Authors: J. F. Gonzalez
"Why don't I head back and see if I can find her," Frank
said, looking from his wife to his son. "Maybe we did
miss her."
"You do that," Joan said. "I'll stay here."
Frank nodded, gave his son a smile, and pressed the
buzzer at the end of the hall. The door opened and he
stepped through, pausing briefly to talk to the officer on
the other side. The door closed and then it was just
mother and son, alone in the jail.
Joan turned to Brad, trying to not appear so worried.
"Have they been feeding you in here?"
"Yeah," Brad said, dangling his arms over the bars. "The
guards are really nice. As you can see, I've got the entire
block to myself." He tried to muster up a smile, but it
came across as half-assed and forced.
"Dad got ahold of William last night around eleven,"
Joan said. "He said that most likely, from what Dad described to him regarding what happened, the judge will
probably dismiss the case."
'That's what I thought," Brad said, his features worried.
"The cop that arrested me said the same thing. He said
he explained the legal ramifications to the dickhead that
started this whole thing, but the guy wanted to go ahead
with it."
"What a creep," Joan said, fiddling with her purse. "I
hope there's some way they can arrest him for filing a
false police report."
"I don't think they can do that," Brad said slowly, looking more nervous. He licked his lips. "So, Lisa wasn't at
the motel room at all when you showed up?"
Joan told him the story again, telling her son that she
thought Lisa might have been in the shower but she hadn't heard anything. Brad nodded. Joan reached
through the bars and took her son's hands, patting them
reassuringly. "We probably just missed each other," she
said. "Your dad will find her."
They spent the next ten minutes talking about what had
happened yesterday. Brad told her everything, starting
with the lane change and Mr. Smith's van being suddenly
on top of him, tailgating him all the way down the hill, to
finally dropping back. Joan felt more nervous as the story
spun out, and she tried to tell herself that she was overreacting when Brad was finally finished. "1'm sure everything will work out," she said. "When this is over-"
The sound of the door opening interrupted her and
they both turned to the sound. Flank came down the hall
alone, his features creased with worry. Joan felt a flutter
in her stomach, and she heard her voice give a sharp
squeak as she asked her husband, "You didn't find her?"
Frank shook his head, his dark eyes wide and scared. "I
retraced my steps all the way back. Even asked the hostess at the Denny's if Lisa had been in. She hadn't been in
at all, even last night. The front desk clerk at the motel
says they haven't seen her since she checked in. I tried
knocking on her door again, but there's still no answer."
If Brad looked scared before, he looked petrified at this
news. His face went pale. Joan felt light-headed with worry.
She reached through the bars again and took her son's
hands. "I don't like this," she said. "Maybe we should-"
"Go back to the motel and ask them to open the door
for you," Brad said, his voice wavering. "Tell them what's
going on, and if they won't open the door, come back
here and talk to the police. In fact, ask for Officer Lansing. He's the guy who arrested me yesterday."
"I'll be right back " Flank said, turning to head back
down the hall. Joan watched him go, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Frank had looked ashen as he told them what he'd found, and as she turned back to her son
she suddenly saw how Brad would look in thirty years: he
would be an exact carbon-copy of his father.
"Everything's going to be okay," she said, forcing a
smile and squeezing his hands through the bars.
Brad nodded, not meeting her gaze. "Yeah." But the
tone of his voice suggested that he didn't believe her.
Frank had to threaten legal action if the front desk clerk
didn't get off his fat ass now and accompany him with a
passkey to room 6 and open the door. The clerk sighed,
rolled his eyes, and moved himself off the stool behind
the desk with a groan. "I'll probably get fired anyway for
doing this, so let's go." He pulled the passkey to room 6
off the wall and swung around the counter. "Be right
back," he called to somebody in the back room.
Frank felt his limbs grow heavy with trepidation as they
approached the room. The desk clerk paused in front of
the door, inserted the key, and opened the door, stepping
back to let Frank pass. "Be my guest," he said.
