Survivor: 1 (6 page)

She had left the substation and driven to the Days Inn
five blocks east. There was a Denny's on the comer,
which she supposed was where dinner would be eaten
tonight. She had checked in and called his parents. Luckily, they had been home. Brad's father, Frank, was an executive at Farrar & Sorts, an investment firm, and the cushiony salary and thirty years with the company had
left him and Joan, Brad's mother, pretty well off. To devote more time to her art, where she excelled in watercolor, Joan had been able to take early retirement as a
junior high school teacher after slugging it out for twenty
years. Due to his position at Farrar and his years with the
company, Frank had plenty of flex and vacation time.
They had been very upset and alarmed by what happened. "Do you want us to come up?" Joan asked.

"Yeah," Lisa had said, sitting on the bed, twirling the
telephone cord between her fingers. She would feel better if Brad's parents were here. She wouldn't feel so
alone.

Joan asked if she would be okay by herself tonight,
and Lisa said she thought she would. *We'll be up in the
morning, then," Joan had said. "Between ten and eleven.'

Lisa glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was now
closing in on six PM. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't
eaten a thing since this morning and she was hungry. She
stood up and began rummaging in her purse. The cop
that had pulled them over-he had finally introduced
himself as Officer Chris Lansing-said that Brad would
be fine for the weekend. He was in his own cell, and he
would be served three meals a day. Lisa's heart went out
to Brad, who was a good man. He surely didn't deserve
to have this happen to him, but at least he had his own
cell and the jail itself was empty. "If we get anybody else
for the weekend, they'll have their own cell. Don't worry,
Mrs. Miller, he'll be fine."

She was reflecting on what a gentleman Officer Lansing had become the more he learned about what really
happened, when her thoughts were interrupted by a
knock on the door.

She whirled to the door, her heart leaping slightly in
her chest. That couldn't be Joan and Frank, not this early. Even if they had changed their minds about coming up
tonight, it would still take them three hours or more to
get up here from Huntington Beach. She went to the
door and peered through the peephole. Nothing.

She opened the door and peeked out, and that's when
the door slammed back violently and hit her above the
left eye.

She fell back and hit the wall as the door slammed
open. Her mind was spinning, trying to track what was
happening, and then he was looming over her, his beard
scruffy in his grin. "Thought you were rid of me, huh,
bitch?" Mr. Smith said. Then he swung one hard, callused fist down onto her head and Lisa saw stars, then
blackness.

The next thing she was aware of was her head hurting.

Lisa came awake gradually, as if swimming up from
the bottom of a pool. The darkness turned to gray, then a
murky color punctuated by lights and muffled sounds.
The lights grew brighter, but everything was blurry. A
shadow loomed over her and hung there; she was frightened, thinking the shadow was going to descend and
take her down into darkness again.

Then her blurred vision cleared and she blinked. She
was lying on her back in the motel room's queen-sized
bed. Her arms were tied behind her back, and the strain
on her shoulders was what brought the pain to the surface. She shifted on the bed and then she saw him, sitting
on a chair by the end table. He smiled and rose to his
feet. Instinct took over and she kicked out with her feet, but she didn't get anywhere: he had tied her ankles together, too.

Mr. Smith laughed. "Now now, Mrs. Miller. No need to
get antsy."

"Let me out now!" Lisa screamed. The sound of her
scream was loud, even to her ears. She let loose another
loud, piercing scream and tried to lunge off the bed at
Mr. Smith.

Mr. Smith's cocky grinned disappeared. He swarmed
over the bed, his body pinning her down as she
screamed and flayed on the bed. You cocksucking motherfucker, I'm gonna kill you-"

Now now, let's not have any of that." He damped one
large, meaty hand over her mouth to shut her up. Lisa
clamped her teeth over the fleshy part of his thumb and
bit down hard. Mr. Smith yelled and jerked back, holding
his thumb. Lisa squirmed violently and tried to scream
again, but managed only a slight croak. "You bitch!" He
held up his bleeding hand to Lisa, his features seeming
to say /can't-believe-you-bit-me!

