Survivor: 1 (8 page)

When he came back, he had a bottle of Evian water
and some Anacin. He crawled in the back and helped
her sit up. Then he popped two Anacins in her mouth
and held the bottle up for her to drink. She thanked him,
and he managed a faint smile. "Got some ready-made
sandwiches for you, too. You'll eat one when we get to
the cabin."

He kept his promise. They had arrived at the cabin a little under an hour later, and he got her into the bedroom
through a side door. She could tell they were in the
mountains by the brief scent of pine and the brisk, cool
air as he ushered her through the door. Ten minutes later,
he took the blindfold off and he was patiently feeding
her as she sat up on the narrow bed, holding the Evian
bottle up for her to drink. When she was finished, he instructed her to lie down on the bed, and then she felt
him struggle with the knots he had used to tie her up.
"You'll feel some of these loosen up, but don't move or
try to do anything. You try anything, I've got a hammer
right here that III use to smash your skull." She had lain
down, fighting the tears as he practically untied her.
Then he quickly peeled off her clothes, then told her to
turn over. When she turned over, she saw that he indeed
had a hammer. She was almost tempted to try rushing
him again; she could surprise him, try to claw out his eyes or something, but he had that hammer, and he was
holding it in his right fist, ready to swing. She couldn't
risk it. He told her to lie down on her back, and then he
slipped the rope he had tied around her arms down to
her wrist and tightened it with one swift tug. He had her
wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts within a minute,
and then he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork.
"You'll be fine for the night. If you gotta piss, go ahead
and piss on the mattress. I'll be up in the morning to
change it and bring some other things."

"What are you going to do?" Lisa was sobbing, and
now her emotions did gain the upper hand. All she could
think about was how this man was destroying all her
hopes of having a baby with Brad, a dream she had been
working to achieve for the past two years. All she could
think about was saving herself so that her baby might
live. "You sonofabitch, why are you doing this!"

"1 told you," Mr. Smith said calmly, a look of indifference on his bearded face. "It's nothing personal. I need
the money, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't understand!" she wailed, trying to sit up in the
bed. "Please let me go! I swear I won't say anything. I
won't tell anybody-"

"It's too late for that now," Mr. Smith said, looking down
at Lisa calmly. "Look, it's nothing personal. The people
I'm working for ... well, the dients they're working for,
they wanted somebody just like you. They were getting
tired of using runaways, drug addicts, and vagrants, the
kind of girls they had been using all along. They wanted
somebody who has a clean, wholesome image. Somebody who actually has a life. It took me two days to find
you." He grinned down at her.

She still didn't understand; Mr. Smith said that he
wasn't going to hurt her, but what he was implying sug gested that somebody else was. She sobbed hoarsely, her
vision blurred with tears.

Mr. Smith leaned forward. "The ... clients who we're
doing this for ... they've got some real expensive tastes.
'They've got a taste for ... well, let's just say they have a
taste for some pretty hardcore shit."

"What are you talking about?" Lisa wailed.

"They're into extreme hardcore and snuff films," Mr.
Smith said, once again indifferent. "Surely you've heard
of snuff films, haven't you?"

Lisa shook her head, feeling her flesh break out in
goose pimples. She had never heard of extreme hardcore or snuff films, but she instinctively felt that whatever
they were, they were bad.

Mr. Smith leaned forward slightly. "Extreme
bondage ... S&M ... surely you've heard of those,
haven't you? You don't strike me as being that naive."

Lisa nodded, a shudder running through her body. She
was going to be raped! Raped and tortured for some per-
vert's private porno film collection. She began to sob
again. "Well ... yeah ... but ... I still don't understand ... bondage ... isn't that like ... I thought ... I
thought ... that was just ... regular porno people doing
that!"

