Ties That Bind

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

Amanda worked until seven-fifteen on a motion to suppress. She could have worked a little longer, but she was tired, and Agatha Christie's Witness for the Prosecution was on TV at eight. After locking the office, she headed for the eight-story garage where her car was parked. A cold rain was falling, and there were few people on the street. Amanda hunched under her umbrella. When she reached the garage, a slender man followed her into the elevator. He wasn't carrying an umbrella, and his long dark hair was beaded with water. The man smiled. Amanda nodded and pressed the button for six. The man punched the button for seven.

The garage was open to the elements, and Amanda felt a blast of wind as soon as she stepped out of the elevator. There was no one else around, and only a few cars were left at this hour. Amanda's heartbeat sped up and she became hyperalert, something that happened often in isolated situations since the attack by the surgeon.

Amanda heard footsteps. The man from the elevator was walking a few paces behind her. Amanda fought to keep her panic at bay. She told herself that he was just looking for his car, but she still slid her keys between her fingers, points out, after using the remote on her key chain to unlock her car.

Amanda quickened her pace. To her relief, the footsteps behind her stayed steady. The distance between them widened and she started to relax. Then two men stepped out of the shadows, cutting her off from her car. One of the men stared past Amanda to the man who was following her, and the other man smiled. Amanda spun, sick with fear, and drove her keys into the face of the man behind her. He screamed as Amanda raced by him toward the exit stairs. If she made the street, she could shout for help, but her attackers were coming fast. She'd never have time to open the steel exit door. Amanda veered right and raced down the ramp seconds before a shoulder crashed into her, knocking her off her feet. She threw out her hands to break her fall. The keys went flying as her knees smashed into the concrete. She ignored the pain and struck out, but the man who had tackled her buried his head in her back and she had no place to land a punch. Then the other two men were looming over her. The man she'd punched with the keys was bleeding. He knelt down, said "Bitch," and slammed a fist into Amanda's face. Her head bounced off the concrete, stunning her.

The wounded man drew back his arm again. Before he could strike, the third man grabbed his coat and yanked him back. Amanda stared at the third man's flat, pockmarked face. Their eyes met. Amanda screamed. A hand clamped over her mouth. The man with the pockmarked face took a rag and a bottle of liquid out of his pocket. Amanda felt a surge of adrenaline and almost broke free. The hand over her mouth released, and the rag took its place. She tried to hold her breath but the fumes worked their way into her nostrils. A moment later, she passed out.

It took a second for Amanda to feel damp and cold as the water from the puddle in which she'd been dumped worked its way through her clothes.

"Sleeping Beauty is getting up," someone said.

Amanda turned toward the voice. A sharp pain in her head made her grimace. Raindrops bounced off her face.

"Do we get to fuck her now?" the wounded man asked.

"Patience," answered the man with the pockmarked face, who was obviously the leader.

"I want to make this bitch scream. Look at my face."

The leader nudged Amanda with the toe of his boot.

"What do you say, senorita ? You want us to make sweet love to you? It would be something you'd never forget. We are very good lovers."

A wave of nausea swept through Amanda. She rolled to her side and fought the urge to throw up, afraid to show any weakness.

The leader turned to the man who'd tackled Amanda. "I don't think she likes us." He looked down at her. "But that doesn't make any difference, does it, Amanda."

It took a second to register that they knew her name. She looked up at the leader.

"What you want to do, what you don't want to do, doesn't matter one bit. We own you. We can fuck you, beat you, cut up your face and make you look real ugly so no one would ever want to fuck you again. It's all up to us."

Fear heightened Amanda's senses. She looked around. They'd driven her into the woods. The black silhouettes of trees towered over her. She pushed herself into a sitting position. It hurt to move.

"If you're thinking of running, don't. Running will only earn you a beating. Do you want a beating?"

Amanda stared at her tormentor but did not answer. He reached down, grabbed a handful of hair, and jerked her head up. Amanda gritted her teeth.

"Let's get one thing straight. You don't have free will anymore. Understand? If we tell you to do something, you do it. If we ask you a question, you answer. Now, do you want a beating?"

"No," Amanda gasped. He released her hair and she fell back on the ground. As she lay on the wet dirt, terror overwhelmed her. She had escaped the surgeon only to find herself trapped and helpless again, and this time she was alone, without hope of rescue.

"What are these?"

Amanda tried to focus on the object that dangled from the leader's hand.

"My keys," she answered.

"That's right. We have the keys to your condo, the keys to your father's house, the keys to your office. You can't keep us out. We could go to your condo right now and destroy everything you own. We could go to your father's house and slit his throat. We can do whatever we want. You understand?"

Amanda nodded.

"Stand up."

Amanda struggled to her feet. She was still woozy from being drugged, and her limbs felt like spaghetti.

"Take off your clothes."

Amanda's eyes began to tear, and she bit her lip but could not move any other part of her body. The leader hit her hard in the solar plexus. She doubled over and sank to her knees. This time she did throw up. The men watched her without speaking. She fell on all fours and vomited some more. When she stopped, a hand reached down. It was holding a handkerchief. She recognized it as one she had in her purse.

"Here. Clean up," the leader said.

