The morning dawned beautifully, just as he hoped, and Stephen was up and ready. He flexed his fingers nervously, as was his habit, as he drove towards the golf course ten miles from his home. This was the day, he told himself. This was the day he finally got rid of the problem that was Mary Blaisdale.
Nine days had passed since she filed her complaint against him, and little progress had been made to resolve it. She continued to insist he was guilty, and even Alan Iverson's best efforts at coming to a settlement had failed. In response, he ordered them both to stay away from each other and try to think of some other option over the weekend. Things didn't look good for Stephen at all--she was even threatening to bring him up on attempted rape charges if he didn't sign a document agreeing he was guilty.
The only way out of this was to make Mary disappear. She had forced Stephen to this position, crushing what remained of his fragile conscience. He no longer had any compunctions against choosing what, to him, was the ultimate solution.
Over the course of many days, and a lot of quiet investigation on his own, he came up with his plan--a way to get rid of her without anyone ever suspecting him. By listening to a few conversations around the office, and surreptitiously checking the company travel club's website, he discovered she was taking a trip to Las Vegas this weekend. Obviously, she wanted to get away from him as far as possible.
Her flight left in about three hours. Stephen's departed an hour earlier than that.
Actually, his whole plan was predicated entirely on beating her to Las Vegas. He knew she was going to the Sahara hotel, but he didn't want to wait for her to get there. He had to intercept her on the way somehow. Once she was in the hotel, security cameras would spot not only him, but anything he tried to do to her on the premises. She wasn't likely to leave the building once she arrived, and Stephen's window of opportunity was very small in any case. To ensure everything worked just right, he had to get back home as quickly as possible.
Still somewhat nervous, he pulled into the golf course parking lot. This was the first step in his convoluted plot--establishing an alibi. He intended to be seen by as many people as possible here at the course this morning. He wanted the police to know he played a round of golf, so that there would be no way he could be in Vegas when the crime took place.
Gathering up his clubs, he made his way to the starter's shack and pretended to be surprised when there were no slots available for a player without a tee-time. He already knew all the positions were full. He couldn't afford to be in a group, anyway, because he didn't actually intend to stay on the course any longer than he had to. Instead, he asked the starter for a solo slot, took it, and went to wait for a chance to tee off.
The country club was actually pretty nice about that, and he slipped the starter a big tip for allowing him to pass through. In exchange for this, he would hit his first drive with the group currently waiting to begin. Then, hurrying ahead, he would play his shot without any delay at all. The next foursome would let him play through as well. By the time he reached the second hole, no less than eight different people on the course would've noticed him--in addition to the starter, who would have a written record of Stephen's presence here.
Not surprisingly, none other than Alan Iverson himself headed the second group Stephen reached. That was what made this particular day so perfect--his boss would provide yet another easily verifiable alibi. Stephen passed around some small talk in the group, complained about not getting a tee time, and played the second hole with Alan. After that, he "noticed" that the sixth hole was open, primarily because none of the first foursomes to start that morning had yet reached it. Alan waved goodbye as Stephen made his way over there and played that hole, too, making sure he wound up out of sight during a "bad" shot into the woods. From there, it was a simple matter to slip over the small ridge, jump over the ditch, and walk the hundred yards back to the parking lot where his car waited. No one saw him make his escape from the course, so as far as anyone knew, he played a complete round. Yet he still had an hour and a half to catch his plane!
The flight to Vegas was uneventful, fortunately. To make sure there was no record of his trip, Stephen used a fake ID and paid cash for his ticket. Once in Sin City, all he had to do was hang out near Mary's gate, wearing sunglasses and a bushy fake beard to make sure she wouldn't recognize him at a distant glance.
As soon as she stepped off the plane, his heart began to race. She was alone, as he hoped. A companion would've ruined his whole plan. No one was waiting to meet her, either. She must've been here completely solo, just like those people in all those Las Vegas tourism commercials. "What happens here, stays here," he chuckled to himself. Well, not quite, at least not in this case. He wasn't about to leave her behind, after all.
With mounting confidence, he followed her out of the terminal, towards the car rental desks.
Mary Blaisdale was already smiling by the time she got off the plane. The hop from Los Angeles was only an hour--just enough time to finish the book she'd been reading. Interesting stuff by the former First Lady, she thought. People like Bill were the reason she never even contemplated getting married.
She didn't need someone like that, anyway. She was completely self-sufficient, the very model of independence. Oh, sure, every now and then she liked to hop out to Vegas or Reno and enjoy a weekend of sheer hedonism and a meaningless fling, but back home she would never consider such things. Too many potential problems. The men she went out with needed to be the kind who could never come back to haunt her. Best to meet them in a distant city, give a false name, and leave them safely behind once the weekend was over.
She really needed this weekend, too. The unpleasantness with Stephen Matthews was really starting to get to her. Why couldn't Mr. Iverson see that he was just useless deadwood who needed to be trimmed away? For some reason yet unknown to her, though, Alan seemed to think Stephen was his protégé or something. Getting the Old Man to change his mind was proving very difficult.
The thing was, she didn't really have any reason to hate Stephen Matthews. She was a quality control investigator, traveling around to various National City branches to undertake quality checks of whatever departments the Board of Directors saw fit to send her to. Since arriving at Branch #10, she had already been through four different floors and hadn't had much trouble. Oh, there were some passes made by appreciative men, of course, but she always let it be known she wasn't interested, and that was that.
Then, after several un-noteworthy assignments, she was sent to Mr. Matthews' department. On the way there, she ran into him in the elevator. Since part of her job was to learn more about the man in charge, she decided to talk to him right there, and when he offered to talk more over dinner, she didn't refuse. After all, as soon as she told him her name, he stopped asking about what she did on the job. Surely that meant he knew who she was, right? She didn't have to tell him straight out that she was in QC, and he never asked. She just assumed he was aware of her position in the building, because a manager like him should be familiar with quality control personnel, anyway.
He certainly did seem to enjoy talking about himself, she found out later that evening. That was all he did that night, even after they went to the bar. That was fine with her, she thought--the more he talked, the more she learned. It wasn't until they got to his house that she realized he might not be aware of her true identity. Still, he'd been nothing but professional all night long, and she did make sure he knew she didn't want to go beyond just talking and sipping wine by a fire. She told him that several times, in fact. That was why, when she gave him a courteous thank-you kiss goodnight, she was so surprised to find him all over her like a complete barbarian.
