Survivor: 1 (20 page)

"Jesus hick!" Al had thundered. He'd twisted out of Animal's grasp. "What the hell am I going to do now that
she's gone? Shit!*

'ell Sam we got the film," Tim said, the ruse springing
into place perfectly. "Tell him we got it all. When are you
supposed to make the delivery?"

"In two weeks!" Al said, running a shaky hand through
his thinning hair.

"Piece of cake," Tim said, exchanging a glance with
Animal. Alicia and the baby were still in the truck, and
Tim remembered hearing the infant cry as he'd tried to
calm Al down. "She doesn't know us, she doesn't know
where this place is, and she doesn't know you.'

'But she saw Animal's face!" Al had almost screamed
the words.

"Yes, she did," Tim said. How do you argue with logic
like that?"But we're going to get her. Trust me on this. Besides, I think right now we got something else on our
plate we gotta take care of."

That had broken the spell. Al had huffed dramatically,
then motioned for Animal to bring Alicia and the baby
in, and Tim had spent the next few hours watching in
horrified fascination, then disgust and fear and sickness,
as they worked. And as the gut-wrenching scenes unfolded, Tim had felt those old feelings from years ago
erupt to the surface of his psyche.

And now they had it. Three snuff films, one that of an
infant. Ready to roll and bank on.

Tim extracted a cigarette from the pack he kept in his
breast pocket. He lit it with shaky fingers, dragged in
deep. Fuck, but this had been an intense shoot. Animal
had just been ... watching him and that baby had just
been ...

No, Dad, please don't hurt Binky!

The look in Alicia's eyes that screamed No, my baby!
No, please-

Remembering the anguish he felt, seeing it on Alicia's
face.

He felt the tears again. "Oh fuck, what've I done?"

Al stepped outside, lugging camera equipment. He
was no longer paranoid and seemed to be his old self.
He glared at Tim. "Quit fucking around and help me
carry this shit to the van."

Tim struggled to rein his emotions in. He took a deep
breath, struggling to hold back the tears. Time to focus;
time to get through this night. He took a drag off his cigarette. "Yes, boss," Tim said, as he helped Al dismantle the
camera equipment.

It was closing in on three A.M. and they had just rolled the
last tarp containing the body of Alicia and the remaining
scraps of her baby daughter into the van when headlights lit up the cabin.

Tim looked up, his heart leaping in his throat.

"Who the fuck do we have here?" Al said.

"Where's Animal?" Tim asked, suddenly feeling scared.
He had insisted they clean up as much as possible at the
cabin, including removing the boards he had nailed up
on the back bedroom window, and he was glad they did.

"Here" Animal stepped up behind them. He was
dressed in blue jeans, a white chambray shirt, black
loafers. His brown hair was combed and styled perfectly.
He was carrying a briefcase that contained the tools he
used for shoots. He smiled, his eyes gleaming. "Don't
worry," he said. "We can handle this."

When the vehicle pulled up, Tim saw that it was one
with the words BIG BEAR P.D. painted on the doors. The
driver turned the engine off and the passenger door flew
open. A tall man with angular features and short brown hair leaped out. He looked frantic. ""Iim! Hey, Tim, you
seen Debbie around?"

No, I haven't, Neal," Tim said, trying to calm his
nerves. He'd had a feeling this might happen, and he was
hoping they could get the hell out of here before Neal
showed up. Neal had probably shown up at his cabin
and freaked out when he saw that Debbie wasn't there.

The cop stepped out of the vehicle. He was wearing a
light windbreaker. Are you the owner of this cabin, sir?"

"No, Officer, I'm not." Tim offered them a smile. "I'm
just renting it from the owners."

.You sure you haven't seen Debbie?" Neal was suddenly looming in front of him. He could feel the panic
washing off the man in waves. His eyes were-frantic.

"I'm sorry, Neal, I haven't." Tim feigned a look of concern. A sudden sense that he had the upper hand burst
through him. It made him feel better, in control of the situation. is there anything wrong?"

"She's gone!" Neal said, his voice a fast clip. "She was
supposed to be at the cabin when I came up yesterday,
and she was gone!"

