Chapter One

 

 

 

Joanna DuPont heard the phone ring as she walked in with a sack of groceries. She shifted the bag to her other hip and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

Her husband's voice came on, sounding urgent. "Oh my god! Honey-"

"Ryan?" The phone clattered and there was an exclamation. "Ryan!"

Suddenly, another voice was in her ear, a colder, deeper voice. "Mrs. DuPont? We have your husband."

"What?" She couldn't comprehend. "What? Why?"

"If you call the police, we will kill him and walk away. No one will ever catch us and you'll never see your husband alive again. Do you want that?"

"No! But-but why? We don't have any money!"

The voice chuckled. "Just do as you're told. We will be watching the house and monitoring your conversations. If you obey us and don't call the police, in a few hours time, a package will be delivered to your home. You will open it and follow the instructions inside."

Her mind reeled. "But I don't understand-"

"You're being monitored. Once you call the cops, it's over. Don't be stupid."

The phone clicked in her ear. Joanna stood by the sofa, still holding the groceries, and felt completely lost. Why them? Ryan was a low-level draftsman at an engineering firm and she worked part-time at a Kinko's because she couldn't find a full-time job. They rented their small home. They were far from rich. Neither of their parents was rich. What the hell was going on?

She sank down on the couch and placed the sack to her side and tried to think. They said they were watching the house and monitoring her. Was that a bluff? Could she call the police anyway? They would know what to do. Perhaps they could figure out a way that the kidnappers wouldn't notice their presence.

But if she was wrong, and the kidnappers did find out, her husband would be killed. Did she dare risk it?

Shit! How was she supposed to handle this?

A sudden thought struck her. She picked up the phone and dialed *69. She'd have his phone number, the asshole! It didn't ring - it just buzzed in her ear. She stared at the readout: "Unregistered number," it said.

Why didn't it work? Does this kidnapper know how to control her phones? Her mind spun with questions and she had no answers. She picked up the phone and dialed Ryan's office but it didn't go through. She tried his cell and got the same result. Now she was certain the man was listening in and controlling the phones. That made any efforts to contact the police much more risky.

In a fog, Joanna put away the groceries because she didn't know what else to do. She had to think! She went over various scenarios, rejecting each one until she was left with ... waiting. Wait and see what they wanted. She could always call the police later, after she found out what was in this mysterious package.

Joanna paced and fretted for another two hours before the doorbell rang. She leapt at once for the door and yanked it open. A delivery boy stood there, wearing a dark blue uniform shirt and tan pants. He held a package under one arm, rectangle in shape about three feet long.

"Mrs. DuPont?"

"Yes!" She almost shouted. The boy stepped back.

"Uh, you have a package. Could you sign for this?"

Joanna looked around, trying to spot anyone suspicious watching the house. The streets appeared to be calm and quiet. She recognized Mrs. Ashley across the street, digging in her flowerbed.

Joanna took the pen and scribbled her signature on the clipboard. The boy handed her the box and fled down the pathway. He jumped into a marked truck and sped away. She doubted he was part of the gang, but she couldn't be sure. All this was so far beyond her comprehension.

I'm only twenty-nine-years old! I shouldn't have to be dealing with kidnappings and evil men! Why did they choose us?

The only answer was in that package. She went inside and slammed the door behind her. Taking the box to the sofa, she placed it on the coffee table in front of her and stared at it for several minutes. She knew, once she opened it, she would learn why they picked her and Ryan. But she also knew it would represent a commitment - one she didn't want any part of.

She thought of Ryan and wondered what they were doing to him right now, even as she waffled. Steeling her resolve, she attacked the package, breaking a nail as she ripped open the tape and spread the flaps apart. Inside she spotted a tripod and a smaller box with a picture of a video camera on the side.

That's odd, she thought. Camera equipment?

A letter caught her eye. She pulled it out and saw her name on the front: "Mrs. DuPont." Ripping open the flap, she pulled out the single sheet of paper. She unfolded the note and read:

Read the directions and familiarize yourself with the camera's operation. If you fail to learn, your husband will lose two fingers. You will be contacted for the next step.