During the cab ride home she just got madder and madder. How dare he take advantage of her like that! He probably knew all along she was with QC. He was trying to seduce her to influence her report! By luring her home and putting the moves on her, he would either win her over and adjust her decision, or else create an affair that shed doubt on her conclusions. What a complete scumbag!
The more Mary thought about that, the more annoyed she got. He wasn't going to get away with something so underhanded--not if she had anything to say in the matter! The tricky part was not destroying her own reputation in the process. Thus, she prepared the report first and had the sexual harassment forms available only as a backup plan. When Alan refused to fire Stephen, she dropped the second bomb. Now she awaited the resolution, sticking to her guns and insisting on his dismissal. Someone like him didn't deserve to be a manager at the bank, and she wouldn't be the professional she worked so hard at being if she let Stephen Matthews remain on the payroll.
Well, none of that matters this weekend, she thought as she signed up for the rental car and started towards the shuttle. She climbed aboard without much thought to the others entering the little bus, paying no heed at all to the man in the sunglasses and beard sitting down several seats behind her. No, she was going to forget about Mr. Matthews for a while, she told herself. She would leave work behind, find some lonely man in a bar somewhere, and give both of them what they needed--a weekend of guilt-free pleasure that would last until Sunday night, when she finally headed home. Then, on Monday, she'd find out of Alan Iverson came to his senses, or if she'd be forced to take the next unpleasant step at the police station.
At the rental car counter, Mary filled out all the required forms and waited while the attendant asked all the usual stupid and redundant questions. No, she didn't care what kind of car it was. Yes, she knew how to fill up a gas tank. No, she didn't need insurance. There should be a speed lane in these places, she groused, where someone who'd rented cars more than ten times in her life could go to skip all this meaningless paperwork.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, she was done. The attendant gave her the keys and told her which car was hers. She headed out into the lot, towards the far end, where the compacts were. On longer trips, she might get a luxury vehicle, but this time all she wanted was a way to drive to the Sahara and back again the following evening. Plus a way to get around if the need presented itself. Past experience here had shown her that relying on cabs wasn't always the best idea. Not like in New York, for example, where it was pointless to drive yourself anywhere.
Finally she got to the end of the lot. Her car was in spot number 156, so she walked over to it, opened up the trunk, and tossed in her bag. While she stood there, she noticed a shadow approaching from behind, so she glanced over her left shoulder. A man in a beard and sunglasses was standing there, holding some kind of funny-looking camera in his right hand.
"Miss Blaisdale?" the stranger asked in a voice that sounded somewhat familiar. In fact, there was something very familiar about this guy, although she wasn't quite sure what it was.
"Yes?" she asked curiously, glancing around. He didn't look dangerous, but one could never tell. The lot itself was ringed with well-trimmed hedges, so there was nowhere to run except through him, and no one on the streets nearby to see anything he tried to do to her. Still, the rental car building was only a few dozen yards away. No one inside was looking her way at the moment, but she was sure if this man tried anything, she could attract plenty of attention with a few loud screams.
"I'm a photographer," he said with an affable-looking smile, again reminding her of someone, but she couldn't quite grasp the name. "I'm here to take some shots of Vegas and its people, and before I could even rent my car, I saw you. Are you here on business?"
"No, pleasure," she replied, returning his smile. Perhaps finding a lonely man wouldn't be quite that difficult this trip, she thought. He looked handsome enough, although the beard could stand to go. It doesn't even look right on him.
"Perfect!" the photographer replied, looking simultaneously nervous and excited. "I need shots of people here on weekend vacations, particularly. Is that why you're here?"
"Yes," she admitted. "Surely you couldn't want a picture of me renting my car!"
"Well, yes and no," he explained. "I'm making a photo essay of people coming to the city, enjoying the sights and sounds, and then leaving. Would you mind if I got some shots of you now, and when you get to the Sahara?"
"Of course not," she replied, actually flattered by his interest. "What do you want me to do? Stand here by the trunk?"
"Kind of. Pretend like you're just putting your bags inside."
"All right. I still think this is weird, but what could it hurt?" She took out her carry-on case, purse, and hang-up bag and held them out, leaning over slightly as if pretending to put them into the trunk. She looked up at him, smiling again. "Is this all right?"
"Perfect," he agreed, lifting the funny-looking, almost crystalline camera and pointing it in her direction. "Now give me a really big smile!"
She did, but even as she flashed her pearly whites at him, something flickered into her mind, like a tickling reminder of something she forgot to do. He said something out of place, something that only now bubbled to the surface. Why, he asked her if she'd mind if he got some pictures of her when she got to the Sahara! She could understand him knowing her name, if he heard her say it while she was checking in, but how could he know where she was staying in town--?
Before she could ask, he threw the switch. There was a click, and that was the last sound she remembered. Something insubstantial struck her like a physical blow, as if a sonic boom had landed on her head, crushing her into the ground. The man in front of her seemed to stretch, distort, and expand, and then the lights went out.
Stephen was trembling so much he almost dropped the collapser. I did it, he thought, gulping and almost gasping for air. I really did it! I actually shrunk Mary Blaisdale!
He glanced around worriedly, afraid someone might've seen what he did, or heard the loud popping sound as the air rushed into the space formerly occupied by Stephen's victim. There was no reaction from anyone in the little building behind him. As he hoped, his body shielded anyone inside from seeing what just happened. As far as they knew, he just took a picture of something, or someone. Unless they were carefully observing Mary, they'd have no idea she just vanished from sight.
Well, not quite vanished, he thought with a grin. She was still there, just too small for a distant observer to see. He stepped over to the back of the car and looked down at the tiny figure stretched out on the black asphalt below, surrounded by her miniaturized luggage and purse. She no longer looked like a human being. She was just a doll now. With a simple flick of his finger, Stephen had turned Mary Blaisdale into his own little plaything!
With shaking hands he reached down and slid her into his hand. She was almost exactly the same height as Kayla Robertson, he thought with a smile. Stretched out fully in his palm, she almost reached from the base of his wrist to the first joint in his middle finger. Her short blonde hair lay flared about her angelically round face in like tiny feathers the color of autumn wheat. Her firm, plump breasts rose and fell evenly with each little breath she took.