The cop was calm and professional. "Mr. Martinez reported his wife missing earlier today. He'd been looking
for her and calling us all day, and we got involved this
evening. Are you sure you haven't seen her recently?"

"No." Tim shook his head.

"Can I ask who your two friends are?" the cop asked.

Tim turned back to Al and Animal, who had been listening with interest. Al turned on the charm, instantly
transforming from snuff pornographer to a guy who
looked like he might be a contractor or a cabinetmaker.
"I'm Al Pressman," he said.

"And I'm Jeff," Animal said, turning on the charm as
well. "Jeff Scott'

"How long have you been up here with Mr.... ?'

"Murray," Tim said. "Tim Murray"

"How long have you been with Mr. Murray today?" the
cop asked.

"All day," Jeff answered.

"And you haven't noticed anything unusual?"

"No"

"Did the three of you come up for the weekend?"

"Yes," Al said. "We've been up here since late Saturday."

"Are you sure you haven't seen Debbie?" Neal asked
frantically. Tim could see that the man was imploring
them for help. His eyes were wide and frantic with panic.
"She just walked out of the cabin. She left her car, her
purse, everything at the cabin. I thought maybe she
might have taken a walk by here or-"

"I haven't seen her all weekend," Tim said. He was feeling the pressure mount again.

The cop nodded. "Mr. Martinez says he called yesterday and his wife didn't answer the phone. And she never
returned his calls."

"I was working this weekend," Neal said, pacing back
and forth in front of the jeep. "I couldn't get off. We were
going to meet up here today. And when I got here, she
wasn't there!"

"What does she look like?" Al asked, his features
masked with concern.

The officer described Debbie Martinez to them, and as
he did, Al and Jeff frowned, shaking their heads. "No" Al
said. "I haven't seen anybody looking like that. We haven't
really been out much."

"Can I ask what's in the van?" the cop asked.

Tim felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.

"Camera equipment," Al said.

"Camera equipment?"'Ihe cop looked at him.

"My friends and I " Tim said, attempting to explain as his mind raced. "Wre're amateur filmmakers. We've been
up here all weekend working on a film project'

The cop was looking at the van, as if trying to see
through it. Tim felt the lead in his belly grow solid. He
glanced at Al quickly and saw that Al was watching the
cop, trying hard to look casual. Only Jeff bore the slightest trace of normalcy; he looked both concerned for Neal
and curious as to why Debbie Martinez could disappear.

"When was the last time you saw Debbie Martinez?"
the cop asked, turning back to Tim.

Tim shrugged, trying to come up with the right answer.
"I don't know-few weeks ago maybe?'

And you two?" The cop nodded at Al and Animal.

"I've never seen her; Al said.

"I was up here a few weeks ago with Tim," Animal said.
-That was the last time I saw her."

The cop turned to Neal, who was hugging himself in
the brisk coolness of the Big Bear night. "Why don't we
try the Harper place and Keene's shack down 772?'

"Okay." Neal headed to the passenger side without
looking at Tim or the others.

"Sorry to have troubled you folks,' the officer said.

"No problem, Officer; Tim said.

Al lifted the last carrying case containing the camera
as the officer started the Jeep's engine. The headlights
popped on and the Jeep pulled away, heading down the
road.

'That was a close one,' Tim breathed, watching the taillights recede.

"Don't just stand there watching them leave!" Al
barked. "Help me pack this shit up and let's get the tuck
out of here!"

And Tim turned to do just that.

They got the hell out of there.

Lisa had been feeling a little sick the past day or so, and
this morning it had been worse. She was curled into her
favorite chair by the sofa, trying to ignore the pain. Brad
could tell there was something wrong, but every time he
asked if she was all right she said she was fine.

It had been two weeks since what they were now referring to as "their vacation that went to hell." Since that
time, both of them had been questioned numerous times
by the LAPD, the San Bernardino County Sheriff's department, and the Ventura County Sheriffs Department, and
Lisa had been examined at USC Medical Center. She had
been taken to the hospital, where a thorough examination had been performed. Aside from a few bruises and
scratches and dehydration, she was fine. The surprise she
had hoped to tell Brad on their vacation was revealed
that day, and Brad treated the news with a mixture of joy
and relief. The medical personnel questioned her thoroughly about her attack, trying to determine if penetration occurred, and Lisa assured them that, no, they didn't
rape her. They did other things to her, but they didn't
rape her that way.

