeoffed and conveyed, and by these Presents does give, grant, enfeoff and convey unto Master:
ALL of Slave’s body, and each and every part thereof without reservation, every bit of her will as to all matters and things, and the entirety of her Soul,
TOGETHER with, all and singular, every privilege, advantage and appurtenance to the same belonging or in anywise appertaining;
ALSO all the estate, right, title, interest, property, claims, ego and id of Slave in, of and to the same and in, of and to every part and parcel thereof;
TO HAVE AND TO HOLD, all and singular, the above-described body, will, Soul and premises, with all appurtenances thereof, unto Master and any of His assigns forever.
AND the
said Slave does covenant, promise and agree:
1. She shall immediately, diligently and enthusiastically comply with and submit her full being to any and all directions or desires of Master or His assigns which He or They may express by word, signal, action or any other means.
2. She shall at all times afford Master absolute respect, shall address Him only as “Sir” or “Master,” shall station herself in a physical position subordinate to His whenever possible, and shall speak to or otherwise distract Him only when granted His permission.
3. She shall constantly maintain her female body parts in such circumstances as will demonstrate and ensure that they are fully open to Him. In particular, she shall never cross her legs in His presence, shall wear no undergarments at any time, and shall cover no part of her body with apparel or material of any description except when the act of doing so and design of the item are expressly approved by Him.
4. She shall preserve her female body parts for the exclusive use of Him and His assigns, which use shall be the sole source of her pleasures, and she shall engage in no self-gratification nor any physical contact with any others.
AND Slave does hereby irrevocably declare and acknowledge her everlasting unconditional dedication to serving Master to His full satisfaction; AND she ashamedly confesses that prior indulgence of her untempered conduct by others may have permitted her to become afflicted with inferior habits that may prove unsatisfactory to Master, from which imperfections she implores Master to free her by retraining with corporal punishment or any other means which He, in His unquestionable wisdom, deems effective toward directing her to her sole ambition and life-destiny of perfectly fulfilling His every desire of her.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, Slave has hereunto set her hand, and Master has designed to Seal these Presents by permanently affixing His Collar about her neck, on the date first above written.
This is the work of the devil, Colleen thought. She felt overwhelmed, unable to move. But he was standing there, waiting for her to sign. . . .
As Cameron waited, he watched the devastating effect the contract was having on Colleen, gratified to see that she was crying, even shivering with fear: She believed it.
Finally, she managed to ask, “What if I don’t sign it?”
“If you don’t, I’ll sign it for you and make you wish you had.”
This threat sunk in, and then she asked, “Well, who is Michael Powers?” She knew, she said, that his name was Cameron.
“I’m known by two names,” he answered coolly. “That’s my Company name.”
One word was unfamiliar, “enfeoffed,” but when she asked what it meant, Cameron couldn’t tell her. Instead, he warned her to hurry up and sign the contract. She was keeping the Company messenger waiting upstairs.
Still reeling, Colleen had one final statement of defiance before she signed herself into slavery. He might hold her hostage in his basement, he might force her to sign the contract, and he might even have control of her body, but “you can never have my soul,” she told him.
He was willing to concede this small point. He said, “I know, that’s God’s.” But he continued to wait expectantly for her to sign.
In tears and trembling, she disguised her signature; with a wavering hand she inked her name on the line designated “Forever Slave.” As a witness, Janice signed “Janet Powers.”
The groundwork had been laid. Cameron had convinced Colleen the Company was real, and now it was just a question of strengthening that belief. He told her the Company required that she wear a slave collar as identification, and of course he had prepared one: a tight-fitting collar made of a stretchy, gold metallic material that joined with a gold leaf. He fastened it around her neck and she felt it constrict and itch against her skin.
It was costing him fifteen hundred dollars to register her with the Company, he said. Now that she was signed in, he would be able to let her out to do things for him because the Company would back him up. They would provide security—watching the house, monitoring the phones. And if she ever tried to run away, they would catch her and torture her so mercilessly that she would be lucky if she survived. In graphic detail, he described how runaways were punished by having their hands nailed to a beam from which they were left to hang for days.
Intensifying Colleen’s horror, Cameron launched into a story about Jan. She had also been a slave, he said, but she’d tried to escape. She was hitchhiking to freedom when a policeman spotted her and picked her up. She thought she was safe, but the policeman was actually a member of the Company and knew she was a runaway. He took her back to her owners, who nailed her up by the hands as punishment. She hung for about three days, then went into convulsions and had to be taken down. But her punishment wasn’t over—she was put on a rack and her legs were twisted, permanently damaging her knees and hips.