What would she do when she awoke? How would she react to his presence? He knew from his experimentations with other creatures that they usually stayed unconscious for several hours, but he didn't know how long Mary would stay that way. Would she still be asleep when he got her home? Or would he open up her carrying case to find her awake? How would she respond to the sight of his massive face?
The very idea thrilled him to the core, so much that he found himself getting turned on yet again. Well, that has to stop, he thought, quickly taking out the sunglass case he brought along just for her. He removed the container, opened it up, and set his tiny captive inside, along with her miniature bags and purse. He closed the box with care, stood it on end, and checked the contents again. She hadn't collapsed into the bottom, just as he hoped, but neither was she injured by the soft foam interior. She should be perfectly safe in there, he thought, just like that alley cat was when he transported it the same way two nights ago. Stephen was very careful when setting up this whole plan--he didn't want to make a mistake, after all, and accidentally injure or suffocate his new toy.
After putting away the case, he closed the rental car's trunk, pulling down his right sleeve to make sure he left no fingerprints. The keys were still in the lock, so he removed these with the same sleeve, put them in his pocket, and headed back the way he came. No one in the rental place gave him a second glance as he stepped onto the shuttle and headed back to the airport. Within an hour, he was on the plane heading home, congratulating himself on the skillful execution of his plan.
The toughest thing about the whole trip, he found, was resisting the urge to take the little case out of his pocket and study tiny Mary once again.
Upon returning to his car two hours or so later, he finally succumbed to temptation. Taking out the case, he sat back in his seat, heart pounding. Would she be awake? He hadn't heard any tiny shouts or screams, so he didn't know for sure. If she were, she'd surely be concerned by the rough trip as he all but ran to his car after getting off the plane.
Cautiously, almost tenderly, he pulled the two halves of the container apart. Mary was still unconscious, he saw at once. During the flight, she had slipped somewhat towards the bottom of the case, so that her legs were bent and her skirt had hiked itself up over her hips. Damn, her legs were fine, Stephen thought as he gently ran his finger down those sensuous thighs. She was wearing thong underwear, too, and her behind was just as nice as he always imagined. She actually had a body that rivaled Kayla's, he thought with an appreciative smile.
He felt her up for a few more moments, but eventually tired of that. There was no point to playing with her now, while she was still asleep. He wanted to enjoy his first experience with her for as long as possible, when she was conscious and he could see her every reaction.
Stephen stretched little Mary out, replaced her skirt, closed up the container, and set it carefully on the seat nearby. Fortunately, he thought as he pulled out onto the road and headed towards his office, he wasn't chosen for a random security check at the airport. If they forced him to open the glasses case in his pocket, he would've had to try his weak "action figure" excuse. Although that story probably would've worked, primarily since no one expected to see miniature people in somebody's pocket, he didn't want to leave anyone behind who might remember his trip through the airport. Fortunately, he made his way through security with no trouble at all. The miniature bits of metal in Mary's luggage were too tiny to even set off the metal detector.
At the office building, he picked Mary up and carried her inside with him, signing in at the security desk and making sure he had his time of arrival logged. If the police ever cornered him, he could explain he was here to pick up something he forgot after leaving work on Friday night. The time of sign-in was just before noon, about five hours after he started his golf game that morning. If he had finished that round, as any investigators would surely learn, there was no way he could've been in Vegas at that same time to abduct Mary. Best of all, her disappearance didn't even happen in the same state, so technically any local cops wouldn't even have jurisdiction.
After heading up to his office, picking up a meaningless report, and heading back downstairs, Stephen signed out, making his alibi complete. He even said goodbye to the guard on duty, making sure he was noticed and would be remembered. No one could possibly doubt the veracity of his cover story now.
He headed home then, after checking the carrying case once more. Mary was still comfortably snoozing away. The foam inside must be keeping her warm enough to sustain her present state, Stephen thought. Well, that would change soon enough. When he got her home, he'd wake her up and then the fun could begin.
He mulled that over in his mind as he drove. What she would do when he revealed himself would be amusing, but what then? What if she went catatonic or had a heart attack? The sudden discovery that she was teeny-tiny might be too much for her to take. Stephen recalled Kayla explaining once that Howard didn't tell her about the truth right away, presumably for that very reason. Stephen knew the real rationale for that decision, though. He had too much fun watching Kayla through the two-way glass ceiling of her little home.
Stephen narrowed his eyes. Yes, that could be fun, he thought to himself. He could build something similar for Mary, and keep her inside, like a specimen in a zoo. She might not even realize how tiny she was for quite some time. She would be his very own little sim, like in that computer game that came out a couple of years ago. Wasn't it too late for that now, though? He already had Mary, and she'd wake up in a few hours, at most. How could he construct something so elaborate in so short a time?
He couldn't, of course, but perhaps he could buy some extra time by locking Mary up somewhere less comfortable while he built another place like the one Howard created. Just off the top of his head, he knew he'd need some wooden walls, or better yet Plexiglas, and two-way glass for the roof. Inside, he needed furniture, which meant he either had to spend some serious cash or violate his own personal non-theft rule. Then there was the matter of running water, electricity, and crap like that.
Nahhhh, that would be too hard, Stephen decided. What he really needed was an aquarium with silvered glass. From inside, she'd see only her reflection, and there'd be no way she could get out. A few of his older pieces of furniture would suffice for now. He'd add to those later, if he decided Mary needed to be coddled any further. If he got bored, he could always reach in and yank her out, revealing the truth to her in a single abrupt instant.
He pulled into a pet store, went inside, and purchased a reasonably large aquarium that met his criteria. The huge, bulky item only barely fit in his trunk, but it was perfect. He checked Mary again, found her still asleep, and headed home with his new purchase. Once there, he took the aquarium carefully down to the basement, set it on a table, and turned to regard tiny Kayla on the recliner. "Guess what this is for?" he asked with a grin.
"I don't know," she replied dully. She was wearing a lacy white camisole and black over-the-knee boots, but Stephen only barely noticed.
"This is for your new playmate," he replied. "You should know her, Kayla. Her name is Mary Blaisdale. Here, have a look."
