LOCK

by Hollis Shiloh

  They were pretty professional about it, anyway. They didn't mock me for making myself as small as I could in the corner of the rocking van. They didn't say anything about me shaking.

  The van itself was nondescript on the inside, not a minivan, but something you'd expect a professional painter to use to carry around paint cans, brushes, and ladders. There were none present, and I wasn't clever enough or with it enough to recognize some telltale detail about the inside of the van that would tell me its make and model. Not that I knew enough about such things to tell, anyway.

  At one point, one of the men in the weird disguises threw a blanket over my shoulders. I suppose I was shivering, but it seemed odd they'd notice or care. They hadn't minded scaring me out of my wits, or kidnapping me and taking me towards what was probably going to be the death of me, whatever it was. I wondered dully if I was going into shock and that was why. I certainly didn't feel very with it at the moment. What would they do if I just lay down and died, here and now?

  I almost laughed at the thought. What good would I be to them then?

  Who wanted me, anyway? Was it some kind of ring of thieves who wanted to make use of my talent? (Well, who else could it be? I didn't have any other particular skills, and it wasn't like my parents were rich and could pay a huge ransom for me.) Besides, I'd literally been snatched from outside the ESRB building one day after being discovered as having talent. Somebody had to be really organized to get together a creepy group of paramilitary dudes and kidnap me that quickly.

  Did they have a leak somewhere? Probably. I hoped it wasn't Dr. Julia. I liked Dr. Julia.

  I thought of Neal once more. As long as he didn't have a weak heart, he should be fine. I'd be a blight on his perfect safety record, but he'd live. I wished like hell he'd charge in to rescue me at some point — roadblocks, police helicopters, all that action movie stuff — but of course what actually happened was that I sat shivering in the corner of the van till they decided we'd gone far enough.

  The van pulled to a halt, jolting me forward. One of the men grabbed my shoulder to keep me from falling over. They didn't seem to have any trouble bracing themselves against the stop. Maybe they'd been expecting it or something.

  They opened the door and got out and took me with them, not too roughly — I guessed we weren't in as much of a hurry now — and headed over to another vehicle, this one a low-slung black car that looked expensive, although I didn't get a close enough look at it to recognize the brand. Like I said, I'm not really that great with cars, but I would have guessed something expensive and German.

  Into the back I got, and this time the disguised men didn't follow. There were two tough-looking men inside already, wearing black turtlenecks and with too much muscle to be anything but intimidating. One had the kind of flat, hard face and very thick neck I'd associate with, say, a hitman, and the other had a thin, scarred face and mean-looking eyes. The dead, scary kind.

  I started shivering again, couldn't help it, but they didn't do anything to me. I just had to sit between them and be driven somewhere else now.

  It's hard for me to estimate how much time passed. It felt like an eternity, because I was scared the whole time. Eventually, we reached a small airport, and I was put on a small private jet. This time, it wasn't nearly as much fun.

  I wasn't given the window seat. I'm not sure it would have done me any good even if I had been, unless there were helpful signs on the ground indicating where, exactly, we were, like a giant map, perhaps with dotted lines to show state borders.

  #

  I suppose I slept at some point, although I wouldn't have thought that was possible, as scared as I was. At any rate, I woke up as the plane was landing, and gripped my seat hard, hoping I wouldn't start screaming. I'd woken up with that sort of jolt of falling that happens sometimes in dreams, only it was real, because the plane actually was going down.

  I looked around wildly for a few moments, my heart stuttering in my chest, till it became clear that it was actually a pretty normal landing, smooth and professional. I still didn't breathe normally till the wheels had touched down and we were rolling, bumpy and fast, down a small landing strip. I couldn't see much out the window but landscape. After the plane had stopped completely, they bundled me off without a word.

  I guessed I ought to appreciate how professional these thugs and goons were being, not going out of their way to hurt or frighten me more than I was already, but I didn't feel very appreciative at the moment. I had a headache, I needed to pee desperately, and I was really fed up with being shuffled from vehicle to vehicle.

  Still, I didn't try to fight or argue or do anything that might piss them off. If it came down to it, I'd rather pee my pants than make them angry enough to smack me around. And let's be honest — I didn't know how much trouble I'd have to be for that to happen — or how many punches from those big, meaty hands it would take to give me internal organ damage and a nice, slow death. Like I said, I'm not the bravest of dudes, and I've got a very vivid imagination. It really wasn't hard to imagine a scenario where I ended up dead, even if I wasn't supposed to.

  This time, there was no other vehicle waiting. I looked around in surprise.

  There was a small hanger by the landing strip — small as such things go — but no other planes or indeed any sort of vehicle in sight. Surrounding the landing strip was what appeared to be several acres of well-manicured lawn. Past that on one side, trees rising in a thick, foresty way, and on the other side, fenced pasture with some elegant brown horses grazing, their long, slim necks dipping down to the grass. They didn't seem to have been terribly frightened by the plane, or else they weren't close enough to care.

  We started walking in the direction of the horses.

