The Hard Way

Book 1: Rani's Abduction

by John Rookwood

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2020 by John Rookwood

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to johnrookwood@yahoo.com

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

 

I wanted to own a slave girl.

Now, I didn't make the decision lightly; it came after two years of therapy that helped me deal with the loss of my parents who had died in an auto accident while they were on vacation.

I know it sounds strange to want another person as a slave, but my therapist had encouraged me to find something to focus on, something to keep me from becoming disconnected from reality.

The money from my parents' insurance and the settlement with the freight company that owned the truck that had smashed into the family car and killed them had left me comfortably well off. I had inherited the house and their bank accounts as well so I didn't need to work unless I wanted too, and frankly I just didn't feel the need. I quit my job and stayed home, watched TV, played video games and generally lived like a hermit for a good six months before some friends intervened and convinced me to seek help.

The therapist had determined that my problems stemmed from lacking a sense of control over my life and having no one to care about. She suggested I get a pet or two and seek out a new relationship.

"You need to connect with someone," she said at one of my sessions. "You need someone in your life. Having a purpose and a person will anchor you."

She was right about one thing, I'd wasted half a year doing nothing. I needed to take control of my life, but I really didn't want a relationship, I just wanted a sex partner. Before the accident, I'd dated a few girls, but I hadn't been with a woman since everything went to hell. Sure, I'd had a few girls reach out to me since then, but they were the ones who had never expressed interest before so it was obvious they saw me as a potential sugar daddy or just wanted to marry me for my money.

In the end what I really wanted could summed up in two words. Sex and control. I needed control over my life and I wanted sex without all the effort of romance. Hookers would end up costing a lot and they brought the risk of disease. Thus I decided that having a girl as a sex slave was the answer.

I knew I would need to plan things out carefully, unlike the guys in those cheesy porn movies I had no brainwashing machine, no mind controlling drugs and it's not like there was a slave market where I could just shop for a girl. Okay, maybe there was if you believe certain web sites but I'm the kind of guy who would probably end up getting murdered while trying to find the place.

I started doing some research on how kidnappings were done, what methods tended to work, and where things tended to go wrong. Eventually I decided my best bet was a cold grab, and by that I mean I would go over two hundred miles from where I lived and find a target who who's absence would take a few days to be noticed and had no connection me at all. Ideally, there would be a long enough delay between the abduction and the police investigation for me to be safely away with my prize. With no mind-altering devices, I would need to condition her the hard way, through isolation, positive and negative reinforcement, and stockholm syndrome. I needed to create a dependency on me in the girl. Isolation wasn't a problem since I had inherited the mountain cabin where my parents liked to vacation. They had been on their way up when the tractor trailer driver had dozed off at the wheel and hit them.

The cabin was remote enough that when winter arrived and the snows came, no one was coming to help if you had an emergency. This meant I needed to make sure everything was ready before I put my plan in motion.

It was June when I made my decision, and the first winter storms usually arrived at the cabin in late November or early December. I had to get the place stocked and make the necessary modifications that would allow me to keep a girl imprisoned there for an extended period while I made her loyal to me.

I spent the first month planning, figuring out the best methods of controlling my victim and exploring what precautions to take to insure I wouldn't be identified when I took her. That meant a few fake IDs were in order and it turns out if you know where to go online you can buy the ID's of dead people that are still more or less valid. A proper check by law enforcement would show that the person was deceased, but they would work just fine for most other things until they expired. In the end, I bought three that had faces and heights/weights that I could pass for with the right clothes, contact lenses and fake beards. I figured out how to create counterfeit license plates with a three-D printer and the right metallic paints. Again, they wouldn't pass a police check but they would insure no one would track me down that way.

When I was ready, I sold the family home outside of Charlotte and used the proceeds to complete the last of my preparations. I'd begun quietly ordering things in July and taking them up the mountain to install in the house after I made my decision, and now it was early November and I had everything in place for my crime. I bought myself a Hummer- the original model, not the sissified luxury toys- and told the few friends I still kept up with that I was moving out to Los Angeles to start over. I killed my social media accounts, shut off the phone I'd had for years, and dropped off of everyone's radar.

Then I headed out for Chicago where I started my search.

 

Searching didn't mean I was out with a spy camera and a black van, trolling through neighborhoods, looking to grab some girl off the street. Admittedly, I did make a stop in Knoxville to buy an old white panel van someone was selling for cash. I made the deal using a fake Florida ID while wearing a simple beard and glasses to make me look like the guy in the photo. After I took possession of the van and attached a set of false plates, I added some fake cleaning company decals that I had bought during my preparations and used some cheap window tint to make the vehicle look a lot less like a kidnap-mobile and more like a low end work van. The fact that the van was a good ten years old and looked like it had seen a lot of use just added to the credibility factor. I stashed the hummer behind a closed gas station that was well off the main road about a dozen miles outside Knoxville; I figured it would be safe there for a few days while I continued my journey.