He took out the case, set it on the chair, and opened it. Mary was still unconscious within. Kayla regarded her with no emotion whatsoever. Or did she? Was there a hint of reaction there? Surprise, perhaps, or something else? He couldn't tell. She was too small to read with perfect accuracy.
"What do you think?" Stephen asked. "Go on, be honest, Kayla. You might as well--you're going to be her best friend from now on."
"She looks fine," Kayla replied emotionlessly.
"Glad you think so. See, she even comes with her own luggage. Convenient, huh? Anyway, remember how Howard kept you in your own little zoo? I'm going to the same thing with her, at least at first. Stay here on the chair while I go prepare a place for her."
Kayla sat back down, ignoring the tiny woman in the case as if she didn't exist. Stephen grinned. Kayla would be his toy, and Mary his new pet, he decided. Eventually, he'd break Mary, too, and then he'd have two toys, but for now, he wanted to enjoy watching his new captive slowly discover what had been done to her--however long that might take.
He went upstairs, to the second floor of his huge house, where he kept the worn-out furniture he brought from his old place. The miniaturizer made short work of the otherwise useless fixtures. In no time at all, the bottom of the huge aquarium had its own tiny bed, dresser, table, chairs, couch, and reclining chair. Stephen also thoughtfully added a few rations of food from the stock he kept miniaturized for Kayla's use, as well as the water cooler normally reserved for her. He'd have to pick up another one of those eventually, he told himself, but in the meantime, she could always use bottled water. The cooler wouldn't have any electricity, but at least it would dispense something to drink.
After that, he opened up the case once more and lifted Mary out. Damn, she was cute like this, he thought as he carefully placed her on the shrunken bed. He couldn't wait to see her reaction when she finally woke up and started moving around.
Stephen turned to Kayla, who was dutifully still waiting on the recliner, apparently paying no attention at all to what he was doing. "All right," he said, "you're going to greet your new friend, Kayla. I'm going to put you in there for a while. I want you to wake Mary up if you can, probably with some water. After that, you can talk to her like a normal person. I don't want you mentioning me, though, or the fact that you're both only four inches high. Understood?"
Kayla nodded, but didn't reply. She didn't seem to care one way or the other, and didn't even seen happy about the fact that she wasn't going to have to debase herself tonight.
"Let's see, what am I forgetting? Oh, yes, no mention of miniaturization in any way. As far as you know, you're trapped in a room with no exits. Someone has kidnapped you, but you don't know whom. All you know is there are loud noises and voices that come from outside some of the time. Got that?"
She nodded again. Her stare seemed vacant and uncaring.
"Okay, then, here you go." Stephen reached down and plucked her off the chair with a single swift motion. After a couple of steps, he deposited her inside the aquarium, next to the sleeping Mary. Then he placed the lid on his private zoo and settled back to watch the fun.
Something was splashing on her face. Mary jerked herself awake, wiping away the moisture with a quick swipe of her hand. "What the hell?" she demanded, sitting up quickly.
To her surprise, she wasn't in the parking lot any more. She was in some kind of rectangular, gray-walled room, on a strange bed she'd never seen before. Pieces of mismatched furniture were scattered all about, as if they were refugees from a rummage sale or flea market. The floor was black and looked to be made of plastic, while the ceiling was a distant dark block with single fluorescent lamp running lengthwise from one end of the strange chamber to the other.
Off to one side, a beautiful woman stood waiting, holding an empty Dixie cup in one hand. She wore a look of sunken-eyed resignation on her otherwise attractive face. Her black hair stretched down behind her head, almost to her waist, and looked like it hadn't been properly cut in some time. Curiously, the strange woman was wearing nothing but a camisole and thigh boots. Just like that man back in the parking lot, there was something strangely familiar about her, but Mary couldn't place the face at all.
"Sorry to wake you so abruptly," the lingerie-clad lady said in a monotonous sort of voice, as if she didn't care at all about what she was saying. "Are you all right?"
"I think so," Mary replied, getting to her feet and flexing her muscles. Her legs seemed sore for some reason, and there was some kind of odd, oil-like substance clinging to her skin. Curiously, it wiped off with little trouble, and she found with some experimentation that she could roll it up into little strips, like the leavings of a pencil eraser.
"Good," said the woman Mary presumed was her hostess. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're a prisoner now, just like me."
"A prisoner?" Mary studied the room more closely. For the first time, she noticed there were no exits. How did she even get in this place?
"Yes," came the reply. "You were kidnapped, just like I was. Do you remember what happened?"
"Just this man with a camera," Mary replied, a hint of worry creeping into her voice. The other woman didn't seem all that concerned or afraid, so Mary had no reason to be truly scared until the word "kidnapped" entered the conversation. "He said he was taking photos for some kind of magazine spread. I was posing, and he took the picture, and--then I was here."
"For me, I was rollerblading, and a subordinate of mine used that same kind of camera from behind some bushes. I didn't even realize it was Howard until later, when I found out what happened to me."
"Howard?" Mary studied the woman before her a little more closely. A sinking feeling enveloped her as she realized exactly who her new companion must be talking about. "Was his last name Taylor?"
"Yes, it was. Howard Taylor abducted me. He turned me into--well, into this." She put out her hands, waving them back and forth to indicate her own self, as if her appearance was particularly important somehow.
"You're Kayla Robertson!" Mary blurted. "Oh, my God! You're supposed to be dead!"
Kayla sighed. "Yes, that's me, and no, I'm not dead, although I often wish I was. How long have I been this way? Six months? I've totally lost count. It's hard to measure the days any more."
"I can imagine," Mary replied absently. Her head was spinning. Kayla Robertson! Mary knew the story, of course. It made all the company newsletters. Howard Taylor, one of those quiet guys who never caused any trouble, supposedly kidnapped and murdered his boss one day last year. More than once during her tenure at her current assignment, Mary herself had been compared to Kayla. They warned her to be careful, of course, but she laughed that off. Howard was gone, after all. If he wasn't around, what was there to fear?
Apparently, a lot. "Did Howard kidnap me, too?" she asked worriedly.
"No, not Howard," replied Kayla with another sigh. "You would've preferred him. He was much nicer. Howard went away, though, and someone else took me. I've been his--well, his plaything, for want of a better word, ever since."
