Prologue

The Interrogation

 

The room was empty. A small space but not overly so, the only features were a six-paneled, white oak door covered in gouges and scratch marks with a keyed deadbolt lock. A long, narrow window cut across high up on a side wall and allowed a thin slice of light to near the middle of the scuffed, wooden floor.

Heavy footsteps thudded outside the room. A key inserted in to the lock and quickly turned resulted in the door slightly creaking open. A black boot kicked the door the rest of the way to crash against the wall and a tall, thin man dressed in black and an encompassing black hood entered. He carried a sturdy, armless wooden chair and positioned it somewhat removed from the room's back right hand corner. Stepping out for a moment he returned with a power drill and screwed down each leg of the chair to the floor, quickly, efficiently, with a practiced confidence of his ultimate goal. He exited and after several minutes reentered, this time with a with a two step metal work stool. Employing a stud finder on the ceiling and satisfied at finding one, set somewhat off the room's center toward the high window, he again used the power drill, attaching a galvanized two inch diameter eye bolt to the ceiling. Hooking two fingers through the eye bolt he hung suspended for a half minute then dropped to the floor and left. Once more the room existed in silence, but not for long.

A different set of brusque sounds now wafted through the hallway, eventually defining into grunts mixed with squeals and muffled cries. At the tall man's side a woman struggled, her hands and feet tied. A loose, dark canvas hood surrounded her head, tied off by white rope around the neck. Her clothes, white shirt, red medium length polyester pencil skirt and smoky, thigh high stockings seemed to indicate standard fashion for the office or perhaps an ensemble for an informal evening engagement. A black high heel was strapped to the left foot while the other was bare. The left leg stocking was torn, a gaping hole just above the knee, and the clothes were covered in grime. The man threw her on the chair and quickly tied her down using a lot of rope to make sure she stayed there. The thighs were pressed together and secured just above the knees while each ankle was tied off to the outside bottom of the chair's front legs. Her arms, already over the back of the chair, were wrenched together at the elbows and knotted off, then anchored by another rope to the chair's back support slats. A last rope was looped several times around her already tied wrists to the support cross wedge underneath.

The tall man not so much admiring his handiwork took time to coolly assess if there was anything he might have missed that would allow the woman a chance of working her way free. Inside the hood the woman whimpered. The hood just under the nose slightly expanded with an exhale then was sucked back in to the nostrils. Suddenly in defiance and hopelessness she threw back her head and screamed, but the gag under the hood muffled most of the noise. Ignoring her call for help the tall man tested a knot or two and then casually strode behind the chair. He bent and stretched the woman's feebly clawing fingers here and there to make sure the knots were all well out of reach.

He gave a grunt and nod of satisfaction, once more standing in front of the bound woman for a moment then, in a sudden move, ripped her shirt open. Buttons flew off and skipped along the floor. In the hood and behind the gag the woman screamed again, perhaps in recognition of what she believed was the inevitable outcome. A lacey white bra held her breasts, but then the tall man, in a strangely gentle fashion, undid the front hook between them and pushed each cup off to the sides. The woman's rounded and full breasts hung free and the tall man pinched the nipples, then slapped each breast once. The woman threw her head back and groaned in pain. The plaintive cry faded and soon the only sounds that remained under the hood were a series of sniffles and gagged sobs.

The man left. The woman's crying eventually subsided yet her stomach trembled with each breath. Her bared breasts rose and fell, the red marks of the slaps slowly fading, yet her overall situation remained unchanged.

Heavy tread of boots brought her hooded head back to attention. The tall man entered and stood before the trembling woman, gazing down at her. Then in a series of quick and decisive movements, he removed the rope around her throat and roughly tore away the hood.

The tied woman squinted and blinked in the sudden light. Light brunette hair spilled here and there about her neck and shoulders. Half her face was hidden behind the locks but one red and swollen eye stared out, darting this way and that to take in the room. White wadding stuffed her mouth almost to the breaking point, all held in place by clear packing tape wound several times around her head. Slowly she comprehended her surroundings; the room, the window, the tall man.