"Oh my god," she said. What the hell did they want with her? Why a video camera? She took it out of the package, separating it from the cords and battery pack. It appeared to be a normal camera, maybe a bit more expensive than she'd seen before. It looked powerful and confusing. Joanna looked in the smaller box and saw a manual tucked to the side. She brought it out and scanned through it.

"Jesus," she said aloud. How was she supposed to learn all this?

She put it aside and pulled out the tripod. She could see how it unfolded and where the camera could be attached. Joanna wanted nothing more than to put everything back in the box and toss it in the trash.

If you fail to learn, your husband will lose two fingers.

They sounded serious. She picked up the manual again and began reading. She found it was a high-quality camera, with a boom or remote microphone, a remote zoom and low-light capabilities.

After experimenting with the camera for another hour, she had managed to figure out how to operate it, zoom in and out remotely and to play back the tape. She didn't understand what all the cords did, except for the power cord, which recharged the batteries.

"Okay," she said to the empty room. "I've learned how to use it. What now?"

Silence. Were they listening? Somehow she doubted it but she couldn't risk her husband's life on it. Joanna sat on the couch, the camera and tripod in front of her and tried very hard not to cry.

About five o'clock the phone rang. She jumped, startled and panicked. She had to calm down before she could answer the phone.

"H-Hello?"

"Mrs. DuPont, did you learn how to operate the camera?" It was that same cold voice.

"Yes."

"Including how to download images to your computer and upload them to a website?"

Joanna started. "What?"

The voice sounded disappointed. "You haven't done your homework."

In the background, she heard a man yelp.

"Is that Ryan? Please don't hurt him! I'm doing what you asked - you didn't say anything about the other stuff."

"Very well. I'll give you one more chance. See that you learn." He paused. "I want you to set up the camera facing the couch. Remove all your clothes and film yourself masturbating to a climax. Don't fake it or your husband will suffer."

"What!? Are you nuts?! I won't do that!"

"Have it your way." Once again, she heard a man cry, "Oh, please!" and it sent chills down her spine. It sounded like her husband, but she couldn't be sure.

"Stop it! I'll do it!"

"Hang on." She heard the receiver being clanked down on a counter and the man's voice, now distant, asking: "Did you cut off his fingers yet? No? Good. Hang on."

He came back on. "Very well, you're still in time."

"Wait! How do I know you really have him?"

"Well, since he's naked right now and tied to a chair, I can tell you he's got the cutest little birthmark on his hip. Shaped like a bat or maybe a bird."

Joanna knew exactly what it looked like, having seen it so many times. "Okay! Okay! Don't hurt him!"

"Smart move." She heard him turn away from the phone. "Hear that, Ryan? It seems your wife doesn't want you to lose any fingers after all." His cold voice returned. "He's happy, I can tell you that. Now, where were we? Oh yes: Once you are done, you will be given further instructions. You have an hour - if you fail, we'll cut off one of your husband's ears." The phone went dead in her ear.

Joanna sat stunned. They couldn't be serious. They just couldn't. Now she surely would have to call the police. She wouldn't perform sex acts for their prurient interest! Was that what this was all about?

She headed into her bedroom, determined now to call the police. She didn't want to use her house phone, so she planned to use the cell phone. Would that be safe?

But why them? And why did they want her to perform such a degrading act? As she passed the full-length mirror, she caught a look at herself and an odd thought occurred to her. She was pretty - she knew that. Ryan always told her she was beautiful. She had shimmering blond hair and blue eyes and a pretty good figure, thanks to hours on the treadmill and on the tennis courts. All in all, a wholesome American girl. But it made her think: Had these men somehow spotted her and hatched their plot from there? Would this have happened if she had been plain?

It did make a certain cruel sense. She pictured the gang of horny men, willing to go to great lengths to get an innocent woman to do their bidding. What would they make her do with the films? Would they use them against her later? Try to extort her or embarrass her?