"Plaything?" Mary gave an involuntary shiver. "W-what do you mean by that?"
Kayla glanced down at the camisole and boots she was wearing. "What do you think?" she said with a weary sigh. "I guess he wasn't satisfied with just one little slave. He had to have another, and you're it."
Mary sank back to the bed, her hands shaking, trying not to think about the implications of Kayla's last statement. Kidnapped! Someone kidnapped her right in broad daylight! How did they do it? Did that stupid camera hypnotize her somehow, so she just drove off with whoever it was, until he got her into this strange prison? Well, he might've turned Kayla into what seemed, at least at first glance, to be a broken shell of a woman, but that wouldn't happen to Mary Blaisdale! She would escape, one way or another. There had to be a way out of here!
"I see what you're thinking," said Kayla resignedly. "I just watched the emotions play out on your face. Fear, curiosity, and then resolve, in that order. I'm right, aren't I? Well, forget it. There's no way out of here. The floor is solid, and the glass is too hard to break. Plus, the roof is several stories up. When our captor wants you, he'll get you, though, trust me on that."
"Who is this guy?" Mary wondered. "What's his name?"
"I can't say," Kayla replied with a shrug.
"Oh, come on! Is it someone I know? I can't believe someone would randomly grab two women six months apart, and both just happen to work in the same building!"
"Like I said, I can't say."
"Does that mean you don't know, or you can't tell me for some reason?"
"The second one," replied Kayla with a shrug. "He's watching us now, you know. Through the walls. They're two-way glass. He specifically ordered me not to reveal who he was. If I disobey, the punishment will be--well, let's just say it'll be extreme."
Mary looked at the glass, seeing only her reflection staring back at her. Climbing off the bed, she stepped over and cupped her hands around her face, pressing her nose against the window and trying to see through. There was some kind of shape out there, but it was distorted, like the shadows on a television screen when the power was off. Something very large moved from side to side, and she thought she heard a distant, but very loud, chuckle.
"Who are you?" she shouted, banging on the glass. "What do you want with me? Let me out, you sick bastard!"
"I wouldn't do that," warned Kayla.
"Why not?"
As if in answer, the shadow outside moved. Something very massive struck the outside of the wall, clanking against the glass before Mary's face with a loud smack. The sound reverberated about the inside of the prison, and she unconsciously took two steps backward. Her heart was racing. Whatever did that was immense and tremendously powerful, and yet the glass wasn't even cracked. The walls must really be thick!
"Just be glad that's all that happened this time," Kayla went on. "You'll find out soon enough that if you don't obey instructions around this place, the penalties are severe."
"How severe?" Mary asked. "That's the second time you've said something about severe penalties. Come on, don't sugar-coat it. I'll find out the hard way if you don't tell me."
"Well, since you asked," said Kayla, "I'll tell you, but you won't believe me until you've experienced it for yourself. Your new 'owner' out there has a wide variety of massive tools, like the one he just used on that wall. If you displease him, he'll, um, immobilize you, and use those instruments on your body in terrible ways. Trust me, you don't want to find out how far a piece of metal can be inserted into your body. It's no fun. No fun at all."
Mary gulped. The first hints of emotion chose that moment to finally break though Kayla's otherwise dull speech. What she just said was plainly the gospel truth. What kind of man could be such a monster?
She began to think about that, if only to put the unpleasant concept of huge metal probes entering her body out of her mind. The person who kidnapped her obviously knew her, if Kayla's reaction was any indication. He also knew Howard Taylor, most likely, since he inherited Howard's kidnapping victim. So that meant he probably worked at the bank. Who could possibly--?
The answer occurred to her at once. There was only one person it could possibly be. Kayla used to be his supervisor, too, just like she was Howard's. And this particular man was promoted into Kayla's place when she disappeared. The police investigated him then, but never found any evidence of wrongdoing. That meant he must be keeping Kayla at some remote location, possibly even underground.
She was right, Mary realized suddenly. She was absolutely right to try to get him fired! He was a kidnapper, and now, she was his victim, too. She was right in the end--but look where it got her!
All at once she rushed to the wall and banged on it again, screaming at the distorted shadow on the other side of the glass. "Let me out, Stephen!" she yelled at the top of her tiny lungs. "I know it's you! I was right about you! You are a miserable bastard! You'll pay for this, I swear you will! Let me go!"
The huge shape outside began to shake, and from its general direction came a sound that chilled her blood. The sound was loud and rumbling, like peals of thunder from a distant approaching storm. Something about it was terrifying, as if the noise alone signaled he had absolute power over her.
He was laughing.
Stephen's face almost hurt from grinning so much. The sight of teeny little Mary beating helplessly on the glass walls was unbelievably satisfying. He felt like he was going to come in his undershorts right now, just from sitting there watching.
She had no idea, he thought gleefully. She had no clue what had been done to her. She thought she was just a simple kidnapping victim. Little did she know she was only four inches high!
Only now did Stephen finally understand why Howard built the little glass-topped home for Kayla. The feeling of power Stephen had when he held Kayla in his hand was nothing compared to this! The strength of the secret he held, and that Mary never even suspected, was overwhelming. As long as she didn't know, she thought she was still normal-sized--still capable of being in control of herself and this situation. Stephen could watch her from outside, knowing full well she was just his pet, while she thought she was still in charge of her own destiny.
He laughed again, and little Mary finally stopped hammering on the glass and backed away, fear once more evident in her miniature blue eyes. Yes, be afraid, he thought to himself. You should be afraid, Mary Blaisdale! What you thought of as your life is over now. Your new life is just beginning!
"Don't bother shouting at him," Kayla's tiny voice piped up from inside the aquarium. The two miniature women were almost impossible to hear, but after so long listening to his pet's tiny voice, Stephen was able to focus in and understand her words. "If he's anything like Howard was, he won't talk to you."
"I'm not Howard Taylor," Stephen said, keeping his voice low, but even that was still so loud that Mary glanced around in obvious surprise at its volume. "Hello, Mary. I suppose you thought you could just ruin my life and get away with it. Well, you picked the wrong man to screw around with."
