"It's been too much. I know."
"I'm sorry that I caused such a big scene in there," Joan said. "1 don't want to cause any trouble for them. I know they're only trying to help us"
"I'm sure they realize you're upset. I think we both know what it feels like to be an officer now. to feel helpless and bound by the law against doing what you feel in your gut is right."
Joan nodded. She reached into her purse for a tissue and wiped her nose with it. "What do we do now?" She put the tissue back into her purse.
"Let's go back inside and tell Gary where we'll be for the rest of the night." Officer Gary Fraser was the officer Joan had just yelled at; since Officer Lansing had gone off duty late last night, Fraser had been their main contact at the station. "'Then we'll go see Brad. We'll tell him that he'll be out tomorrow morning. Billy should be at his hotel by now, and he may even have word on getting an investigation going on finding Lisa. Then the only thing we can do is go to our room and wait until tomorrow."
Joan sighed. 'omorrow. That seems like such a long time from now"
"1 know." Frank put his arm around Joan's shoulders. "I know."
They walked back to the station together.
Ten
On the morning of Brad Miller's arraignment, his parents followed Billy Grecko in his silver Mercedes as it sped down Interstate 5 toward Ventura. Visible three cars ahead of the Mercedes was a white van with a Ventura County Sheriff's logo on its side. Joan and Frank caught a brief glimpse of Brad as he was led to the van, and when he saw them he waved. Joan and Frank waved back. Brad tried to smile, but it looked forced. He looked tired and defeated.
In Judge Kurt Plummer's chambers, the bailiff escorted Brad to the defendant table. When the judge got the papers that were filed on the charges, he cast a glance out at the court. "Case 498736, people of California versus Brad Miller.' His eyes found Brad's, locked in on him. Are you Mr. Miller?"
"Yes, Your Honor; Brad answered. For some reason, the judge reminded Brad of the actor Ossie Davis; his voice was deep and commanding, his graying hair giving him a dignified appearance.
"And do you have counsel?"
Billy Grecko rose from his seat at the defense table. "I represent Mr. Miller, Your Honor."
"And your name?"
"William Grecko, Your honor."
Judge Plummer looked over the paperwork, his eyes magnified from behind the thick glasses he wore. He scowled. "Tis is a citizen's arrest.' He looked across at the prosecution table as an African-American man in a dark suit and a power tie stood up. "What is the nature of this case, counselor?"
"The County of Ventura would like to decline to file charges against Mr. Miller at this time, Your Honor," the lawyer for the DA said.
"On what grounds?"
"Lack of evidence, Your Honor."
"And you wasted my fifteen minutes this morning just to drag this young man into my courtroom for that? I should fine you, Mr. Carr."
"I'm sorry, Your Honor."
Judge Plummer pounded his gavel. "Case against Mr. Brad Miller dismissed, by request of the prosecution"
Five minutes later, Brad was walking briskly out of the Ventura County courthouse, his parents and William Grecko trailing him. His eyes were wide with fear. "We've got to find Lisa!"
"Brad!"
He stopped and turned around as his parents and William Grecko caught up with him. William Grecko was panting, sweat dotting his forehead. He smelled faintly of rum.
"What? We can't fuck around. It's been, like, three days-"
"Brad" Billy was suddenly in front of him. He took Brad by the shoulders, his eyes locked with his. "Listen to me very carefully.'
Brad's eyes suddenly went wide with fright. "What happened? You found. her! Please tell me you found her-"
Billy paused, his eyes flicking from Rank to Joan, then back to Brad. He looked nervous. "Brad, let me explain this to — you."
"Will you just tell me what's going on!" Brad's voice cracked. Joan almost broke down at the sight of her son.
"Son, there's not much to go on," Frank said. He looked nervous and scared, and he traded a glance with Billy, who stepped back from Brad. Brad turned to look at his father. "Billy has a friend with the Bureau. He was able to get a couple of detectives over at the hotel and.. "
— Mey couldn't find anything," Billy finished. He looked dejected. "They talked to all the employees at the motel. Nobody saw or heard anything. There's no sign of a struggle in the room. Your car is still in the parking lot, your luggage is still in the trunk, but Lisa's stuff… her purse and suitcase… they're gone-"
"What do you mean there's no sign of a struggle?" Brad cried.