  Nobody said anything to me, and I sure didn't bring up any questions or mention needing the bathroom pretty bad. A golf cart headed our way, jouncing over the grass in a hurry. It pulled to a stop. The man driving took off reflective sunglasses and smiled at me, taking me in like I was a guest instead of, you know, not.

  "Hi. Welcome to the ranch," he said. "Get in, and I'll drive you up to the big house. It'll save time."

  I glanced at my two escorts, but they didn't seem to have any objection. One of them nodded to the golf cart, so I scrambled in. The guards climbed in the back, making the vehicle shake with their bulk.

  The driver turned the gold cart around and started off. This dude was a lot less intimidating, but I still wouldn't have been able to take him in a fight — not that I planned to try to fight my way out of this.

  "You'll have your own suite, and access to the pools, the grounds, pretty much whatever you'd like, but you're not to leave the ranch till Hoss gets a chance to talk to you."

  "Hoss?" I ventured.

  He chuckled. "Oh, we just call him that. He's the boss around here."

  "What's — here?"

  "Sorry, kiddo, no can do. Questions aren't on the menu." He spoke cheerfully enough, but there was no doubting he meant it.

  "Okay." I wasn't going to make any waves. Of course I felt like a wimp for going along with everything, but I really wasn't in a position to do much about it — at least not if I wanted a chance to get out of this alive. And I very much did.

  At least they'd have a bathroom at "the ranch."

  #

  The drive to the "big house" took longer than I'd figured it would, which meant I was pretty desperate by the time we arrived. That didn't stop me for noticing with a certain amount of awe just how freaking huge the property was.

  As well as the pastures with the horses that pretty much had to be expensive thoroughbreds, there were acres of manicured lawns, some bushes sculpted into interesting shapes, statues and paths and benches, an orchard, dog kennels, two different swimming pools, gazebos galore, and finally, a huge outdoor area covered in paving stones, arches and overhangs, stone-built fire pits and gigantic barbeque areas with tons of seating. There were various potted plants in artistic containers and arrangements, water f
ountains, and the kind of decoration that tended towards heavy and wrought iron, somebody having chosen to eschew the usual cattle-skull-and-old-saddle look, and basically it looked more like an expensive resort than a ranch. I was worn out just looking at it all. How did they ever keep the place clean?

  The "big house" was an oversized mansion that sprawled even bigger than the outdoor barbeque-and-pools area. It was pretty damned intimidating, and really beautiful at the same time. Somebody had some taste, even if they were a wealthy supervillain of some sort.

  The golf cart driver, who introduced himself as Randy ("just call me Randy"), took us right up to the front entrance, and we all four headed inside. My "suite" was, surprisingly, on the ground floor. I figured there would be security issues with that, but apparently I wasn't enough of a flight risk to merit more. Or else the goons would be dogging my every step.

  The suite held several tastefully decorated rooms (including a bathroom! Yes!), and the bedroom looked out onto one of the pools, with sliding glass doors so you could pop right out and go for a swim when you woke up in the luxurious queen-sized bed.

  I excused myself to use the bathroom as quickly as I could. By that time, I was walking funny. They waited for me, and nobody told me to hurry up or not try anything. I didn't suppose there was anything I could try. The rooms were probably all Drew-proof already, with lots of monitoring devices. I tried not to think about that as I relieved myself.

  There was nothing helpful to tell me where I was, such as little signs or monographed towels with the resort name on them. Not that it was a resort, apparently, but it had that feeling to me, because it was so big and everything was so expensive.

  When I was back (and feeling much better), Randy laid out the rules. "You can go anywhere you want on the grounds, as long as you don't leave the property. We'll be keeping an eye on you. Don't try to leave, don't try to make any phone calls, and don't try to get any of the staff to do any favors for you. Follow the rules, and you'll enjoy your stay here." He didn't say what might happen if I didn't, but I didn't want to find out. "Oh, and you'll get your meals in your room. If you have any special dietary needs, you'll need to let the staff know. Mealtimes are posted by the door. If you're hungry other times, you can call for room service. Anything else you need to know?"

  "No," I said, too cowed to even think about asking anything about his boss, where I was, or why I was here. I would find out when "Hoss" was ready to tell me.

  "Good. I can see we're all gonna get along here, champ." He clapped me on the shoulder, which was annoying, but I survived it. "Oh, if you write down your sizes, the staff can provide you with some extra clothes and swimming trunks, if you like."

  "Thanks," I mumbled. He waited while I wrote down my sizes on a small tablet he produced, then handed it back to him.

  He gave me a perfunctory smile and put his reflective glasses back on. "Now, you behave yourself, and we won't have to revoke any privileges — or have a talk."

  The goons left when he did, and I went to the bed and sat down on it, trembling a little, but not as much as before. I looked out the glass doors to the pool. The water looked clear and clean and very cool. The ranch stretched out far past it, huge and beautiful and looking more like a picture than real life. I would so enjoy being here, if I had been a willing guest.

  I flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Were they watching me, even now? I wasn't an exhibitionist; it unnerved me to think of being watched all the time. Apparently, I would have to endure a complete loss of privacy under a veneer of civilized vacation resort fun.