"You asshole!" she shouted through the glass. "I only wish I'd filed charges against you sooner! I was trying to spare you the embarrassment! I shouldn't have bothered!"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure you had my best interests at heart," Stephen scoffed sarcastically. "That's why you wrote a report designed to destroy me, and had a sexual harassment claim ready just in case the punishment for that wasn't severe enough. You'd stop at nothing to see me fired, would you, Mary? Well, guess what, you won't have to worry about that any more. You're the one who's been--how shall I put this? Oh, yes. You've been downsized!"
He laughed again, causing his little prisoner to cringe and cover her ears. "Turn down those speakers!" she screamed in her delightfully high-pitched little voice. "You're going to burst my eardrums!"
Stephen chuckled inwardly. Speakers...she thought his voice was loud because of speakers in the walls! How hilarious! Well, he saw no reason to correct her on that particular point. "You can't give me orders," he replied after a moment's thought. "In case you didn't notice, you're my prisoner now. I'm the one who gives the commands around here. If I tell you to jump, you won't waste time asking how high, you'll just jump. Understood?"
"Fuck you!" she swore. "Okay, you've got a microphone and you're projecting your shadow up against the wall so I get all intimidated! Real nice, Stephen. Real high-tech. Well, I'm not afraid of you. You may have Kayla under your spell, but not me!"
"You should be afraid," Stephen told her. "It took me a very long time to train Kayla to be my perfect slave. Didn't it, Kayla?"
"Yes," she replied without emotion. Nearby, Mary turned to look at her, saw the way she was standing there woodenly, and gave a sudden shiver.
"That's right, it took months," Stephen went on. "I suppose it'll take months to convert you, Mary, but I will. Sooner or later. You're not going anywhere, and I've got as much time as I need to change your mind."
"No you don't," Mary protested, but her voice was weak and seemed to be cracking. "The police will catch you, Stephen. You made a mistake this time. Someone saw you dragging me away, or you left fingerprints somewhere. They'll find you, and both of us, and when they do--"
"I don't think so," Stephen interrupted, his voice drowning out Mary's shrill piping as if it weren't there. "You forget, Mary, I've managed to keep Kayla all this time without screwing up. What makes you think I haven't been just as thorough with you? That's okay, though. You go right on thinking you've got a chance of rescue. Kayla thought that, too. For months, in fact. As the days tick by, and you realize escape is impossible and no one is coming to save you, you'll realize the only chance you have is to do everything I say without question."
"I'll never do that," Mary hissed. "I'll never be your slave, Stephen Matthews! Never!"
He laughed again. She was so cute when she was defiant! What would she do if he reached in there right now and plucked her out like the doll she was? Probably scream her little head off, or faint dead away. He could pick her up, of course. It would be as easy as lifting off the roof and reaching inside. He was in no hurry, though. He was enjoying this too much.
"We'll see about that," Stephen replied, leaning back in his chair to get comfortable. Mary shouted something else at him, but he didn't care what she said. He was tired of talking with her. He wanted to see what she would do in her new home.
After a couple more futile fist-slams against the unyielding glass, Mary finally gave up and stormed away. Nearby, Kayla Robertson watched her go with the same stone-faced expression she'd been wearing since Mary first opened up her eyes and saw her standing there.
What was really going through Kayla's mind? Mary had no idea, and the wasted-looking brunette didn't give any clues from her face or body language. In fact, she seemed more like a robot than a human being. Mary could almost believe she really wasn't human--except, of course, that things like androids existed only in science fiction. Besides, she seemed to be breathing, and every now and then she shifted slightly sideways to a more comfortable standing position.
Well, Mary had no interest in talking at the moment, anyway. She wandered around, checking out the furniture, walls, and ceiling in her new prison. Everything looked ordinary and normal, if a bit old and poorly kept. A thin coating of dust coated many of the items. The drawers in the armoire and desk were completely empty. Curiously, the floor wasn't, though. Even the corners of her prison appeared clean and shiny, as if recently polished. They had a strange, swirly texture to them that seemed out of place. Certainly this was like no surface she'd ever stood on, although it did resemble some of the dance floors in various discos and clubs she frequented on her occasional getaways.
The rest of the room was mostly uninteresting. There was a water cooler, obviously where Kayla got the ammunition she used to awaken her sleeping fellow prisoner. Mary fixed herself a cup without commenting to the brunette standing close by. As she swallowed, she had another thought--what about bathroom facilities? She glanced about, wondering if she was supposed to hold it in forever, and her eyes fell on a large cast-iron urn in the corner. A small roll of toilet paper sat on the floor next to it.
A chamber pot, she thought sadly--and no privacy curtain, either! Oh, well, it could be worse. He might actually make me go right on the floor.
Mary eventually finished her brief and futile exploration and came over to Kayla's side. "You were right," she said resignedly, choosing not to ask about the fact that there was only one bed in the featureless glass-walled room. "There's no way out of here. How did we get in, anyway?"
At the sound of Mary's voice, Kayla seemed to awaken, as if from a daze. "From above," she replied absently, pointing up at the brightly glowing bulb high above their heads. "He lowered us in. You can't climb these walls, as I'm sure you know, and even if we could stand all the furniture up, we still wouldn't be able to reach the top."
"You mean you'd try?" Mary asked. "I thought you were his willing slave or something like that."
"No, I wouldn't dare try to escape," was the emotionless response. "I'm just telling you, so you don't strain something trying."
Mary sighed. "I shouldn't even be wasting my time talking to you," she muttered, almost to herself. "You're obviously his pawn in all this. He's got you completely brainwashed."
"That's true," agreed Kayla, "in a way. He did give me instructions on what I couldn't say to you, but that was all. Other than that, I'm still my own person."
"You look so emotionless," said Mary. "It's like he's drained the soul right out of you or something."
"Sometimes I think he has," Kayla responded in the same cold, toneless voice she'd been using since the conversation started.
"Well, don't you feel anything? Don't tell me he's totally crushed you. There must be some spark of something left inside, or you'd be a total zombie. What are you feeling right now?"
Kayla paused, as if struggling to think of what to say. Obviously, Stephen had given her instructions about that, too. Finally, she opened her mouth again and spoke, telling the truth, as far as she was apparently able to reveal. "You really want to know? All right, if you insist, I'll tell you the truth. I feel sorry for you."
"Excuse me?"