She wiped her mouth.

"We'll try again." His voice was calm and patient. "Stand up and take off your clothes."

Amanda struggled to her feet and removed her raincoat. She was wearing a skirt and blouse and her fingers tripped on the buttons. The leader showed no emotion as Amanda stripped, but the other two looked excited. As soon as she stepped out of her skirt and took off her blouse, goose bumps rose on her skin. The rain and the wind chilled her to the bone and she began to shiver. Her hair hung limp and heavy with water.

"Lose the bra and the panties."

Amanda did as she was told. Her tears mixed with the rain that coursed down her cheeks. She stared past the men into the dark forest.

"That was good. You did what you were told. Now I have a question for you. You ready to answer?"

Amanda nodded, too afraid to speak.

"What can we do to you?"

"What?"

The leader nodded, and the man she'd punched with her keys grabbed her right nipple and twisted. Amanda screamed. The man twisted again. When she reached for his hand, he hit her in the ribs. Amanda fell to the ground, gasping for air. The men waited. She started to struggle to her knees, but the leader put a toe in her side, and Amanda toppled back into the mud.

"Stay there," he commanded. "It'll make it easier for us to fuck you if you miss this question again. Now, listen up. What can we do to you?"

"What . . . whatever you want."

"Good answer, but be more specific."

"Ra . . . rape me."

"Correct. What else?"

"Beat me."

"Anything else?"

Amanda's body was shaking from cold and fright.

"Kill me."

"Good. But you forgot one thing that's worse than anything you mentioned."

Something else occurred to Amanda, but she couldn't say the word.

"No," she gasped between sobs.

"I think you figured it out, haven't you? We can take you to someplace cold and dark, where no one will ever find you, and conduct experiments in pain."

Suddenly, Amanda was back in the tunnel. She was naked then, too, and the surgeon was priming her fear by telling her how he would subject her to experiments in pain. Amanda curled in a ball.

"You get it now, bitch? You understand?"

Amanda was too terrified to answer. She braced for punishment, but no one hit her.

"Now listen to me. I'm going to tell you how you can save yourself." Amanda stared into space.

"I'm going to tell you to do something. If you do it, you'll be safe. If you don't, those you love will die and you will be taken away to spend the rest of your life in agony. And it will be a long life, very long. Now ask me how you can save yourself."

"How . . . how can I save myself?"

Amanda's teeth chattered and she barely got the words out.

"You will stop investigating Jon Dupre's case and you will make certain that Dupre is convicted of murder and sentenced to death. Do that and you will survive. Keep poking your nose into the case and you know the consequences. Now get dressed."

Amanda wasn't sure she'd heard the man correctly until her panties fell across her face. They were sopping wet and covered with mud, but she scrambled into them. She rolled over and found the rest of her clothes. As she dressed, her keys landed next to her feet.

"Walk straight ahead for a quarter mile and you'll find a logging road and your car."

The men turned their backs to her and faded into the darkness. Amanda struggled into her shoes and stood up. Her body was trembling uncontrollably. She wanted to get to her car and the heater, but she was afraid that the men were waiting for her in the woods, that they had built up her hopes so that they could capture her again and crush them. When the shaking began to rattle her teeth, she forced her feet forward. Then she ran. Normally, Amanda could run a quarter mile in a little over a minute, but tonight her feet tripped over themselves. When she broke out of the woods onto the logging road, she sobbed with relief. The men were gone and her car was at the side of the road. Amanda got in and locked the doors. Her hand shook so badly that it took forever to fit the car key in the ignition. Then the car started and the heater, cranked to maximum, began pumping out hot air. She started driving, sobbing quietly. What was she going to do? She couldn't bear being alone. She wanted to run to her father, but what if she was followed? They could kill Frank to demonstrate their power. They were right. They could do anything they wanted to do.

Amanda parked her car in the condo garage but she didn't get out immediately. She imagined her kidnappers lurking in the dark waiting to take her again--the punch line to a cruel joke. When she mustered the courage to leave her car, she took the stairs instead of the elevator and peered down the hall before racing to her condo. Once inside, she double-bolted her door. Then she checked every inch of her loft. When she was certain that she was alone, she went into the bathroom and ripped off her clothes. In the shower, tears of shame and frustration flowed as the hot water washed away the grime.

Amanda lost track of how long she stood under the cascading water and how many times she soaped herself. At some point, she left the shower stall and dressed in sweats and heavy socks. Her body felt clean, but she felt soiled and empty. She curled up on her couch and stared through her high windows at the lights of nighttime Portland. What was she going to do? If she was responsible for Jon Dupre's execution, she would be a murderer. If she didn't follow her captors' instructions, innocent people, including her father, could die. She didn't want to think about what might happen to her.

Amanda wrapped her arms across her breasts. She felt so helpless and she hated that feeling. But she was helpless. These people knew exactly how to control her. They'd made her relive her terror at the hands of the surgeon and they had threatened her father--the person she loved most in the world. But who were they?

This was the first time since she'd been attacked in the parking garage that Amanda had been composed enough to ask that question. Once she did, the answer was obvious. The Vaughn Street Glee Club did exist.