they have a
taste for some pretty hardcore shit."
"What are you talking about?" Lisa wailed.
"They're into extreme hardcore and snuff films," Mr.
Smith said, once again indifferent. "Surely you've heard
of snuff films, haven't you?"
Lisa shook her head, feeling her flesh break out in
goose pimples. She had never heard of extreme hardcore or snuff films, but she instinctively felt that whatever
they were, they were bad.
Mr. Smith leaned forward slightly. "Extreme
bondage ... S&M ... surely you've heard of those,
haven't you? You don't strike me as being that naive."
Lisa nodded, a shudder running through her body. She
was going to be raped! Raped and tortured for some per-
vert's private porno film collection. She began to sob
again. "Well ... yeah ... but ... I still don't understand ... bondage ... isn't that like ... I thought ... I
thought ... that was just ... regular porno people doing
that!"
"The clients that my associates and I are working for
have tastes of a more brutal nature," Mr. Smith said, indifferently. "It's a very small circle of people, really. They
gather at various intervals throughout the year in the privacy of their own homes, and buy and sell various tapes
that my associates, and others, produce; mainly extreme
hardcore S&M films, sometimes snuff films. Regular
porno people don't associate with this stuff. You'd have to
be crazy or a fool to want to appear in one of these
things. Unless you're a complete sadist like Animal." Mr. Smith's features were grim. "Of course, there are some
hardcore freaks-masochists-who get off on that kind
of shit. Some of them appear in the hardcore S&M and
torture flicks, but the others? Snuff films? Like I said, our
clients were getting tired of watching the same chicks
and butt boys time and time again and wanted something different-something fresh." Mr. Smith grinned
slightly. "It's nothing personal, really."
"You're going to kill me," Lisa whispered, looking up at
Mr. Smith with fear.
"I told you that I'm not going to kill you," Mr. Smith
said. And I'm not going to hurt you. I'm supposed to take
care of you to assure my associates that you are in the
best physical appearance as possible for our shoot. Then
when Al and the Animal get here sometime tomorrow or
the next day--"
"The Animal?" Lisa said, dread suddenly filling her
even more at the sound of the name.
Mr. Smith cocked his head at her. "Yes, Mrs. Miller. I
was telling you the truth when I said that I wasn't going to
hurt you or kill you. But your costar in the snuff film we'll
be shooting ... the Animal ... he will."
Lisa's hands were shaking, and when she spoke her
voice quivered with fear. "Please. You don't want to do
this.*
"I'll be back tomorrow," Mr. Smith said. He turned and
exited the room.
She found her voice and let loose with a wail. "Please
let me go! Pleeeaaase!"
Her wail fell on deaf ears. Mr. Smith exited the cabin,
and a moment later, amid her heavy sobs, Lisa heard him
start the van up, back down the gravel path, and head
down the highway.
Seven
The three nights and two days Brad Miller spent in the
Ventura County slammer were the longest of his life.
Fueled by his anger over the initial road rage incident
that sparked his incarceration, he got little sleep that first
night, and when he found out that Lisa was missing, his
nerves went on a frenzy. He continually paced the length
of his cell while his mother stood by, helpless as he drove
himself deeper and deeper into worry. "I don't like this,
Mom, this just isn't like her, I don't like this, why aren't
they doing anything!"
That first day, Frank Miller succeeded in getting ahold
of Officer Chris Lansing, the patrol officer who had
placed Brad in custody Friday. When he told Officer
Lansing that Lisa was now missing from her motel room,
with no clue as to where she could have gone, Officer
Lansing grew concerned. "And Brad hasn't seen her since
his arrest?"
"That's
taste for some pretty hardcore shit."
"What are you talking about?" Lisa wailed.
"They're into extreme hardcore and snuff films," Mr.
Smith said, once again indifferent. "Surely you've heard
of snuff films, haven't you?"
Lisa shook her head, feeling her flesh break out in
goose pimples. She had never heard of extreme hardcore or snuff films, but she instinctively felt that whatever
they were, they were bad.
Mr. Smith leaned forward slightly. "Extreme
bondage ... S&M ... surely you've heard of those,
haven't you? You don't strike me as being that naive."
Lisa nodded, a shudder running through her body. She
was going to be raped! Raped and tortured for some per-
vert's private porno film collection. She began to sob
again. "Well ... yeah ... but ... I still don't understand ... bondage ... isn't that like ... I thought ... I
thought ... that was just ... regular porno people doing
that!"
"The clients that my associates and I are working for
have tastes of a more brutal nature," Mr. Smith said, indifferently. "It's a very small circle of people, really. They
gather at various intervals throughout the year in the privacy of their own homes, and buy and sell various tapes
that my associates, and others, produce; mainly extreme
hardcore S&M films, sometimes snuff films. Regular
porno people don't associate with this stuff. You'd have to
be crazy or a fool to want to appear in one of these
things. Unless you're a complete sadist like Animal." Mr. Smith's features were grim. "Of course, there are some
hardcore freaks-masochists-who get off on that kind
of shit. Some of them appear in the hardcore S&M and
torture flicks, but the others? Snuff films? Like I said, our
clients were getting tired of watching the same chicks
and butt boys time and time again and wanted something different-something fresh." Mr. Smith grinned
slightly. "It's nothing personal, really."
"You're going to kill me," Lisa whispered, looking up at
Mr. Smith with fear.
"I told you that I'm not going to kill you," Mr. Smith
said. And I'm not going to hurt you. I'm supposed to take
care of you to assure my associates that you are in the
best physical appearance as possible for our shoot. Then
when Al and the Animal get here sometime tomorrow or
the next day--"
"The Animal?" Lisa said, dread suddenly filling her
even more at the sound of the name.
Mr. Smith cocked his head at her. "Yes, Mrs. Miller. I
was telling you the truth when I said that I wasn't going to
hurt you or kill you. But your costar in the snuff film we'll
be shooting ... the Animal ... he will."
Lisa's hands were shaking, and when she spoke her
voice quivered with fear. "Please. You don't want to do
this.*
"I'll be back tomorrow," Mr. Smith said. He turned and
exited the room.
She found her voice and let loose with a wail. "Please
let me go! Pleeeaaase!"
Her wail fell on deaf ears. Mr. Smith exited the cabin,
and a moment later, amid her heavy sobs, Lisa heard him
start the van up, back down the gravel path, and head
down the highway.
Seven
The three nights and two days Brad Miller spent in the
Ventura County slammer were the longest of his life.
Fueled by his anger over the initial road rage incident
that sparked his incarceration, he got little sleep that first
night, and when he found out that Lisa was missing, his
nerves went on a frenzy. He continually paced the length
of his cell while his mother stood by, helpless as he drove
himself deeper and deeper into worry. "I don't like this,
Mom, this just isn't like her, I don't like this, why aren't
they doing anything!"
That first day, Frank Miller succeeded in getting ahold
of Officer Chris Lansing, the patrol officer who had
placed Brad in custody Friday. When he told Officer
Lansing that Lisa was now missing from her motel room,
with no clue as to where she could have gone, Officer
Lansing grew concerned. "And Brad hasn't seen her since
his arrest?"
"That's
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