"I pity you," said Kayla with what sounded like real honesty, allowing a tiny bit of emotion to creep into her voice for the first time all day. "I know what's in store for you, and it's not pleasant. Why do you think I keep giving you so much advice? I wish I could spare you all that pain, but I know I can't. It's futile. No matter what I say, I can't change what's to come."
"Well, what do you think I should do, then? If he's so horrible, what should I do? Please, Kayla! Tell me!"
"You should do whatever he tells you," Kayla finally said, her voice once again soulless and distant. "No matter what."
Stephen watched the two tiny women carry on their conversation without comment. He could make out every word, but they weren't saying anything terribly important. Mary seemed very much afraid, which was good, and Kayla was encouraging that feeling just by being herself. In fact, she was telling Mary exactly what she needed to be told--to obey his commands without question.
Did the message sink in, though? Stephen was curious to find out. He also wanted to see if he could humiliate his new prisoner a little bit. After all, with all the work he did to get her here, he should be rewarded, shouldn't he? Of course he should. But how to do it? He could just order her to take off her clothes, but that wasn't quite enough. How could he make his first time with her a little more interesting?
He glanced around and his eyes fell on the tiny luggage sitting on the edge of the table. Oh, that's right, he thought--I didn't put that in the aquarium with her, did I? Curious about what Mary would bring to wear while on vacation, he picked up the tiny hang-up bag and placed it in his palm. The dark blue sack was about two inches long, and the zipper was so incredibly tiny he couldn't even get a grip on it with his well-groomed fingernails.
With a sigh, he stood and walked away, grinning at the way the conversation in the aquarium came to a halt when he headed off. They could hear his huge bulk moving around, he realized, but Mary wouldn't have a clue what was causing such a tremendous sound. Kayla, dutiful toy that she was, wouldn't let her in on the secret, either. Did Kayla even want to reveal the truth? He didn't know, and neither did he care.
Over on the shelf, Stephen pulled out the heavy tool drawer and withdrew a pair of tweezers. These had proven quite useful early on in Kayla's discipline sessions--with these, he could do all sorts of interesting things to various parts of her body. He wasn't interested in that right now, though. Instead, he used the tool to tug the miniature zipper around the perimeter of the tiny hang-up bag before peeling the side open and examining Mary's clothes.
For a woman only here for a weekend, she sure brought a lot to wear, Stephen thought. A black evening dress was the first thing he found, followed by one of the business suits he remembered seeing her wear at the office. She probably didn't plan to wear that, he mused, but brought it just in case. A beautiful red gown was next, probably for use if she went somewhere classy. Not so for the following item, though. That was a lime-green vinyl mini-dress that looked like it only barely fit on its hanger. Stephen turned it over a couple of times with the tweezers. Could she actually fit into that thing...?
He smiled. Of course she could. That's why she went to Las Vegas, wasn't it? She would put that racy little number on and use it to pick someone up at a disco or bar someplace. The gown and evening dress were to charm her unknowing victim. After that...what then?
He continued exploring the hang-up bag until he came to the slinky leather catsuit, frilly babydoll outfit, and sheer, see-through nightgown. Aha, Stephen thought with a nod. She was here for more than just gambling and shows! After getting her meathooks into a willing target, she would enjoy her companion's personal attentions for the evening before jetting home, having satisfied her lust for another weekend.
Well, well, well, he thought. I had no idea you were such a slut, Mary Blaisdale! How interesting! She was so frigid and cold back home, she obviously had to go to Vegas to let loose with her pent-up frustrations. Pity the poor guy who had to put up with someone so sexually repressed...or who thought he could have her for anything more than a single evening! Did she even bother to tell those men they were just a one-night stand? Probably not, Stephen decided. Most assuredly not.
Continuing his investigation, Stephen opened up her teeny little suitcase in the same manner he did the hang-up bag. Although he expected to see some whips or something in there, to go along with the leather outfit, he didn't find any such thing. Not into bondage, then, he realized. Too bad. That could actually be kind of interesting, in its own way. How would he discipline someone who got turned on by pain? Not very easily, he decided. It was just as well she wasn't that sort of person.
Actually, besides the underwear and makeup, about the only other things Mary had in her suitcase were shoes. Several pairs, mostly with very high heels, even stiletto types. And, folded up in the bottom, as if tucked away for safekeeping, Stephen found a duo of brand-new, white leather lace-up thigh boots.
He grinned. She must've planned to wear those dancing, along with that super-tight green mini-dress! Well, she'll have her wish, Stephen told himself, plucking the vinyl outfit off its hangar with the greatest of care. The boots joined it in his palm, and he put the rest of the luggage onto the counter for now. Then, digging into the back of the drawer, he pulled out the flashlight he used to use to hunt down Kayla before she stopped hiding from him. Flipping the switch, he found that the batteries still worked. Good. He would need the high-powered bulb to distract little Mary for a bit.
Mary sat on the bed and sighed. Kayla, despite all her words of advice, wasn't much help easing her worries. As noted earlier, the woman was clearly Stephen's tool. She acted like she was following a script, and probably was.
I should feel more scared than this, Mary thought. I've been kidnapped by a man who has several very good reasons to hate me. He could do anything to me...perhaps even some of those terrible things Kayla kept hinting at. So why don't I feel frightened?
Actually, what she really felt was ticked off. Stephen had ruined her weekend, when all she wanted was to get away and forget about him! She knew she should've been much more concerned, but something about this just seemed wrong somehow. It was like he wasn't even really here. If he were, wouldn't he be in her face, instead of hiding? Since she couldn't see him, he wasn't really there, as far as she knew. His voice might well be getting piped in from somewhere else. In fact, what if that wasn't him at all? What if someone was altering their voice so they sounded like Stephen?
No, that wasn't right, Mary knew at once. The things he said and the way he said them were pure, undiluted Stephen Matthews. The presence of the robot-like Kayla Robertson was also another telling clue. The police had investigated Stephen in her kidnapping case, but cleared him--far too soon, apparently. Unless some unknown third party had really taken Kayla, and was going out of the way to make Mary think Stephen was the culprit, he had to be the one behind all of this.
