Survivor: 1 (10 page)

She sat on the bed and tried not to cry as Mr. Smith
worked on boarding up the window to her prison. Her
mind retraced yesterday's nightmare quickly: leaving the
rest stop, the van's grille suddenly filling up the rearview
mirror, Brad's panicked voice as the van dogged their
every move for the next mile or so down the highway,
then the whirling lights and sirens of the Highway Patrol.
She had known the minute she saw those lights appear in
the rearview mirror that it had something to do with the
van, that the driver had pulled some kind of stunt. And
when that cop had pulled them over with his holier-thanthou attitude and told them it was Brad that was driving
around like an asshole, she'd felt an impending sense of
doom. She had felt a sense of disbelief as the officer told
her why he had pulled them over, and why he couldn't
really give a shit about them-after all, the law is the law,
and I'm only doing my job. And now as she sat naked on
a bare mattress in a small cabin somewhere in Big Bear in the San Bernardino mountains, her mind flashed on
something she had almost forgotten.

They had still been at the rest stop. They had stopped
for bathroom breaks, and as usual Brad had finished
first. Lisa had exited the women's restroom and joined
Brad at a little scattering of picnic tables. There was a yellow sign with a blocky-looking drawing of a snake on it, a
warning to tourists that rattlesnakes were in the area this
time of year. Lisa had stood by the sign with a wild grin as
Brad snapped a photo of her, and it was then when she
had seen him walking by, casting his gaze on them.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember, summoning the image in her mind. Yes, she was positive it had
been Mr. Smith. He had been wearing sunglasses, and
the more she thought about it, the more the picture
came to her mind. He had been standing by a large tree
that overlooked the rest stop. She didn't remember him
being there when they had pulled up, but she surely remembered glancing over at him when she left the ladies'
room. She had quickly dismissed him, figuring he was
just another tourist waiting for his wife or significant
other to exit the ladies' room. There had been four other
women in the restroom besides her, and she had dismissed it from her mind until she and Brad were shooting photos and horsing around, and then he had walked
past them slowly, casually, and then Brad had said something that distracted her and then they were laughing
over something and the guy was forgotten as they gathered their stuff together and headed toward the Lexus.
He was gone anyway, both physically and from her mind,
when they climbed into the Lexus and backed out of the
parking space to hit the Interstate.

But hadn't there been a red van parked at the rest
stop? Now that she thought about it, she could have
sworn that there was. She could picture it now: him sit ting at the rest stop, carefully but unobtrusively watching
as tourists came and went, waiting for just the right people to come along. And then she and Brad had dropped
in. How did Mr. Smith pick them? Did he overhear a
scrap of conversation they might have had as they
walked to the restrooms together? Some bits of information that told him everything he needed to know? Did
that information-talking about their vacation plans this
long weekend-give him what he needed to know to
convince himself that he would have at least two days to
do what he needed to do before any alarm was raised
about her disappearance?

The feeling of dread settled in her belly further. Now
she was more terrified than before. The story he'd told
the officer was bullshit. The thought of actually feeding
her to this guy he called the Animal for a snuff film, all for
the satisfaction of a faceless group of perverts, was more
frightening the more she thought about it. He didn't appear to be bothered by the fact that he was playing a key
role in her murder. He didn't seem to care when she told
him she was pregnant. All he had been concerned about
was the money he was being paid.

There was no question about it. She had to get out of
here at any cost. She would run through the woods naked
if she had to. She didn't care. What mattered more than
anything was getting out alive. She didn't have just herself
to think about anymore-the life of her unborn baby was
at stake.

A thought suddenly came to her as she remembered
being knocked out by Mr. Smith: Did the chloroform he
gave me yesterday ... did that hurt the baby?

Oh God, please no, please let my baby be all right!

The sound of Mr. Smith working outside became
background noise as she sat on the bed and thought about what to do. When Mr. Smith left later today, she
was going to have to do some roaming around the room
to see if she could find something to help her escape
with. She inspected the bed she was sitting on. Maybe
she could take a piece off of it, use it to batter down the
boards he had nailed over the window Surely if she was
able to do that and wriggle out the window she
wouldn't get very far because she was chained up, but if
she stood outside and yelled long enough, wouldn't
somebody hear her? Even if the closest cabin was a
mile away, surely somebody would hear her during the
day and-

"Hey, Tim? Jeff? Anybody here?"