Frank stepped into the room, the darkness seemingly
sudden and final. He felt for a light switch, found it, and
turned on the light. He stood at the threshold for a long
time, not sure what he was seeing. He had almost forgotten about the front-desk clerk when he heard his voice
behind him. "Well? Satisfied now?"
Room 6 was fine. The bed was neatly made, with no
signs that it had been slept in. There was no sign of a
struggle; no overturned furniture, no broken glass. Frank
stepped into the room, his eyes sweeping around it. Lisa
and Brad's Lexus was parked right outside the front door,
but there was no sign of their luggage or any other personal belongings anywhere. He headed to the bathroom
and turned on the light, inspecting the sink and countertop, the unused bathtub, the clean white towels lined up on the iron rung of the linen ring. He turned to the clerk
who had followed him into the room. Are you sure you
haven't seen Lisa Miller? Think!'
The clerk shrugged. "Only time I saw her was last night
when she checked in.' He glanced around the room. "Are
you sure she even spent the night here? Looks like she
didn't even use this room last night"
Flank glared at the clerk. "What a brilliant deduction!
What are you, employee of the month?"
The desk clerk's features went sullen. He shuffled on
his feet nervously. "Listen, I have no idea if she was here
last night. I got off at six-thirty, thirty minutes after she
checked in. For all I know, she could have left right after I
got off work.'
Frank turned back to the empty room. "Stay here," he
said. "I'm getting the police."
*Whatever," the desk clerk said, following Frank out of
the room.
Frank glanced at the Lexus as he headed outside. He
peered inside the car-it looked normal, no sign of luggage anywhere. Of course, they would have put their luggage in the trunk, and he didn't have the key to open it.
With a sinking sense of dread, Frank hightailed it back to
the Ventura County Sheriff substation, wondering how he
was going to tell his son that his wife was gone.
Lisa Miller was very afraid.
She lay naked on a narrow spring mattress, her wrists
and ankles tied to the bedposts, her mouth gagged. It felt
like she had been trussed up like this for days, but the shrinking part of her rational mind told her that it was
probably only twelve hours or more. She had long stopped
crying; crying made her throat hurt and made her more
tired. It also made it hard to concentrate and sapped her
willpower. And if she wanted to get out of here, she was
going to need all the willpower she had.
She had been so overcome with anger when Mr. Smith
had barged into her room (last night?) that she hadn't
even thought about what she had been planning to tell
Brad this weekend. This was supposed to have been a romantic getaway. A second honeymoon of a sort, punctuated by romantic dinners, cuddling together on the bed
and making love, sightseeing, and just spending quality
time together. Lisa had something else she wanted to do
as well; she had wanted to tell Brad that he was going to
be a daddy.
The thought of her pregnancy hadn't come up when
Mr. Smith came into her room; what had come up was
her sudden anger, and then the instinctual fight-or-flight
mode. It wasn't until Mr. Smith was getting ready to carry
her outside to his van that she thought of the baby.
She had feigned unconsciousness as Mr. Smith deposited her in the back of the van. For a time she must
have passed out, because the next thing she remembered they were moving. She had been blindfolded, but
she could sense that Mr. Smith was somewhere in the
front driving. She had lain on the floor in the back, trying
to calm herself down. The more agitated she became,
the more her head hurt. Her mouth was dry, and the
sweet, almost pleasant-smelling liquid he had knocked
her out with was still in her nostrils. He had trussed her
up more tightly this time, securing her wrists together
tighter than before. Likewise, her legs were tightly bound
together, as were her ankles.
But she wasn't gagged.
Lisa had waited until she felt calm and her throat was
well moistened before she ventured communication.
"Where are we going?"
"1 was wondering when you were going to talk," Mr.
Smith said, keeping his eyes on the road. "1 could tell
when you woke up; your breathing changed. How do
you feel?"
"My head hurts," she said, saying the first thing that
came to her mind. She decided that the best way to approach her predicament was to be calm and controlled.
To let her rage take over was to invite more trouble from
Mr. Smith. If she turned combative again, he might see fit
to pull over and gag her again. Or knock her out.
Oh my God, did him knocking me out with that stuff
was it chloroform?-did that hurt the baby?
