by Declan Brand
“I’m afraid we are,” Fanelli lowered his body into one of the chairs, terrified that it would collapse under his weight. This thing would cost ten years of my salary!
“Don’t worry about the furniture.” Winston smiled at the expression on Fanelli’s face. “It looks old but it’s reproduction—the real stuff is in a storage vault out in the desert.”
Fanelli nodded and sat. “Thanks for telling me.”
“No problem.” Winston moved into the room and sat on a couch facing the two agents. His eyes remained fixed on Kelly—and Fanelli could see that she was not enjoying the attention. “Now, what can I do for you?”
Kelly pulled a copy of the Hollywood Reporter out of her bag, placed it on the table in front of Winston. It was opened to the full-page ad advertising the cattle call they had become interested in.
“We’re told that you placed this advertisement,” Kelly’s finger lightly touched the paper, indicating the ad. “We’d like to know more about the film and the company making it.”
Winston picked up a pair of reading glasses from a side table, put them on, than took the paper, zeroing in on the indicated page. He glanced at the ad, “a slasher film. Hmmm.” He turned the newspaper over, folded it back to check the date. “Almost four months ago…” He placed the paper back on the desk and looked up at the two agents. “I have to tell you, in all honestly, that I don’t have any memory of any film like this.” He put the glasses down, rubbed thumb and forefinger across the top of his nose. “I seldom work with horror films of any kind—and slasher films…” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I would deal with anything that had that low a budget—there’s no way they could afford my services!”
“The clerk at the newspaper assured me that the advertisement was placed and paid for by your office.”
“Did she?” He leaned back into the thin cushioning of the fragile-looking couch and crossed his hands behind his head. “Did she see me do it in person? Or was it just a phone order?”
“A phone order.” Fanelli had noticed the flare of anger that appeared in Kelly’s eyes and hurried to cut her off.
“But she was certain that the call came from your office.” Once started, Agent Kelly was not to be stopped. “And the receipt shows that it was, in fact, one of your credit card accounts that was used to pay.”
“Okay.” Winston shrugged again. “If you’re sure, I guess it was my office.” He leaned toward the two agents and put a hand on the ad. “But even if that’s the case, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with it—this is not my type of project.” He shook his head. “My office employs a large number of agents--several of the newer ones specialize in low-budget things like this. It’s likely that one of them ordered and paid for this ad using a company account.”
“Can you prove that?” Kelly was leaning forward, eyes fixed on the agent. “Would there be any kind of record?”
“I’m sure there would be.” Winston gestured around him. “But those records are in my office—not my home.” He stood up, signaling that the interview was over. “If you want me to check on that, I’ll be glad to do so. Call my office tomorrow, or, better still, the day after and I’ll get my accountant searching for the information on this…” He indicated the paper, “…project—when he digs out the data, I’ll have it copied and held by my secretary—when you call, she’ll be happy to give it to you—or, better still, when you come I’ll have my accountant talk to you himself.”
“Are you sure…”
“My dear, “Winston’s smile was wide and innocent. “I am absolutely sure that I had nothing to do with some cheap ‘Slasher’ film at any time in the past ten years.” He gestured toward the hallway. “And now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you—I do have dinner plans.”
Fanelli nodded and surreptitiously closed his hand around the back of Kelly’s elbow, pushing her forward--they were clearly being dismissed and he was anxious to get the other agent out before she became too abrasive. “Of course, sir.” He maneuvered the two of them through the entrance hall and onto the marble flooring, making all the speed he could toward the door. “We do appreciate any help you can give us on this.”
“I’m always ready to help law enforcement in any way I can.” He opened the big front door, which silently pivoted on perfectly balanced hinges. “Perhaps you two would like to see one of the new films the studios are working on? I have screening tickets for several rather good ones…”
“No thank you, Mr. Winston.” Kelly’s tone was cold enough to freeze the door in mid-pivot. “We still have more work to do before we can relax.” She gave him a searching look. “Women’s lives are at stake.”
“Then you have important work, indeed.” He held the door open. “I hope you find what you are looking for Agent…”
“Kelly.” She stepped through the door without another glance. “Megan Kelly.”
“I’ll remember that.” Winston gave Fanelli a friendly nod. “I will definitely remember that.”
The door closed behind them.
“That was stupid.” Fanelli kicked gravel out of his way as he moved toward the car. “Why antagonize him? He’s our only lead!”
“He knows something.” Kelly looked back at the house, eyes narrow. “I’m sure he was lying to us.”
“So you go out of your way to make him angry? One of the most important men in Hollywood?” Fanelli pulled the car door open, slid into the driver’s seat. “That’s just great! And when you leave and go back to good old Washington, who’s going to be left holding the bag?” He turned the key savagely. “Me! Me and the boys at the LA office.”
“There’s not going to be a bag.” She slid in beside him. “We’re going to find out what really happened—and I’ll bet you anything that your Mr. Harry Winston is involved up to his neck!”
“Sure, you’ll bet anything.” Fanelli threw the car into gear—gravel exploded behind him as he pulled away. “Like something’s gonna happen to you if you’re wrong!”