"'The police have been unable to find Caleb Smith anywhere," Bill continued. "The Bureau ran a list of aliases and checked them all out against the composite that was done back at the station. Neither man they came up with was Smith. It's almost like he just vanished into thin air."
"You've got to be kidding!" Brad cried, his hands going up to his face. He looked absolutely panic-stricken.
"I'm trying to push this down the pipe as fast as I can, but my friend at the Bureau says that we need more to go on," Billy said, and now he did look defeated. It was in his eyes, his posture, the way his shoulders slumped. It seemed to permeate the air around him, much like the smell of rum that was seeping out of his pores. "We have nothing at the motel, no reasonable cause for suspicion on Caleb Smith, whoever he may be… we have no witnesses, no-"
"You've got to try!" Brad said, grabbing the lawyer's suit with weakened fingers. His eyes searched the lawyer's face, then lighted on his parents. He could feel himself breaking down. "Please, you've got to try."
"We'll try," Billy said, taking Brad's hands and squeezing them tight. "We'll do everything we can.'
Brad could do nothing else but stand in the parking lot of the Ventura County Courthouse in the clothes he had worn for the past three days, not even aware of his body odor as his mother took him in his arms, not even aware of his own warm tears coursing down his cheeks.
Eleven
Noon.
Lisa tried to ignore the stench of vomit, piss, excrement, and blood that now permeated the room, but with the window boarded up and the cabin now locked up good and tight, that was hard to do.
She sat cross-legged on the floor just outside the bedroom, still in shackles. Aside from yesterday, Caleb Smith-a.k.a. Tim Murray-had only been in one other time since Saturday morning, and that was later that afternoon to deliver another series of chains and a pulley to truss up Debbie Martinez in a like fashion. Wouldn't want Debbie to shit her pants now, would we? he had said grimly as he worked. Debbie had been reduced to a quivering thing that could only moan as Mr. Smith came near her. She had burst into tears the minute he entered the room. "Please let me go… pl eeaaassseee!'
Lisa had told Debbie what happened to her and Brad, starting with the road rage incident and ending Saturday morning when Mr. SmithiTim Murray had shown up to truss her up more securely. Debbie's eyes had grown wide at the mention of the snuff film and Tim's involvement. "1 don't believe this… this is some kind of sick joke…
"I'm afraid not," Lisa had said matter-of-factly.
Debbie couldn't believe that Tim Murray was capable of what Lisa was telling her. She couldn't believe that somebody so sweet-so normaNooking-was a bona fide weirdo. She had still been puzzling over the revelation when Tim returned to truss her up more securely, and that was when the implication hit her-why else would Tim be keeping her prisoner like this? 'That's when she had begun to plead for her life. It fell on deaf ears.
When Tim finally left for the night, Lisa set about to find a way out. She tested the length of chain she was tied to and found she could only exit about four feet out of the bedroom before the chain pulled tight. There was a small closet in the bedroom, which yielded nothing. Aside from the single bed in the middle of the room, there was a small dresser and a nightstand. The bathroom was bare bones, too; just a bar of so
ap, a couple of towels, and a dusty medicine cabinet. Lisa flipped on the light switch; the bedroom light came on.
Debbie had sat on the lumpy mattress and watched as Lisa stormed around the perimeter of their prison, trying to find a way out. Debbie was just as pretty nude as she had been fully clothed. Lisa's first impressions of the woman were that she could have passed as a model. With her flat tummy, her full, perfect breasts, and her long legs, she looked like she could pose for a Playboy centerfold. Lisa scowled as she searched frantically for a way out, casting glances back at Debbie, who sat on the bed still in shock. "Bambi" better get her head out of her ass if she wants to stay alive, she thought. Then she silently chastised herself. Stop it. She's a victim as much as you are. She doesn't deserve this any more than you; she's just handling it differently. She's not as tough. You've got to help her toughen up. If you can help her find the strength she needs, she'll be an incredible asset.