  I was definitely not about to push the boundaries unless there was a clear way for me to escape and not risk my life, though. Whoever was behind this had a lot of money, power, and danger available to him, and I didn't want to be more trouble than I was worth to keep alive.

  If I could find a way to contact the outside world without risking my neck, I'd try to get word to the ESRB, or my family, or the police. Otherwise? Oh, I was going to be a complete goody-two-shoes and follow every single thing Randy had demanded.

  I sighed. I really would like to go swimming. Was it giving in, or being a traitor, if I actually did?

  #

  It was impossible for me to stay in a state of constant anxiety and panic, at least when I wasn't in immediate physical danger, and I had good food, a comfortable and safe place to sleep, and all the free time and exploring I could wish for.

  It's true that I couldn't leave the property, but since the property was so huge that it felt like it had no end, that wasn't particularly difficult. I definitely minded not being able to contact anyone, and of course the worry of why I was here and what would happen to me was always in the background. But after all, if I at least tried to enjoy myself while I was here, it might lull them into a false sense of security. Or perhaps not so false, since there was no way on God's green earth that I was going to try to escape. I knew my strengths, and that wasn't one of them.

  I was no survival expert, and I didn't know how to evade being found, and I wasn't about to take my life in my hands by pissing them off and making them get me. Captivity now was bearable; I didn't want to make it unbearable, and there was clearly no avoiding it. Maybe if I'd been a tough guy like Neal — but if I was anything like Neal, they'd probably have me under a much tougher watch. As it was, they knew there was no point locking me in anywhere, so they just kept a strict eye on me.

  And it was fun, even though I felt guilty about it: it was fun having good meals for free, being taken care of and waited on and allowed to explore and enjoy myself, being able to go swimming whenever I liked. (The swimming trunks they got me weren't the most fashionable, but they fit, and they were free, and nobody ever chased me out of the pool.) I caught up on sleep; I worried about what the future held, of course; and I missed my family and Neal.

  But I was not in any pain, and the guilt I felt was because I actually did enjoy some of it. I'd never be able to afford a resort like this, and as the days stretched into over a week, I started settling in. The promised "Hoss" hadn't appeared, nobody was asking a thing from me, and I lounged by or in the pool, visited the dogs in the kennel, hiked all over the beautiful grounds, and ate up every delicious meal they gave me.

  I developed a nice tan in just a few days, and I could almost feel myself putting on muscle tone with all the swimming and hiking. If they kept me here for very long, I'd actually be hot by the time I left, assuming I didn't overindulge in cheesecake. And, yes, they had cheesecake. Every day, if I asked for it. I didn't, after two nights in a row of eating more than I should have. I didn't want to undo all the hotness this place was working out for me. Maybe that's shallow, but it wasn't like I'd be going to any other kind of spa anytime soon.

  It did cross my mind more than once — although I banished it severely each time, and with a load of guilt — that Hoss could probably pay better than the ESRB. Could probably wave away my college debts, too. He sure had enough cash and to spare, keeping this place up when he wasn't even here. (Or was he here? I didn't really know, of course, but I thought if he was, he'd have talked to me by now, rather than just letting me eat up all his cheesecake.)

  It didn't matter what he could pay or how much money was involved, of course. The man had kidnapped me. If he had any legitimate work, he'd have hired someone through the ESRB. Whatever he wanted me for, it was bound to be dangerous, or evil, or both. Probably both.

  #

  I was down at the dog kennels one day about a week and a half into my "enforced vacation," petting the dogs who were friendly, when a man with a walking stick strode up.

  At first, I thought he was one of the staff — a lot of people worked here — but when he walked over, looking pleased, I began to reconsider. My mouth went dry, and my heart began to pound. He definitely had the air of owning the place. He wasn't extremely tall, not much taller than me, actually. He had to be at least fifty and was going gray in the attractive way some men manage while not losing any of hi
s hair. He had some lines on his face, and his expression seemed intelligent and in charge, like someone who was used to being listened to. I didn't stop petting the dog, but I was scared now. This was it; this was him.

  "Ah, a good choice." He nodded to the greyhound. "Susie is one of my fastest."

  "She's...nice," I managed, then added a "sir" on the end. It couldn't hurt to be polite, after all.

  He smiled. "And how are you enjoying your stay here?"

  "It's...very pleasant," I managed. I hoped I wouldn't do anything embarrassing, like start shaking again. That had gotten old fast the last time I was this scared. "I'd like to go home, though."

  I didn't ask if he was Hoss. There wasn't really any need.

  He nodded, as if it was to be expected, but he did not look pleased with that answer. (And what would he do to me if he was really displeased? I shuddered to think.) "I have something for you to do first." He looked me in the eye, and I saw the steel beneath the pleasant outward personality. Not that I'd ever doubted it was there; I just hadn't expected to be looking that coldness in the eye. I was right: I was starting to tremble a little, hopefully not visibly yet. He had to know I was intimidated, though. Who wouldn't be?

  "I trust I don't need to bother with all the boring, rote things such as showing you pictures of your family and making specific threats? Can it suffice to say I found you easily enough, and leave it at that?"