Winston watched the car speed down the driveway. Agent Kelly, he told himself. An interesting woman. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a combination, thinking hard as the phone on the other end rang. Very interesting indeed—and far too interested in me. He smiled as he heard the receiver on the other end picked up. I think I’ll have to do something about that…
CHAPTER TWELVE
I can’t take much more of this! Megan Kelly was drifting in a haze of agony, her body protesting every breath, every tiny move. I know he’s using standard interrogation tactics on me—the nudity, the slapping, the sleep deprivation…
I could take that—could hold on until help comes… She shook her head. But the other things he’s done—the beating across the stomach—that was just awful! And then he put that thing—that buzzing, vibrating, maddening thing inside me… The dildo/vibrator was still buzzing away, annoying without satisfying—a sign that the people holding her could do anything—and everything—they wanted with her.
And those clips—and mutilating my nipple! Megan knew that her badge—the badge that meant so much to her as an emblem of her position and power—was now just a source of ongoing pain as it remained thrust through her right nipple.
That biting, hanging, never-ending pain was worse than anything else—that and the position her body had been forced to hold for nearly twenty-four hours.
What do they want? The question kept running through her—helping her to maintain at least a trace of sanity in the face of the ongoing pain. They haven’t asked me a single question! She bit into the huge rubber ball that filled her mouth to near overflowing. And I couldn’t answer if they did! She shuddered as the badge shifted slightly on her breast, causing the pain to double. Please God, please help me!
But God wasn’t listening. Not at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“All right, bitch!” Mike spat the words out as he entered the training room. “Time to have a little talk…” He watched her head lol
l weakly on her neck as she tried to face him. She’s slowed down—gotten a lot weaker too, he noted. The pain and the lack of sleep is taking a toll… He smiled. Good! He held a new toy in his hand—one he was anxious to try out.
“This is a cattle prod,” he touched the dual prongs to the side of Kelly’s breast and pressed the power button. There was a loud crack, and she shrieked into her gag, her entire body shaking with the pain of the shock. “I have it set on three.” He touched her again—on the other breast—this time her whole body went rigid, fighting the pain and terrible sounds came from behind her gag. “The dial goes all the way up to ten.” One more touch—on her right thigh. The metal stake shook as she writhed against it.
Mike’s smile widened. “I see you understand the potential.” He nodded to his assistant. “I’m going to let you loose for a little while—allow you to go to the bathroom, that sort of thing.” He touched her with the prod, without touching the power button—and watched her stiffen and try to pull away from the metal.
“If you disobey me in any way, I’ll go to five—maybe six.” He took a half-step back. “Do you understand?”
Her head quickly moved up and down in an affirmative motion.
“Good.” He nodded to his assistant. “Let’s get you down from this pole, shall we?”
It took several minutes to undo the straps and cuffs holding Megan Kelly in place. Her legs, released from their bonds, flopped helplessly down onto the floor, all feeling gone. Mike waited while his assistant uncuffed her hands from the back of the stake—then immediately recuffed them together, slaves are never allowed to have both hands and feet free at once inside this establishment, Mike couldn’t stop the rule from running through his mind—it was one of the thing Andy and the big guy harped on at every meeting. Okay! But she’s not free—and that didn’t take more than a second—with no way for her to run! He stepped forward and helped the other man lift the helpless redhead off the crossbar. They put her on her feet—and watched as she crumpled to the floor. See!
Mike smiled at the sounds that came from behind her gag when the badge impacted, shifting the pin that still bisected her nipple. That’s a gift that keeps on giving! He waited a few moments for her to regain control—and for circulation to re-start in her legs—than stepped up beside her. “No resting now.” He touched her ass with the cattle prod—pressed the button.
CRACK!
“On your knees.” He grabbed a handful of her sweat-soaked hair and pulled her upright. “Do it now or I’ll let you fall again!”
Kelly moaned as she tried to shift the dead weight that was her legs—but she did manage to get them beneath her—and was able to hold them still enough to hold her slumping form upright when Mike released his grip on her hair.
“Good.” He stepped back, pushed her knees apart with the tip of his shoe. “That’s another rule you have to learn—bitches always kneel in the presence of men—legs as far apart as they’ll reach.” He touched her trembling breast with the prod, held his finger on the power button. “Is that clear, bitch?”
Her nod was gratifyingly fast.
“Excellent. Now, normally, I would order you to crawl to the bathroom—but as this is your first time and your legs seem a little numb…” He chuckled. “I’m going to allow you to walk alongside me.” He reached down, grabbed a fistful of hair again—and pulled. “On your feet--quickly.”
Kelly moaned at the new pain in her scalp. She still had no feeling in her legs—but she pushed with all the strength she had left and got her feet under her. She was wobbly—but she was upright—at least as far upright as he would allow.
“Slaves don’t get to stand—just keep that head down where I want it.” He held her at about waist height. “Good—now, follow along.”
Mike took a step toward the training room door, the bound and blindfolded woman stumbling in his wake, every step hurting more than the one before.