For a while, Lisa thought that's exactly what would happen. They had talked, and after a while Debbie began to relax. Sometime later that night, Debbie became a different person. She was still scared, but now she was angry as well. She told Lisa that her husband Neal was probably worrying about her right this minute. "1 thought I could hear my phone ringing a while back," she had said. "Sound can sometimes carry pretty well out here."
Did that mean that if they screamed loud enough somebody else might hear them? Debbie shook her head. "Nobody up here now except us. The closest cabin is the Hamptons' about two and a half miles east of here, and they might not even be at their place this time of year."
It was a start. They grew tired as the night wore on, and after eating a sandwich and some chips they went to sleep, both of them lying together on the narrow bed. Lisa had never slept with another woman before, and sleeping with Debbie wasn't sexual for her in any way, but it was comforting. The feel of the other woman lying beside her, feeling her breathe next to her, feeling her skin touch hers, was comforting. Having somebody with her helped make the night more bearable.
They had inspected their room further the following morning, Sunday. Lisa emptied out the drawers of the nightstand and removed them, moving them and the nightstand to the blind side of the door. When Tim-or the Animal-came through this door, she or Debbie could conk him on the head, get the keys to the handcuffs, and free themselves.
It was a good plan if you weren't pregnant.
Lisa couldn't bring herself to go through with it. What if something happened and the baby was hurt? Then she would just be killed anyway.
They were arguing about this, trying to come up with a feasible plan, when they heard a vehicle pull up outside the cabin.
There was a pause, low voices outside, more than one person. Then slow footsteps mounted the porch, and then a key was fumbled into the lock and the door opened. "Yoo-hoo?" a voice called out, and the minute she heard that voice a shiver of ice went down Lisa's spine. Anybody home?" He chuckled, and then the footsteps grew closer.
Tim Murray stood in the living room looking into the bedroom. Flanking him were two other men, one in his early forties with thinning, dirty-blond hair, bearing lighting and video-recording equipment. The second man was tall, wearing black leather pants, and a black leather vest over his bare chest.
His head was completely covered with a black bondage mask, holes cut over the eyes, nostrils, and mouth.
For a moment they stared at each other. -Mat one's the one I picked up outside Ventura," Tim Murray told the man with the camera. He pointed to Debbie. And that's the one that brought her nosy ass in yesterday, the one I told you about last night."
The guy with the thinning blond hair nodded. `What do you think, Animal?"
Animal stood there and stared at them. His breathing was harsh and heavy. He was staring at Debbie; he raised a finger and pointed. "Debbie," he said.
Debbie screamed.
It was done quickly. Tim grabbed Lisa and gagged her quickly, trussing her up even tighter and throwing her in the corner. Lisa watched with numb fear as Debbie was overpowered by Animal and the blond guy. The blond guy gave her some kind of injection in her arm and Debbie quieted down, her eyes growing droopy. Lisa's heart beat a mile a minute; it was beating so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her rib cage.
After that it was simple. The mattress was moved aside so Tim could lay down some plastic tarp on the floor. The blond guy joined him in nailing the tarp up along the walls, and then the bed was moved back into place. Tim helped the blond man with two sets of lights, got them setup, and then they went to work.
She tried not to watch, tried to drown out the sounds of what was going on, but she felt drawn to the scene as it was being filmed. It was strangely mesmerizing and soul-destroying.
The blond man filmed Debbie Martinez being raped by the man in the black bondage hood as he held a knife to her throat. Lisa would realize later that the reason Debbie didn't cry out louder was that she was doped up with something that left her conscious but incapacitated.
As the assault continued, Lisa had feigned unconsciousness for what felt like hours. When the man in the hood was finished raping Debbie, he turned her over and did something to her that seemed to shatter the effects of the drug. Lisa had never heard anybody scream in pain the way Debbie screamed. The screaming went on for a while and was punctuated by wet slapping sounds. When Debbie began to vomit, the hooded man left the room and the blond man stopped filming and the three of them left. They returned some time later-thirty minutes? An hour? lvo hours? — and resumed the rape and torture session. All of their attention was riveted on Debbie Martinez; they seemed to have totally forgotten that Lisa Miller was even there.