 

When I arrived in greater Chicagoland, I did what any aspiring kidnapper would do, I went for coffee. It's amazing how much you can overhear in coffee houses if you pretend to be deep in concentration, writing responses to online arguments or working on a novel.

I spent four days in various coffee shops while it rained the entire time. My method was pretty simple. I sat in the shops use a modified webcam hidden in a pen to get a look at potential targets. I took a few pictures of women I found attractive and then when I went back to my motel room at nigt, I ran them through a nifty facial recognition program that scanned social media sites to make a match. When I found one, I would go over the woman's pages and read any messages that my potential victim had posted publicly to see if she was a suitable target or not. I spent four nights investigating and discarding potential subjects for various reasons. This one was too well connected, that one was too involved with someone, another had too much of a social life to disappear quietly, others had too many family members in contact, ect. Finding a target I wanted to fuck but who had little to no social life turned out to be pretty difficult.

I was beginning to think this was going to be a bust and I would have to try some other method or lower my standards for 'disappearability'. Then on the fifth day as I sat drinking what seemed like my thousandth cup of coffee and eating yet another of those really unhealthy pastries, she walked into the coffee shop.

She entered the coffee shop with another woman, a co-worker I guessed since they were both wearing nurse's scrubs under their raincoats. Her dark hair was mostly hidden under a scarf and she was small, both in the chest and in overall height, she couldn't have been more than a "B" cup, but her breasts sat well on her slender frame. She would need heels to hit five feet tall and wouldn't weigh ninety pounds soaking wet, but her face was beautiful and her caramel skin along with her formal English accent made her Indian ancestry obvious. By Indian, I mean she was the 'thankyou for calling' type of Indian, not the 'welcome to our casino' kind of Indian.

The two women got coffee, and some kind of muffins before they sat down at a nearby table. I used my webcam to focus on her, and I got an excellent shot of her work ID as I recorded her conversation. The noise of the other patrons would make it nearly impossible to hear her from several tables away, but I had some software I could use to clean up the recording later. After they left, I waited an additional half an hour before packing up and leaving.

The rest of the afternoon was spent studying the recording and using the software to decode the conversation. According to her ID badge, her name was Rani Nayak, and she worked as a nurse at Cook County Hospital. Judging by the conversation I had recorded, she had been complaining to her friend, Amy, that she was annoyed by her current schedule, which required her to work twelve-hour shifts for five days straight. If I heard it right, she was on day four of the five which would be followed by three days off. Based on her gripes, her shift apparently ran from 11am to 11pm, which was excellent, since it gave me time to do a little more digging on her before I made my decision. Her name made it easy enough to track down some info on her. Honestly, people really should think twice before putting their lives online. A few simple searches told me a lot; she was twenty-three and had come to the US five years ago after winning a medical scholarship to Everest College. She had gone to work for Cook County after getting her certification and according to her social posts was not seeing anyone because of her lousy work schedule. She lived alone in a tiny apartment while she worked her way up the food chain at the hospital.

She was perfect.

After looking over her photos again, I noticed one of the things attached to her hospital ID lanyard was a bus pass. A little searching on the metro info sites showed a bus route that ran from just down the street from her apartment to the hospital. The route times looked like they would match her schedule pretty well, so she probably took that bus to work and back. I needed to be sure, so I donned what I had come to refer to as my 'bearded Floridian' disguise and parked near the hospital an hour before her shift should end for the night and waited, moving closer as parking spots opened up until I had a good vantage point of the bus stop.

Sure enough, at ten minutes after eleven I watched as she emerged from the seven story parking garage across the street from the hospital and moved to the covered bus stop to wait for her ride. The parking garage was connected to the hospital via a third floor skyway which kept her sheltered from the cold and rain. While she stood at the bus stop, I could see through a pair of binoculars that she was listening to music on earbuds and reading a romance novel. Apparently, Americanization had taken a firm hold on her and she felt entirely safe standing alone at a bus stop at night. I checked the bus number when it arrived a few minutes later to make sure it was listed in the route info I had pulled, and sure enough it was a match. After the bus was long gone, I walked into the parking garage and looked around under the pretense of keeping out of the weather. The skyway connected to the garage about twenty feet from the lone elevator and stairway door. There were several cameras set up to monitor the cars, but only one watched the skyway entry and one other covered the elevator. From where that last one sat on the wall, I was pretty sure I could block the elevator camera with the van if I got it into the spot next to the doors.

Now I felt almost giddy with the thrill of the hunt. It would be easy to grab her and I could do it tomorrow night.