So why was he keeping himself hidden? Perhaps it had something to do with the prison she was in, Mary thought. The walls were impenetrable, and there were no gaps or trap doors in the black floor, either. A thick and rubbery substance held the walls together, but no amount of tugging or tearing could get it to tear loose. So the only way inside was through the roof far above her head. Perhaps Stephen just didn't want to lower himself in here, for fear Mary and Kayla together could overpower him. So why didn't he tie her up, then? Well, perhaps he wanted her free, so she could find out later just how trapped and helpless she really was.
Well, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, Mary decided. She would keep her wits about her, unlike the pathetic shell of Kayla Robertson. Mary felt sorry for the poor woman, but wasn't yet ready to believe that she'd really been totally brainwashed like she seemed. The whole thing could be just an act. What if Stephen told her he'd let her go if she followed his instructions? She could be doing and saying everything Stephen ordered her to, just in the faint hope of rescue. Mary had no doubt that, after being a prisoner for so many months, Kayla would say just about anything to get a chance at freedom--including stab Mary in the back, if it came right down to it.
That was another odd thing about all this. Kayla had been a prisoner for at least six months, if Mary remembered the story correctly. Sometime last summer, and now it was spring, so maybe more like eight or nine months. Mary couldn't remember the dates exactly, but that sounded right. She couldn't recall ever hearing of any kidnap victim held for so long, except for political prisoners like those in Iran during Carter's presidency. Keeping people incarcerated like that was difficult and dangerous, and presumably it would get old after a while. Was Kayla that interesting that Stephen wanted to go to all this trouble and take all this risk just to hang on to her? What if she escaped, or someone found this place? What if the police followed him here, or someone else noticed what he was doing and informed the cops? He couldn't possibly expect to get away with this forever!
Yet, he not only expected it, he was so confident he didn't mind kidnapping a new victim for his prison. Or perhaps he just didn't think he had a choice, Mary considered with a sad shake of her head. She had, after all, pushed him pretty hard, but damn it, he deserved to get fired! And, now that she knew what he was really capable of, he deserved a lot more than that, too. She just wished she could've seen this coming--but Stephen hadn't even hinted at what he was truly capable of. He seemed like a normal guy, except that he couldn't control his impulses.
Perhaps that was what happened this time, she thought. Maybe he couldn't control his temper, and his kidnapping was a totally impulsive act. Even as Mary considered that theory, though, she automatically rejected it. He came all the way to Vegas, after all. Unless he just happened to be there purely by accident--in a fake beard, no less--he must've gone out of his way to snatch her.
She still didn't know how he did it, either. That camera must've knocked her out somehow. People would've noticed him hauling her unconscious body out of the rental place, so he must've dragged her into the very car she just picked up. That was how the police would connect him, she thought hopefully. They'd find the car someplace and locate some hairs or skin cells or something like that, just like they always did on CSI. Las Vegas, too...how appropriate that she should make the connection with that particular television show.
Not that she expected the same characters to come looking for her, but someone in the police forensics lab would figure it out. Eventually, they'd connect Stephen with the crime, follow him to this place, and free her. All she had to do until then was stay strong and keep a stiff upper lip. Perhaps what Kayla told her was a good idea--do whatever he said, so he didn't turn violent.
Suddenly, Mary heard a loud thumping approaching from outside. Across the room, Kayla stood up noticeably straighter, as if coming to attention. Damn, Mary thought, he's really got her trained! And that microphone is really cranked up, too. His footsteps sound like a giant tromping around out there.
"All right," Stephen's voice said from above, "it's time for us to have a little fun together. How does that sound?"
"W-what do you mean?" Mary called out, standing up and moving towards the wall again. All she could see outside now was a tremendous shadow.
"You'll see," came the reply. There was a loud thump, as if something very large landed close by. Mary actually felt the ground shake, but Stephen didn't seem bothered at all by the sudden reverberations. "Kayla, time for you to come out," he announced.
Mary was about to ask what he was talking about when suddenly the entire room shook, almost knocking her to the floor. She looked up and gasped as the entire roof lifted away and moved off to one side. A gigantic cylindrical object came into view and turned towards her, the end glowing like the lamp on a lighthouse. The bright glow seemed to strike her physically as it shone down on her from above, causing Mary to wince and turn away, squinting.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something massive reach down into her prison. The flesh-colored thing clamped down around Kayla, who didn't resist or try to move away. An instant later, the black-haired woman was gone, lifted up into the air faster than the eye could follow. Mary tried to turn and look, but the bright light from above was blinding, like looking into the sun.
A moment later, the glare went away. Mary blinked and tried to focus as something thumped into the floor next to her. By the time the spots mostly faded from view, the ceiling was back in place, the much softer fluorescent lamp seeming cool and soothing by comparison to the glow that just transfixed her.
Damn, Mary thought. I never knew what a deer caught in the headlights felt like until now!
As that crossed her mind, something green fluttered down from above and landed next to the bed. She stepped automatically over to see what it was, and found her own vinyl minidress there. Nearby, her white thighboots lay in a heap, seemingly unharmed by their fall from above.
Stephen went through my things, Mary thought obliquely. Well, of course he did! He kidnapped her, after all. But why drop these in here now? And what the hell was that thing that carried Kayla away? Some kind of specially designed crane? Well, that at least explained how he got her in here, Mary thought.
She looked around, still blinking the last of the specks out of her vision. The room seemed much emptier now without Kayla here. The brunette seemed very much like another piece of furniture that had now been removed. Still, the place was lonelier now. Mary shivered. Just the presence of Kayla had been strangely soothing, as if the woman was a stabilizing influence. Without her nearby, Mary suddenly felt alone and afraid.
"All right," Stephen said, producing more thumps and creaks outside as he moved around next to his hyper-intense microphones. "Put the dress on, Mary. And the boots. I really want to see what you look like all decked out and ready for a night on the town."
"No way!" Mary shouted. "I'm not dressing up for you!"
"NOW!" Stephen hissed, and his voice was now much more menacing. He sounded like a dragon waiting just on the other side of a wall, ready to crash through and eat her at a moment's notice.
Mary shuddered. She was his prisoner. He already demonstrated his power by spiriting Kayla away so dramatically. Besides, she thought, at least he wasn't doing anything else to her. She might as well agree. The more time she bought for herself, the better the chances the police would come.
With a sigh, she nodded in surrender and reached for the dress.