"If you promise to behave and not cause a scene, I'll
give you some water and aspirin at the next rest stop.
How's that sound?"
.Okay.
He drove silently for a while and Lisa debated whether
or not to ask where he was taking her again when he answered her question. "As to where we're going, I'm taking
you to a cabin near Big Bear. In fact, if you want, I can
pick up some food for you at the next rest stop and whip
something up for you once we get there. You must be
hungry."
She was starving. "I could eat something," she said. Her
mind was racing: Be calm, don't do anything to set him off
If he was going to kill you, he would have done it by now.
And on the heels of that: Why is he taking me to this
cabin?
She wondered if she should tell him she was pregnant.
She had heard from would-be rape victims that telling
your attacker that you were pregnant was a possible deterrent. Would it work with Mr. Smith? She was just about to mention it when he started talking. "I don't want to
hurt you," he said, eyes on the road. "In fact, if I didn't
need the money I wouldn't be doing this. That whole scenario that happened back along the interstate? Like I
said, that was just to separate you from your husband. My
name's really not Mr. Smith, and this van isn't even registered to me. Nobody will know what happened to you. I
cleaned up at the motel, wiped everything down, even
used gloves after I knocked you out. I took your luggage
and your purse-they're in the back with you somewhere. I left your car at the motel because that will be the
first thing they look for, and a stolen car is easy to trace.
This is going to work out." It sounded like he was saying
this aloud to reassure himself that what he had planned
was going to work, rather than attempting to explain to
her his intentions.
He's going to rape and kill me, she thought, a sudden
lump rising in her throat. That's why he's taking me to this
cabin. That's why he didn't take my car. When he's done,
hell bury me somewhere in the woods and nobody will
know. Nobody will ever find out.
And on the heels of that: But if he was going to rape
me, why did he say that he wouldn't be doing this if he
didn't need the money? Is he kidnapping me for some
kind of ransom?
"I'm pregnant," she said, not really knowing if this revelation would be an influence. It wasn't; Mr. Smith
laughed.
"If you think that's going to get you out of this, you're a
bigger fool than I thought. But I admire you for trying
anyway. I know what it must feel like."
"You have no idea how I feel. And I'm not lying about
being pregnant, either."
"You don't look pregnant."
"I just found out early this morning."
"Really?" He paused for a moment. "Have you told
hubby yet?"
She didn't know what to say. "No," she said in a whispering tone.
"But you were gonna tell him, weren't you? This weekend?"
Lisa felt the anger and hate come boiling back. She
could picture his cold gray eyes watching her in the
rearview mirror. "Maybe I was. What is it to you, anyway?"
"Just that I want to know what I'm dealing with. I can
understand now why you were so feisty back there at the
motel. Your maternal instinct kicked in. You weren't just
thinking about saving your own skin, you were thinking
about the unborn baby in your womb. Weren't you?"
'flying to push the anger down, she nodded. "I guess
you could say that."
Mr. Smith sounded like he was considering this. "If
what you're saying is true, then they might actually like
this."
Those words had a chilling affect on Lisa. She felt a pit
of ice creep into her belly. "What do you mean? Who are
they?'
"Later," he said, dismissively. The rest stop is coming
up and I'll be pulling over. Remember. One peep out of
you and you are one dead bitch. Got that?"
She had been forced to remain silent, struggling
silently with her tears as he gagged her, then exited the
van. The few minutes he spent in the AM/PM mini-market
felt like hours, all the while safety and freedom only a
shout away as other travelers pulled up beside them and
people walked past the van to the convenience store.
She had tried maneuvering around in back of the van in
a vain attempt to see if she could chance opening the
door and making a run (or a stumble) for it, but she was
bound so tight that she could barely move. If she screamed, there might not even be a chance she would
be heard. She would have no way of knowing where Mr.
Smith was because she wouldn't see him until he
opened the front driver's-side door of the van, and he
would surely know she had been screaming for help. She
believed he really would try to hurt or kill her. And she
couldn't do anything that would jeopardize herself or the
baby. She had to wait until she saw a better chance to escape and then take it.