Lisa took a deep breath and yelled at the top of her
lungs. Her back arched as she lifted her upper body off
the mattress. Mr. Smith fumbled in a small bag she saw
on the nightstand, and he extracted a handkerchief. He
picked up a small bottle resting by the bag, poured something in the handkerchief, set the bottle down, and advanced toward the bed. Lisa's eyes widened in shock,
and she struggled. Mr. Smith approached her and Lisa
opened her mouth to scream again, but the handkerchief was stuffed into her mouth, the wet part clamped
down over her nostrils, and then she was breathing in a
heavy, acidic stench and she saw stars. The room was
spinning, and she barely had time to recognize the looming figure of Mr. Smith over her as her mind reeled from the scent of whatever it was he had given her, and then
her last thought was Oh my God, the baby=

When she woke up again, she had a splitting headache.
She tasted something in her mouth and ran her tongue
along it. It was a loth rag, wedged into her mouth and
tied around the back of her head. She was gagged.

The sun had dropped outside and it was darker in the
room now. She lay on the bed, her heart pounding, letting
her eyes grow accustomed to the dark. She heard him before she saw him, from the chair at the writing desk opposite the bed. "You're awake," he said. "You don't have to lie
there and pretend to still be out. I know you're awake"

She almost let out a sob of frustration and fear. She felt
tears at the back of her throat; her face felt hot and flush.
She was no longer hungry, but there was an empty feeling in her belly anyway-the empty feeling of fear.

The dark shape sitting at the chair rose to its feet and
walked over to the side of the bed. Lisa could barely
make out Mr. Smith as he stood over her. "I had to gag
you," he said, "because you were being unreasonable.
There's no need to be unreasonable. It's a good thing for
you nobody heard you. If somebody had heard you and
come to investigate, you wouldn't have woken up, little
lady. No sirree."

Lisa began to cry.

Mr. Smith leaned over her and she could make his features out more clearly through tear-blurred eyes. He was
grinning. "Everything's going to be fine," he said. "You got
a nice little bump on your noggin, but it's barely noticeable, which is good. We're just going to wait until it gets
dark, then we're going to hit the road. That's why I had to
tie you up and gag you. Once it's dark and the coast is
clear, I'll move you to my van and we'll head off."

Head off to where? Her mind screamed. She tried to
control her sobs, but couldn't. The tears flowed freely
and her breath was harsh. Why are you doing this?

As if he had heard her silent question, he smiled: "I
know you're probably wondering why I'm doing this. If
it'll make you feel better, I've never done this kind of
thing before-kidnapping people, that is. I'm not some
psycho or some serial killer. I'm not going to hurt you!

So why are you doing this?

Mr. Smith leaned over her. "You guys presented yourself to me so perfectly. The citizen's arrest? That was just
my way of getting you separated from your husband. By
the time he gets out of jail Monday morning, you and I
will be over the hills and far away."

Lisa felt a sudden weight of fear in her belly. Oh my
God, he's going to kill me!

Mr. Smith leaned closer to her. She could smell his
breath; it smelled of onions. "So your hubby gets to spend
the weekend in jail-and you?" He chuckled and
straightened up, rising to his full height. "You get to spend
the weekend in my company. We're going to have a good
time together." He walked to the window and parted the
drapes, peering out at the darkness.

Lisa's heart raced. What was he going to do with her?
She felt a sinking sense of dread. It wasn't just her
anymore-there was the baby to think about now. She
was almost paralyzed with fear at the thought of the fetus
in her womb being hurt, but somehow she barreled past
that. Her hands moved to and fro behind her back, testing the bonds. He had trussed her up pretty tight. It
would take a miracle to untie herself, and unlike the heroes and heroines of novels, she didn't think she'd be
able to free herself.

Mr. Smith turned back to her. "You might be wondering
what I'm going to do to you. Like I said, Mrs. Miller, I've never done this before. I ain't no serial killer, and I ain't
no rapist, either. It's just that, well .. " He shrugged.
"Maybe I'll tell you later if you behave. How's that
sound?"

He grinned wide again, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. "We'll leave when it gets dark. We have a good threehour drive ahead of us."

Lisa's breathing became quick and labored as Mr.
Smith stepped loser to her and leaned over her prone,
trussed-up form on the bed.