They hardly spoke at all during the ordeal. The few times words were spoken was the blond man instructing the man in the hood-Animal-to perform various sex acts on Debbie or hurt her in some way-bite her tits, cut her with that knife, bum her with that cigarette, fist-fuck her ass, strangle her just short of passing out then let her breathe-whatever. Tim said nothing during the ordeal; his sweaty features were riveted to the scene, his breathing-harsh and panting.
Only once did Animal speak. He told Debbie that he had been wanting to fucking torture her ass and stick it to her' for a long time now. Ever since he had laid eyes on her.
Somehow, Lisa managed to suffer through the ordeal of listening to Debbie Martinez being brutalized while she cowered in the corner, trying to drown out what was happening. For the first time since her ordeal, the thought of the fetus in her womb didn't come up. It's never going to be, she had thought, her heart heavy with sadness. Brad and I aren't going to have our baby, we'll never get the chance to make a baby again, because when they're finished with Debbie they're going to do the same to me.
Lisa didn't know if Debbie was dead or alive until the three men left. She heard them packing the camera and lighting gear up, and she heard the blond guy ask,'Is it okay if we leave that one here until tomorrow or the next day?'
Tim answered: "Yeah, she'll be fine. I left some food for her.'
Then they left.
Lisa waited until the sound of the engine had receded down the dirt driveway, and then she got up and went to check on Debbie.
Debbie was unconscious; her face was horribly bruised and swollen. Her nose was crushed, flattened against her face amid a gout of gore; her bottom lip was split by a great gash that would scar badly even if it was treated correctly. A great amount of blood had spurted from her nose and drenched her face and upper body, mixing with the blood from the other wounds Animal had ravaged on her. Carved into her belly were the words SLUT and CUNT. The blood had clotted, making the words one jumbled mass. Lisa had put a hand to her face to stifle a cry, but had been unable to. The tears sprang fresh and unbidden from some untapped well deep within her. She knelt down beside Debbie's tortured body and cried.
Debbie was alive at least, but it was hard to make out the damage. From what Lisa could tell, there were the wounds to her face and stomach, as well as
further cuts to her breasts, back, and thighs; most of the cuts needed stitches. She had numerous bite marks on her body, some bad enough to pierce the skin and draw blood, and it looked like her left nipple was almost chewed off. Her vagina was swollen, bruised, and bleeding; her anus was dilated horribly and was bleeding steadily, clotted with feces. The mattress was drenched with blood, vomit, saliva, feces, piss, and semen. Probably the most damaging wounds were those that Debbie would suffer in her mind. Lisa tended to Debbie's wounds in a daze, knowing that she needed professional medical attention. Somehow she leaned Debbie up as best she could and stopped the bleeding.
When Debbie came back to consciousness later that night, she screamed so shrilly it chilled Lisa to the bone.
By sunrise this morning, Monday, Debbie was catatonic. She had lain on her back on the bed, her once beautiful brown eyes now reduced to a muddy, vacant stare as they gazed up at the cracked ceiling. Her lips were dry and chapped, and she didn't even try to wipe away the snot that pooled out of her nose. Animal's attack had shattered her, the next one would probably kill her.
Lisa had inspected herself in the bathroom mirror. Aside from the shocked expression on her face and the red in her eyes, she looked fine.
She hoped that taking it easy last night would calm the sick feeling in her stomach, and it did. This morning she felt better, and she was able to think more clearly. After cleaning Debbie's wounds with a towel and some warm water this morning, she had eaten one of the sandwiches and a banana, drank some water, then tried to get Debbie to eat something. The woman ignored the food, her eyes staring somewhere past her. Maybe later.
She had spent the next two hours in the living room, as far as the chain would allow her. She sat on the floor, her back against the wall, watching the sun rise higher in the sky. She checked on Debbie occasionally, and for a while briefly debated another escape plan. She looked at the nightstand and once again thought about whether to use it as a weapon the next time they came back. She had nothing to lose.
Survivor Page 8