It seemed to take an eternity to reach the bathroom. Kelly’s legs started to regain circulation after the first few steps—and the pain of that resumption almost caused her to fall down—only Mike’s grip on her hair kept her upright—and moaning her pain into the gag.
Finally, they reached their destination and the FBI Agent was allowed to relieve herself—although she was never free. Mike kept her cuffed and locked those cuffs to the toilet. Only then did he remove the still-active dildo and allow her to void her bladder.
Once she was done, she was washed clean and had the dildo re-inserted (after Mike installed fresh batteries). That done, she was led back to the training room—where Mike had a new test of her endurance planned.
Inside, she was frog-marched back to her pole—which had been shortened with one of the crossbars removed. She was backed into place and pushed back onto her knees--then her ankles were pulled behind the pole, crossed and tied into place—which had the result of keeping her knees widely spread.
Her waist was then tied to the lowered-crossbar with criss-crossing straps. When they were in place, her wrists, still cuffed, were pulled down behind her and secured to the base of the pole. She was left kneeling upright, held at the waist, ankles, and wrists.
Mike examined the position, decided it would do and stepped forward to undo the strap holding the dildo in place, slowly pulling it out as Kelly moaned at his actions. “I figured I’d put something new inside you tonight, bitch.” He rubbed the dildo across her lower body, letting her feel the moisture that covered the thing—then took the new device from his assistant and touched it to the base of her clit. “This is a different sort of dildo.” He pushed it into place, securing it with the dangling strap. “It doesn’t have a vibrator inside it.” He smiled as he saw the very slight relaxation of her muscles that statement brought. “Instead, it has a smaller version of the cattle prod you’ve been enjoying.”
She went rigid.
“The power indicator is set on three.” He reached up, touched the buckle holding her gag in place—pulled the strap through the buckle. “No sounds now or I’ll set it to five—understand?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He pulled the gag out of her mouth, smiling as a new stream of drool ran down the front of her body. “Now, this new gag”, he pushed a slightly smaller ball into her mouth, nodding in satisfaction as she opened up wide to receive it. “Has a little mercury switch built in.” He buckled the strap tight behind her head. “If you keep your head nice and straight and upright like it is now…” He touched her cheek, stroking it. “Nothing will happen.”
“But if your head should slump or go to the side,” he slapped her once, the force of the blow moving her head to the right…
CRACK!
He watched as she screamed into the gag—a hollow and slightly louder MMMMMFFFFFFHHHH! making its way around the somewhat-smaller ball. “Well, I’m sure you get the idea.”
He waited while she fought to get herself back under control, her breath coming fast as she panted and moaned, holding her head as rigid as she could.
“The setting will increase every three discharges--first three, then four, then five—and so on.” He patted her cheek again. “I think it will make for a very interesting night.”
He stepped back, grinning as he saw her try to keep her head exactly level as she tried to control her breathing—he knew she would be more than happy not to move at all.
“Pleasant dreams.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – THREE DAYS TO CAPTURE
Special Agent in Charge Megan Kelly slept very poorly after Bob Fanelli dropped her off at the hotel. She spent hours twisting and turning on a hotel bed that was too hard for her—fighting with a problem that was starting to look much too big for her to crack.
Am I handling this correctly, she asked herself, poking at the flat pillow that didn’t give her head any support at all. Should I let Fanelli handle people like that Harry Winston? It’s his territory; maybe he does know the players better…
No. She shook her head and turned onto her other s
ide for the tenth time that night--I’m the one who found the film, chased down the missing girls’ names—I’ve got to be the one to break the whole thing open. The Deputy Director made that clear to me.
The Deputy Director… Kelly thought back on her last meeting with that formidable woman. She had been called into the Director’s office and, after some patently false pleasantries, the Director had tossed Kelly’s report regarding the DVD and what it might mean onto the desk that sat between them: “I’ve read your report—watched the damned DVD.” The Director brushed a stray lock out of her eye. “If it’s real, it’s frightening as hell.”
“It’s real, Ms. Blanchette.” Kelly kept her voice carefully level. “I had it checked by two different experts—they’re sure that no special effects of any kind were used on that film—the blood, the wounds—everything is quite real.”
“And you think that this originated somewhere in the Los Angeles area.”
Kelly nodded, opening the report to page 51 and turned it so it could easily be seen by the Director. “I ran a computer check on the mountains visible in the background and the position of the sun. Without question, this was shot in the greater LA area—somewhere in the Santa Anna Mountains.”
The Deputy Director looked at the analysis and sighed. “I know the head of the LA office pretty well—he and I worked together on the BTK Killer task force a couple of years ago. He’s a good man.”
“I doubt if he’s even aware of this film, Ma’am. My source says distribution is very exclusive.”
“Ah yes,” Ms. Blanchette fixed Kelly with her patented stare. “And you still refuse to share your source on this?”
“I gave my word, Ma’am.”
“Your word.” The Deputy Director stood up and moved to her window, looking out over Constitution Avenue. “And you think it’s worth looking into?”