When Joan and Frank Miller pulled into the parking lot
of the Days Inn the next morning at ten-thirty, they saw
the kids' Lexus parked in front of room 6. There were four
other cars in the parking lot: a black Camaro, two SUVs,
and an Accura Legend. Rank pulled in next to the Lexus
and turned it off. "Here we are," he said.

"I wonder if she was able to talk to Brad this morning,"
Joan said, grabbing her purse and sliding out of the passenger seat.

"If she hasn't yet, maybe the three of us will be able to
this morning," Frank said, shutting the driver's-side door
and stretching his back. The three-hour drive had begun
very early for them. They had been out of the house by
seven o'clock.

Joan crossed over to room 6 and rapped on the door.
They stood there for a moment, waiting for Lisa to answer, and then Joan knocked again. "Maybe she's in the
shower," Frank suggested.

"Maybe' Joan rapped harder on the door and they waited, spending the next three minutes knocking every
twenty seconds or so, trading puzzled looks. Joan put her
ear to the door and frowned. "I don't hear anything."

"She couldn't have gone anywhere," Frank said, motioning to the Lexus. "Her car is still here."

"Do you think she might have walked to the police station?" Joan shaded her eyes with the flat of her hand as
she gazed down Rim Road. "The police station is only
five blocks that way."

Frank shrugged. "It's possible. She might be at the
Denny's having breakfast, too. Why don't we take a little
walk and find out?"

Their little walk took them to the Denny's, then to the
Ventura County Sheriff substation. Once at the substation, they inquired at the front desk about their son. The
desk clerk, a young woman with black hair carefully
pinned back, consulted a computer. "He's in the jail's
holding and receiving area," she said.

"Has he had any visitors this morning?" Joan asked. It
had been warm this morning in Orange County, and she
had dressed in a pair of white slacks and a blue blouse. It
was a little chilly in Ventura, and she pulled a white
sweater over her shoulders.

The clerk shook her head. "No, he hasn't. Are you
family?"

"We're his parents," Frank said. "Can we see him?"

"Let me check" The clerk picked up the extension on
her desk, punched a number, and got somebody else on
the line. "Mr. Miller in 4D? His parents are here. Can he
have visitors?" She paused. "Okay, thanks." She hung up
and turned to Frank and Joan. "The jail warden will be
out in a minute"

Five minutes later, a door opened and a young officer
looked out. "Mr. and Mrs. Miller?"

As they followed the officer down the hall to the rear of the building where the jail was, Frank asked again if
Brad had received any visitors this morning. "None," the
officer said.

"Are you sure?" Joan asked. "We were thinking our
daughter-in-law might be here already."

"You're the first to see Mr. Miller this morning," the officer said. He inserted a key into a large metal door and
opened it, ushering them inside. "Last cell on the left.
Press the buzzer outside the door when you're finished.*

'Thanks." Frank took Joan's arm and led her through
the door and down the hall.

Brad was waiting for them at the front of the cell, his
hands gripping the metal bars. His hair looked ruffled
and there were dark circles under his eyes. He smiled
when he saw them. "God, am I glad to see you guys!"

Joan went to her son and reached through the bars,
grasping his hands and pulling him closer. She kissed his
cheek. "We're glad to see you too, son.'

"You okay, Brad?" Frank asked, taking Brad's hand and
squeezing it affectionately.

"I'm tired. I didn't get any sleep in here last night."

Joan was nervous, not just for the situation at hand,
but because they hadn't seen Lisa. "Lisa hasn't been by
this morning has she?"

"No," Brad said, his face strained. "I thought she
would have been here by now. She called you last night,
didn't she?"

"Yes, she called us last night from her room," Joan said,
casting a worried glance at Flank.

"She gave us her room number last night when we
talked to her," Frank said. Joan could tell her husband
was trying to appear calm. "We got here fifteen minutes
ago and went to her room, but she wasn't there!

Brad frowned, worry creasing his features. "Rut's
weird.*

"Her car was there," Joan said, as if to reaffirm to her
son that everything was okay. "Maybe we just missed her
at the Denny's or something."