(Colleen had noticed the brace and bandage on Janice’s leg. Janice did have knee problems; she’d just gotten out of the hospital after knee surgery. But that wasn’t part of the story Cameron told his slave.)
After that, he continued, Jan had to go back to work for her owners. They ran a place in L.A. called Rent-a-Dungeon, a den of prostitution for members of the Company where any member could pay a fee, pick a girl, and take her to a dungeon where he could torture her however he liked. If he accidentally killed the girl, he would have to pay a fine of $10,000 or more.
On a visit to this particular establishment, Cameron had noticed Jan, who was just fifteen. After her escape attempt she was made to wear a cross, an indication that she had been marked for death. Cameron felt sorry for her. To save her life, he bought her and married her. Since then, he said, he’d had surgery done on her hands to remove the scars left by the nails.
It was melodramatic stuff, but Hooker told it with conviction and Colleen bought it all.
Over the next days and weeks Cameron embellished his stories about slaves and the Company, polishing details and wiping out any skepticism that might be lurking in Colleen’s subconscious.
He even gave her a slave name. After a lot of thought, he’d decided on “K,” he said. Just the letter. He’d considered “D” and “B” but decided they were too common, so from now on his slave would be known simply as K.
Colleen was all too susceptible to this sudden onslaught of detail. Having endured an almost unfathomable stretch of sensory deprivation, her brain was starved for information. And now the man who had total control over her life, whose power bordered on omnipotence, was finally explaining how the whole puzzle fit together.
She must have felt dazed by the awful illumination of it. All the horrors clicked into place—how such a terrible fate could befall her, how this evil man could possibly get away with what he was doing. There was an entire underground organization, almost a cult of men who preyed on young women like herself. The Company. There was a frightening logic to it all, and at last she had a way of comprehending how she could be held hostage to this nightmare.
CHAPTER 9
Now it was clear-cut and in black and white. She was the slave. He was the master. And that relationship was as fixed as the seal on the slavery contract.
She was no longer Colleen Stan, but simply K. A servant. Property. A skinny, sad twenty-one-year-old with long dirty hair and a slave collar around her neck.
Having signed the slavery contract, she must strictly obey its dictates. She must always address Cameron as “Sir” or “Master,” and always address Jan as “Ma’am.” She must never look her master in the face. She must never cross her legs or wear underwear. She must kneel before her master to ask a question, and must ask permission before doing anything.
If she tried to contact her family, Hooker warned, the Company would retaliate with five days of crucifixion for her, and death for any family member she contacted.
With those rules established, K was allowed to come up out of the basement.
At night, with the draperies drawn and no company expected, K was brought upstairs to work. They gave order
s, and unless she didn’t understand, she obeyed without comment. She wasn’t allowed to talk except to ask instructions. (Cameron mined the idea of any contact between the two women with fear; he told K that if Jan were displeased, she would kill her.)
K’s chores were simple, mostly cooking, washing dishes, and cleaning up—drudgery, but nonetheless an improvement over the timeless claustrophobia of the basement. And now K was afforded a few small amenities, such as limited access to the bathroom, though she had to kneel and ask permission first.
To discipline her more strictly, Cameron contrived the “attention drill.” Whenever he shouted “Attention!” K had to strip off her clothes, stand on her tiptoes, and reach her hands up to the top of the arched doorway between the living room and dining room. She must stand there, tensed and naked except for the slave collar, until he told her she could relax. He wanted to impress on her that the slavery contract wasn’t just a sheet of paper, that it represented a whole new way of life: total subjugation.
Though her world had more than doubled in size, it was still limited to small spaces of cement and linoleum and wood. The stairs became familiar, but she was continually locked in cramped enclosures, in darkness and in silence. Her environment hadn’t changed greatly, but the climate of her thoughts had been disrupted, her identity profoundly altered, her perception of reality twisted. Now her waking hours were menaced by an unknown and sinister presence: the Company.
A couple of weeks after she’d signed the contract, Cameron came down into the basement and let her out for her plate of leftovers, as usual. Then he casually remarked, “Oh, I got this from the Company today.” He handed K a typed card, nothing fancy, sealed in plastic. A registration card. Short and businesslike, it simply acknowledged receipt of fifteen hundred dollars for the registration of Colleen Stan as the slave of Michael Powers. K looked at it and gave it back to him; he put it back on top of the workshop, where she supposed it was kept.
Perfect Victim Page 8