"The clients that my associates and I are working for
have tastes of a more brutal nature," Mr. Smith said, indifferently. "It's a very small circle of people, really. They
gather at various intervals throughout the year in the privacy of their own homes, and buy and sell various tapes
that my associates, and others, produce; mainly extreme
hardcore S&M films, sometimes snuff films. Regular
porno people don't associate with this stuff. You'd have to
be crazy or a fool to want to appear in one of these
things. Unless you're a complete sadist like Animal." Mr. Smith's features were grim. "Of course, there are some
hardcore freaks-masochists-who get off on that kind
of shit. Some of them appear in the hardcore S&M and
torture flicks, but the others? Snuff films? Like I said, our
clients were getting tired of watching the same chicks
and butt boys time and time again and wanted something different-something fresh." Mr. Smith grinned
slightly. "It's nothing personal, really."

"You're going to kill me," Lisa whispered, looking up at
Mr. Smith with fear.

"I told you that I'm not going to kill you," Mr. Smith
said. And I'm not going to hurt you. I'm supposed to take
care of you to assure my associates that you are in the
best physical appearance as possible for our shoot. Then
when Al and the Animal get here sometime tomorrow or
the next day--"

"The Animal?" Lisa said, dread suddenly filling her
even more at the sound of the name.

Mr. Smith cocked his head at her. "Yes, Mrs. Miller. I
was telling you the truth when I said that I wasn't going to
hurt you or kill you. But your costar in the snuff film we'll
be shooting ... the Animal ... he will."

Lisa's hands were shaking, and when she spoke her
voice quivered with fear. "Please. You don't want to do
this.*

"I'll be back tomorrow," Mr. Smith said. He turned and
exited the room.

She found her voice and let loose with a wail. "Please
let me go! Pleeeaaase!"

Her wail fell on deaf ears. Mr. Smith exited the cabin,
and a moment later, amid her heavy sobs, Lisa heard him
start the van up, back down the gravel path, and head
down the highway.

The three nights and two days Brad Miller spent in the
Ventura County slammer were the longest of his life.

Fueled by his anger over the initial road rage incident
that sparked his incarceration, he got little sleep that first
night, and when he found out that Lisa was missing, his
nerves went on a frenzy. He continually paced the length
of his cell while his mother stood by, helpless as he drove
himself deeper and deeper into worry. "I don't like this,
Mom, this just isn't like her, I don't like this, why aren't
they doing anything!"

That first day, Frank Miller succeeded in getting ahold
of Officer Chris Lansing, the patrol officer who had
placed Brad in custody Friday. When he told Officer
Lansing that Lisa was now missing from her motel room,
with no clue as to where she could have gone, Officer
Lansing grew concerned. "And Brad hasn't seen her since
his arrest?"

"That's right," Frank had said. He had cornered the officer as he strolled in to begin his two-to-midnight shift.
"And everybody I've talked to in this fucking building
says they can't do anything about it because she can't be
considered missing yet!" He spat that last sentence out
with an air of contempt. "Fucking bullshit, if you ask me."

"Come with me a minute," Officer Lansing said. He led
Frank through the office to a desk where a young officer
with a crew cut was at a desk in front of a computer. "Can
I borrow your computer for a moment, Doug?"

"Sure" Doug moved aside, and Officer Lansing sat behind the terminal.

'In my right-hand drawer there is an arrest file on a
citizen's arrest by a Mr. Caleb Smith. Can you pull that
for me?"

Doug retrieved the file and Officer Lansing flipped
through it. He entered Mr. Smith's name and address in
the system, hit a key, then waited. A moment later, a message appeared on the screen: NO MATCHING RECORDS
FOUND.

'Shit' Officer Lansing retyped the information as
Frank peered over his shoulder at the screen. The query
returned the same message.

Officer Lansing turned to Frank.'"Ihis system hooks up
with the DMV's central database. I should have gotten Mr.
Smith's DMV record, which would have included any outstanding warrants or other records, but there's nothing."

Frank looked at Officer Lansing. "You saying this guy
gave you a false address?"

"1'm not saying anything yet." Officer Lansing handed
the file to Doug. "Run a complete check on Mr. Caleb
Smith, then run a DMV check on his vehicle. When you're
done, bring the printouts to me. I'll be in Ken's office." He
rose from the desk and began heading toward an office
at the rear of the building. "I'll have to get back to you, Mr.
Miller. Will you have a seat in the waiting room for me?"