Brad was so happy she was alive that he seemed to
brush off the story she told the police: She had been on
her way to the Denny's near the motel when a van pulled
up and she was grabbed. She was pulled into the van and
somebody knocked her out with a rag drenched in chloroform. The next thing she knew, they were driving up to
the mountains. They kept her in the van the entire weekend, slapping her around a little, forcing her to perform oral sex on them, and doing drugs, probably coke.
Maybe it was crystal meth. Whatever it was, they were
snorting it, it made them hyper, and it made them homy,
but no matter how much they forced her to perform oral
sex on them they never got hard. The first time she told
this story, the detective nodded. "Speed freaks become
impotent after a while. If they hadn't been, the attack
probably would have been worse.'

She couldn't describe her assailants, no matter how
much she was questioned. It had been dark, but she was
certain there were four of them. They were big, they
might have all been black, but they could have been Hispanic or Samoan or something. They were big and darkskinned, and some of them had kinky hair, and some of
them were speaking a funny language that sounded like
it could have been Spanish, it all happened so fast that
she just didn't remember. They asked her repeatedly if
Caleb Smith had anything to do with this, and at first her
mind had drawn a blank until one of the detectives reminded her of the road-rage incident that had landed
Brad in jail. She shook her head. 'No, it wasn't him. The
van these guys were driving was white, with no windows.
It wasn't Caleb Smith at all.

The detectives who had been questioning her traded
glances with each other and said nothing.

She had been a nervous wreck throughout the whole
ordeal, and after a while they eased off on the questioning. They had vague descriptions of suspects and a description of the van, and that went out over the bulletin.
They tried questioning her more in the days that followed, but every time they did Lisa could offer them
nothing new. Besides, every time they took her down
that line of questioning, she would start crying, becoming hysterical. It was obvious to the detectives working
the case that she had been emotionally traumatized by her abduction, and she was, only it wasn't the way they
thought.

Her parents, who had flown out to Orange County from
Iowa, had broken down and wept at the news that she
had been found. Brad's parents had been equally
happy-his mother had displayed her relief the same way
both of Lisa's parents had. His dad took it the way he usually took good news; all the weight of stress and worry that
he had been carrying seemed to ease off his shoulders,
and he wandered around the hospital while Lisa was being examined, looking tired, then relieved, then happy for
Brad, then worried again. "1 just hope she's going to be all
right," he said when Brad asked how he was. Father and
son traded smiles; Dad's looking a little bit more worn for
the wear after being awake for the past two days.

During the past two weeks, she had been brooding
and silent. She went back to work after a week, but managed only one full day of work before asking for a onemonth leave of absence. She was still traumatized by the
incident, and she needed time to get herself together.
Her boss, George Brooks, had been absent from the office on a business trip when she returned, so the request
had gone to one of the other partners. The leave was
granted and she spent her days in front of the television,
watching talk show after talk show, her mind always elsewhere. Her nerves were always twisting and turning in on
themselves, her mind weighing heavily on what she had
done to save herself and her and Brad's unborn baby.

Brad was looking at her from across the living room.
"Are you sure you don't want me to call that therapist Detective Morse recommended? I can make an appointment for the both of us."

Lisa stared blankly at the television. "1 don't know," she
said morosely. "Let me think about it."

Brad regarded her silently. In the days that had fol lowed the nightmare, Brad had been overwhelmed with
joy at having her back. He was also overwhelmed with
joy at the news of her pregnancy. He had been so happy
that he'd gone bustling around the house rearranging
things, making plans to turn the spare bedroom into a
nursery, talking to her about starting up a college fund.
Lisa hadn't told Brad yet about the money she had taken
out of their savings account and her IRA; she had intercepted both pieces of mail from the bank verifying the
transactions, and she supposed she would have to tell
him something eventually. After all, he would notice. She
just wasn't sure when she should tell him about what really happened. She had to make sure that if she did he
would abide by her wishes and not tell anybody. He
would have to agree that they go away, that they pack up
and leave and start a new life somewhere far away.