Lisa's heart froze. For a moment she thought it was Mr.
Smith, but then she heard the sound of nails being hammered into the wood outside the room. Mr. Smith was still
outside boarding up the window. Which meant that-

Footsteps clumped from the back of the cabin and
grew loser. "I was wondering when you would be coming back up. I saw your van and-" It was a woman's
voice, and now Lisa looked up just in time to see her stop
in the middle of the living room, silhouetted against the
rays of the sun that streamed in through the halfboarded-up window. The woman looked like she might
have stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. She
was tall, with dark hair that fell to her shoulders. She had
high cheekbones and a sharp nose, with full lips and
dark eyes. Now those lips were open in a round 0 of surprise, her eyes wide with shock as she looked through
the doorway at Lisa sitting naked on the bed, her ankles
and wrists shackled together. "Oh my God!" she said.

Lisa was so stunned by the sudden intrusion that she
didn't know what to do. Her brain was frozen. She
thought the woman standing in front of her was an illu sion, a wishful thinking of her imagination. The woman
took a step closer, her face still frozen in that Fcan't-be-
lieve-I'm seeing-this expression, and said, "Are you okay?
What the hell is-"

Mr. Smith suddenly appeared in the living room, grabbing the woman from behind, one arm locked around
her throat in a chokehold, the other around her waist.
The woman struggled, her eyes going wider, and Lisa
watched as Mr. Smith tried to wrestle the woman to the
ground. The woman tried to scream, but all that came
out were muffled, strangled sounds of fear and anguish.
Lisa watched, her stomach in a tight ball.

For a minute it looked like the woman had a fighting
chance. She had a good six inches on Mr. Smith, and she
used her height to its full advantage, throwing herself
around, trying to offset the balance and throw him to the
ground. But Mr. Smith managed to knee her in the kidneys and the woman went down with a muffled woof of
pain, and then he had her. He brought her to the ground
and, planting his knee on her back, he held her down.
"Goddamnit, why did you have to barge in like that? Oh
goddamn, goddamn..."

The woman had been stunned by the blow to her
lower back, and tears welled up in her eyes. Mr. Smith hit
her again, and the woman screamed and curled up into
a ball. The sound of the scream curdled Lisa's blood. She
drew herself up on the bed in a protective gesture, not
even aware she was whimpering.

Mr. Smith stood up, looking anguished as he ran a
hand through his thinning hair. "Oh Christ, this is a mess.
Shit!" He turned to the remaining chains on the floor, and
Lisa watched as he trussed the woman up with them.
"Debbie, why the fuck did you have to barge in like that,
huh? Why the fuck did you have to stick your nose in my fucking business?" He repeated similar mantras as he
trussed her up. By the time he was finished, the pain
from the two blows to Debbie's kidneys seemed to have
subsided. Now all Debbie did was sob loudly. She didn't
resemble the woman who had stumbled into the cabin a
few minutes before. Mr. Smith had reduced her to a quivering, blubbering thing.

Mr. Smith tested her bonds. "Shit!" He turned and
clomped outside. Lisa watched, breath held as she heard
him rummaging around in his van. Then he returned a
moment later with some rope. Mr. Smith tied Debbie up
with the rope, trussing her up more securely than he had
with the chain. When he was finished, he stood up and
surveyed his handiwork. Debbie lay on the floor, arms
tied behind her back, wrists tied together, her legs and
ankles lashed together. No way was she going anywhere.
"I'm sorry I have to do this, Debbie," Mr. Smith said. He
looked around nervously. "You up here alone? Did Neal
come with you?"

Debbie only cried.

"Fuck!" Mr. Smith stomped outside. Lisa heard him get
into his van and start it. He backed it down the driveway
and sped down the road.

Lisa waited, her stomach doing slow flips in her belly.
If Neal was up here as well, he might be her chance to escape. That is, unless Mr. Smith didn't kill him first.