With emt scissors the tall man quickly cut away the clear tape, then just as fast extracted the wadding from the woman's mouth. Her mouth remained frozen open, as if she had forgotten how to use it, or perhaps she really couldn't since it had been packed so tight. The tall man slowly worked her jaw back and forth, ensuring no permanent damage had occurred.

At last the woman responded somewhat as her lips quivered.

The tall man backed away. A flash from his upraised hand blinded the woman's exposed eye. Then another and another. The woman averted her head from the bright light but the tall man grabbed the back of her head and forced her to face the flashes, now with both eyes exposed. After a few more photos the tall man grunted as if to say that was enough. Through her spotted vision the woman watched as the tall man swiped through the photos on his cell phone. A couple of finger taps and a few more swipes on the phone and then he shoved it in a back pocket of his pants.

The tall man leaned down toward the woman.

"Where is it?" he demanded. His voice was assured, confident.

The woman blinked in confusion. "Wha...What?" she said.

"Where is it?"

"What? Where is what? I don't know - "

The man slapped her right breast. The woman howled. When she subsided he said again with an impatient edge in his voice, "Where...is...IT?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't know what... Where's what?! I don't know! I don't know! Who are you? Why... Where am I? I don't know what - "

The man grabbed her face, his gloved hand easily pressing against both cheeks, distending her lips. The woman's round eyes stared straight back at the hooded inquisitor. He roughly turned her head aside.

She sobbed again. Her hair again completely covered her face, but not for long.

The tall man grabbed a hank of her hair on the back of her head, this time near the roots. He wrenched her head up, her face still somewhat covered in the fine, soft locks, but enough to see her features; young and open, a pretty face, one devoid of cynicism. Perhaps not completely innocent yet masked with the freshness of youth. Mid-twenties perhaps. Her accent suggested unsophisticated Midwest America.

"Where is it?" he said again.

The woman didn't answer. Both eyes, now visible, were even wider than before with a lot of white. Her short and rapid breaths were the only sounds in the room.

The tall man tugged on her hair and let go, frustrated at not getting the wanted answer.

"What do you want?" the woman pleaded. "I just moved here three weeks ago. I don't know anybody. I just barely started a job this week. I don't know anything!!!"

Reaching into his other back pocket, the tall man produced a switchblade. A simple press on a button and the blade swung forth. The woman's eyes widened again, her mouth worked soundlessly, the terror of the sharp steel for the moment keeping her silent as if still gagged. The man approached. The gleaming blade led the way.

At last the woman recovered her wits. She began to cry again, snot running from her nose. "No, please! Please, don't! If I knew anything I'd tell you! I don't! What is it you want? What are you looking for? No! Stop! Stop!"

The blade descended but didn't puncture any flesh. It cut through the woman's clothes; the opened shirt, the useless bra. Soon, she was topless, the now rags of clothing all ripped away. Next came the skirt, fibers tearing as the knife started at the bottom hem between her legs then worked its way up to her thin waist. Now completely cut open the man yanked the skirt on the left side out from under the woman's ass and tied legs. A black, lacy garter belt surrounded her thin waist while sky blue silk bikini panties covered the last of her modesty. The tall man grabbed the top of the panties, stretching them forward and cut them too. With a strong pull they finally snapped away from between her pressed together legs and were tossed to land in a nearby corner, destroyed and forgotten. The tall man backed off and the woman shook in her bonds, clad now only in the partially cut garter belt and tattered remnants of dark stockings on her shapely legs. The only piece of clothing still whole was the remaining high heel shoe. It waved in the air just above the floor as the woman twirled her foot, a ludicrous survivor of the wanton destruction.

"Where is it?" the tall man said. He almost sounded reasonable now with a trace of resignation, as if he already expected the forthcoming non-answer.

"I don't... I don't know," the woman replied in a near whisper. "Honest. I don't know what you want. What're you looking for? What - "

The man slapped her, palm to cheek; hard enough to make her lean over in the chair, maybe enough to make her topple on to the floor if the chair weren't so securely screwed down. The move indicated he didn't want to hear her repeat the same answer. The woman hung her head. "Please, please..."

The tall man left the room and slammed the door shut.

The woman kept muttering to herself in a whisper of desperation, "Please please please please please please please..."