That had been the longest wait in Frank's life. When Officer Lansing came back, he was accompanied by a lieutenant. The lieutenant appeared to be his age, with
salt-and-pepper hair and ruddy features. "We're sending a
pair of detectives to the Days Inn now, and another to
talk to your son!

Flank had risen to his feet. "Does this mean you can let
him go?"

For the first time, he realized that Officer Lansing
looked embarrassed. Lieutenant Young gave Officer
Lansing a cursory glance, then looked back at Frank.'Un- fortunately, because your son was placed under citizen's
arrest in pursuant of a felony, we can't release him until
Monday morning."

"Christ!" Frank ran a hand through his thinning hair.

"We're doing everything we can to find Lisa," Lieutenant Young said, trying to muster a positive smile. "We'll
find her. Don't worry."

Frank relayed all this to his son that afternoon, trying
to break the news as gently as possible. Brad could only
listen with a growing sense of dread; he didn't know how,
but somehow Mr. Smith had something to do with this.
He could feel it in his gut.

Brad's parents stayed with him at the jail until five PM.
By then a search had been conducted at the motel
room, and no signs of foul play had been found. Officer
Lansing had remained at the station to ferry the news
back to the Millers and comb through the files for any information on Mr. Smith. He broke the news shortly before five o'clock. "Something happened to her," Brad
said, his voice threatening to break. "Find this Mr. Smith
guy and-"

"We're working on it," Lieutenant Young said. "Believe
me, we want to find this guy ourselves."

"What's his story?" Frank asked. "Did you run his license plate? Was that fake too?"

Officer Lansing looked grim. Me DMV check we ran
on his plate came up reported stolen six months ago. The
plates belonged to a Chevy Suburban in San Diego. I
didn't get a PIN number on Mr. Smith's vehicle at the time
of your arrest because ... well .. "

"I was the criminal yesterday, not him," Brad said, feeling the cloud of anger return.

Officer Lansing ignored the comment. "Every check
we've done through the DMV has resulted in a dead end. I've got a sketch artist coming up with a composite now,
and we'll put that over the bulletin by this evening. Don't
worry, we'll catch him!

"What do we do till then?" Brad asked. His eyes were
bloodshot and he was exhausted.

Officer Lansing sighed. His face had an empty, haunted
look. 'There's only two things we can do. Wait and pray."

The sound of a car engine pulling up in the driveway
woke her up.

Lisa snapped out of a light sleep, her senses alert. She
heard the slam of a door and then footsteps. The sound
of a door opening and then a rattling sound. Her heartbeat quickened. He's back, and this time he's with those
other guys, thatAnimal and whoever else, and then they're
going to start. They're going to rape me and kill me and
my baby and film it and-

The footsteps sounded across the gravelly driveway
and up the front walk of the cabin. She held her breath
as a key was inserted in the lock of the front door, and
then the door was opened and the footsteps were clicking across the hardwood floor of the cabin. "Hello?" Her
heart leaped in her throat, because at first she didn't recognize the voice. Then the man said "Hello" again and
recognition flooded in: It was Mr. Smith.
-- -- -- - - - - - -- - --

He walked into the bedroom bearing something in his
arms. He bent down and set it on the floor with a clanking of metal and stood up, smiling. "How are you this fine
morning?*

Lisa opened her mouth to answer, but all that came
out was a dry hiss. Her throat was dry. Mr. Smith nodded.
"Want some water?"

Lisa nodded. "Yes," she rasped.

"Coming right up." Mr. Smith disappeared into the
kitchen and returned a moment later with a glass of water.
He held the glass to her lips while Lisa sipped at it slowly.
"Better?"

Lisa nodded. "Yeah "

"Good" Mr. Smith glanced down at the mattress. "I see
you couldn't hold it last night."

Lisa felt the tears spring to her eyes again. The pain in
her bladder had grown unbearable by late last night and
she had been forced to void it. The smell and dampness
that had spread under her buttocks and settled into the
mattress had kept her awake the rest of the night.

"Don't worry. There's a spare mattress in the next bedroom that fits this bed frame just fine. We'll replace it.
And you won't have to worry about making wee-wee in
the bed anymore. I've found a solution to your problems." He picked up the thing that had made the metallic
clanking sound, holding it up for her to see. It was a
piece of chain.