The wait for Mr. Smith to come back was torturous.
Debbie cried the whole time, and shortly before Mr.
Smith returned, her crying slowed down to trickles. Her
eyes were puffy, and they glanced around the room,
wide-eyed with terror. Lisa looked down at her. "What's
your last name?"

"Martinez," Debbie said, hiccupping. 'Who are you?'

"Lisa Miller. Is Neal up here with you?"

"No" Debbie's face screwed up and she began sobbing
again, heart-wrenching cries that tugged at Lisa's gut.

Mr. Smith stomped back in. He looked somewhat relieved to find Neal not at the cabin. "Is Neal coming up
this weekend?" he asked the crying woman on the floor.

Debbie shook her head, trying to calm her crying
down. "No ... please don't hurt me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you' Mr. Smith was agitated. He
bobbed back and forth on unsteady legs. "When is Neal
coming up?"

"/ don't know!" Debbie cried.

"Shit" Mr. Smith ran his hand through his hair again. He
looked at Lisa, then turned away and headed back outside. A minute later, he resumed his work at the window

Lisa sat on the mattress, her mind racing. Surely, whoever Neal was, he would grow worried when Debbie
didn't come back, or when he couldn't reach her at her
cabin. Debbie was most likely a neighbor and was acquainted with whoever Tim and Jeff were well enough to
feel relaxed around them (Was Mr. Smith, Tim? Or was
he Jeff7). If Neal wasn't around this weekend, how long
would it take him to get worried and try looking for her?

Would he think of looking for her at Mr. Smith's cabin?

And if he did, would Mr. Smith-or worse yet, would
the Animal-be here to kill him?

Lisa couldn't think of that now. To do so would be
courting defeat. Neal was her only hope. Debbie lay on
the floor, her crying trickled down to sniffles, and now
the darkness in the room was like a permanent thing. Mr.
Smith finished boarding up the window.

He trumped back inside the cabin. He looked in at the
two women, his eyes darting to Debbie, then to Lisa. "I'm
leaving, but I'll bring you some food. Are sandwiches
okay?"

'Yeah."

"Okay." Mr. Smith disappeared, and a moment later she
heard him in the kitchen.

Lisa looked down at Debbie. "Crying only wastes your
energy," she said in a whisper. "We're going to need all the
energy we can get, girlfriend. You better believe it if you
want to get out of this."

Debbie lay on the floor, her eyes wide and staring.
"Why is he doing this?"

"I'll tell you later," Lisa said. She turned away from
Debbie and waited on the bed for Mr. Smith to return.
Several times Debbie whispered up to ask her what was
going on-why had Tim tied her up like this? Why did
he attack her and tie her up?-but Lisa didn't answer
her. "I'll tell you later," was all she said. "When he
leaves." And then Tim-Mr. Smith to Lisa-was back
with four sandwiches, a bag of potato chips, four bottles
of Evian water, and several pieces of fruit. And then he
was gone.

When the sound of the van's engine receded in the distance, Debbie asked Lisa again. Lisa looked down at the
woman. "How well do you know Tim? And what's his last
name?"

Debbie opened her mouth, dosed it. "His last name is
Murray. I ... I don't know him that well, I guess. I mean,
we're neighbors, I see him and his friend Jeff and their
other friends up here every so often, but-"

"Listen to me very carefully," Lisa said. "And try not to
freak out. I know that will be hard to do. It took all of my
willpower to not collapse, and if we're going to get out of
this we're going to have to work together. You and me.
Okay?"

Debbie nodded, her face stony. And then Lisa shuffled
closer to Debbie and told her, and Debbie did freak out.

"You people are a real piece of work, do you know that?"

"Ma'am, we're doing everything we can. Now, if you'll
please-"

"Please nothing. My daughter-in-law is missing, and you
not only refuse to believe that, but you've been holding
my son now for two days without a legitimate cause for-"

"Ma'am, we've been through this before." The officer
on the other side of the desk was trying hard to remain
calm, but was clearly becoming agitated the more Joan
Miller kept arguing with him. "There's nothing we can do
until Monday morning when Brad is arraigned. I know
Officer Lansing has been helping you and your husband
through this, but-"