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.
When he came back, he had a bottle of Evian water
and some Anacin. He crawled in the back and helped
her sit up. Then he popped two Anacins in her mouth
and held the bottle up for her to drink. She thanked him,
and he managed a faint smile. "Got some ready-made
sandwiches for you, too. You'll eat one when we get to
the cabin."
He kept his promise. They had arrived at the cabin a little under an hour later, and he got her into the bedroom
through a side door. She could tell they were in the
mountains by the brief scent of pine and the brisk, cool
air as he ushered her through the door. Ten minutes later,
he took the blindfold off and he was patiently feeding
her as she sat up on the narrow bed, holding the Evian
bottle up for her to drink. When she was finished, he instructed her to lie down on the bed, and then she felt
him struggle with the knots he had used to tie her up.
"You'll feel some of these loosen up, but don't move or
try to do anything. You try anything, I've got a hammer
right here that III use to smash your skull." She had lain
down, fighting the tears as he practically untied her.
Then he quickly peeled off her clothes, then told her to
turn over. When she turned over, she saw that he indeed
had a hammer. She was almost tempted to try rushing
him again; she could surprise him, try to claw out his eyes or something, but he had that hammer, and he was
holding it in his right fist, ready to swing. She couldn't
risk it. He told her to lie down on her back, and then he
slipped the rope he had tied around her arms down to
her wrist and tightened it with one swift tug. He had her
wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts within a minute,
and then he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork.
"You'll be fine for the night. If you gotta piss, go ahead
and piss on the mattress. I'll be up in the morning to
change it and bring some other things."
"What are you going to do?" Lisa was sobbing, and
now her emotions did gain the upper hand. All she could
think about was how this man was destroying all her
hopes of having a baby with Brad, a dream she had been
working to achieve for the past two years. All she could
think about was saving herself so that her baby might
live. "You sonofabitch, why are you doing this!"
"1 told you," Mr. Smith said calmly, a look of indifference on his bearded face. "It's nothing personal. I need
the money, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."
"I don't understand!" she wailed, trying to sit up in the
bed. "Please let me go! I swear I won't say anything. I
won't tell anybody-"
"It's too late for that now," Mr. Smith said, looking down
at Lisa calmly. "Look, it's nothing personal. The people
I'm working for ... well, the dients they're working for,
they wanted somebody just like you. They were getting
tired of using runaways, drug addicts, and vagrants, the
kind of girls they had been using all along. They wanted
somebody who has a clean, wholesome image. Somebody who actually has a life. It took me two days to find
you." He grinned down at her.
She still didn't understand; Mr. Smith said that he
wasn't going to hurt her, but what he was implying sug gested that somebody else was. She sobbed hoarsely, her
vision blurred with tears.
Mr. Smith leaned forward. "The ... clients who we're
doing this for ... they've got some real expensive tastes.
'They've got a taste for ... well, let's just say
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.
When he came back, he had a bottle of Evian water
and some Anacin. He crawled in the back and helped
her sit up. Then he popped two Anacins in her mouth
and held the bottle up for her to drink. She thanked him,
and he managed a faint smile. "Got some ready-made
sandwiches for you, too. You'll eat one when we get to
the cabin."
He kept his promise. They had arrived at the cabin a little under an hour later, and he got her into the bedroom
through a side door. She could tell they were in the
mountains by the brief scent of pine and the brisk, cool
air as he ushered her through the door. Ten minutes later,
he took the blindfold off and he was patiently feeding
her as she sat up on the narrow bed, holding the Evian
bottle up for her to drink. When she was finished, he instructed her to lie down on the bed, and then she felt
him struggle with the knots he had used to tie her up.
"You'll feel some of these loosen up, but don't move or
try to do anything. You try anything, I've got a hammer
right here that III use to smash your skull." She had lain
down, fighting the tears as he practically untied her.
Then he quickly peeled off her clothes, then told her to
turn over. When she turned over, she saw that he indeed
had a hammer. She was almost tempted to try rushing
him again; she could surprise him, try to claw out his eyes or something, but he had that hammer, and he was
holding it in his right fist, ready to swing. She couldn't
risk it. He told her to lie down on her back, and then he
slipped the rope he had tied around her arms down to
her wrist and tightened it with one swift tug. He had her
wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts within a minute,
and then he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork.
"You'll be fine for the night. If you gotta piss, go ahead
and piss on the mattress. I'll be up in the morning to
change it and bring some other things."
"What are you going to do?" Lisa was sobbing, and
now her emotions did gain the upper hand. All she could
think about was how this man was destroying all her
hopes of having a baby with Brad, a dream she had been
working to achieve for the past two years. All she could
think about was saving herself so that her baby might
live. "You sonofabitch, why are you doing this!"
"1 told you," Mr. Smith said calmly, a look of indifference on his bearded face. "It's nothing personal. I need
the money, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."
"I don't understand!" she wailed, trying to sit up in the
bed. "Please let me go! I swear I won't say anything. I
won't tell anybody-"
"It's too late for that now," Mr. Smith said, looking down
at Lisa calmly. "Look, it's nothing personal. The people
I'm working for ... well, the dients they're working for,
they wanted somebody just like you. They were getting
tired of using runaways, drug addicts, and vagrants, the
kind of girls they had been using all along. They wanted
somebody who has a clean, wholesome image. Somebody who actually has a life. It took me two days to find
you." He grinned down at her.
She still didn't understand; Mr. Smith said that he
wasn't going to hurt her, but what he was implying sug gested that somebody else was. She sobbed hoarsely, her
vision blurred with tears.
Mr. Smith leaned forward. "The ... clients who we're
doing this for ... they've got some real expensive tastes.
'They've got a taste for ... well, let's just say
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