Joanna wasn't even sure she could do what they asked. Sure, she masturbated regularly. What woman didn't? Ryan, bless his heart, was a rather bland lover - he tended to come too quickly for her to reach her own pleasure. She couldn't really remember the last time she had climaxed with him. He had the same moves every time and sometimes she wished he could be more inventive. She had come to view love-making as "doing her wifely duty" - more for his pleasure than for hers. The frequency of their couplings had diminished in the last few years, but that was to be expected, now that they were both working so hard to get ahead.

So these men kidnap Ryan and force her to do these awful things. Just for their own amusement? Joanna suspected there was more to it than that.

She pulled the cell phone from her purse and stared at it. This was the deciding point - the lady or the tiger. She could call the police and hope the men wouldn't find out. Or that they were bluffing and wouldn't really kill Ryan. She paused. Or she could do as they demanded and see if they would release him. Would it be that simple? Somehow, she knew it wouldn't be. They would make more demands and she would have to comply. How far would they take her? Would they come over themselves and make her have sex with them?

Suddenly, the glimmer of a plan developed. If they did show up, she'd see their faces or at least some way to identify them. A tattoo or an accent. If she gave this information to police, Ryan's kidnappers might very well be arrested. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all she had at the moment.

She stepped to the small desk where their laptop sat. She tucked it under one arm, returned to the living room and picked up the manual. She wanted to know how to use the cords, how to upload images, how to edit - everything. Joanna sat down and studied hard. When she was done, she sat quietly for several minutes, thinking. Finally, she began to remove her clothes.

 

The call came just before eight. Joanna had been finished for just fifteen minutes. It was as if they were monitoring her - otherwise, how could they be sure she had done what they had demanded?

"Did you come?" The voice sneered at her.

"You're a bastard," she retorted.

"Just answer the question."

"Yes," she said, coloring.

"Good. Rewind just the last part and play it for me."

"You won't be able to see it."

"I know that. Just play it and put the phone near the speaker. I want to hear how hard a good girl comes."

Joanna flushed again and rewound the tape until she saw herself, legs splayed out, hand working hard on her clit. She stopped it and hit Play.

"Ohhhh! Ohhhh!" She could hear her own voice as she rose toward an orgasm. It had been real too, although it had taken her a long time to get there. At first, all she could think about was Ryan and it made her too worried to enjoy the sensations. But she also knew they wouldn't be satisfied until she came, so she had kept at it. It had taken a half-hour of work but she had finally achieved it. Now she watched herself writhing naked on the couch, legs spread obscenely. She turned away.

When the scene ended, she put the phone back to her ear. She heard shouting in the background, then a muffled cry. The voice in her ear chuckled. "Your husband really liked it, I think."

"You bastard! You got what you wanted, now let him go!"

"Oh no. We aren't nearly done. I'm going to email you a website address and password and you're going to upload the last ten minutes of your little masterpiece there. I want you to title it, 'American Whore.' I hoped you learned how to do that, because if I don't see the clip show up in fifteen minutes - that's at eight-twenty-two - I'm going to cut off your husband's ear."

"I know how to do it! Please! Don't hurt him!"

"Better hurry." The line went dead.

Joanna knew once the video was out of her hands, they could do anything they wanted with it. They could send it around the world. It would embarrass her for the rest of her life and ruin Ryan as well.

She had no choice. They had Ryan. She couldn't risk going to the police. She had to get him back in one piece. Joanna found the cord and plugged the camera to her computer and uploaded the image to her hard drive. She checked her email and spotted the new message from a Gmail account they had probably created just that day. She opened it and found a link and a password. She clicked on it and saw it was a blank page protected by a password. She typed in the password he had given her and the page opened: It was blank with a box in the center that said, "Upload Film" and a Browse button. That was all.

Joanna didn't have time to think about it. She had to load the film into an editing program and quickly cut it to the last ten minutes, capturing all of her climax and her wanton nakedness. The controls seemed sluggish and everything took longer than she expected.

She checked her watch. Two minutes left. "Dammit!" she shouted to the room.

Joanna gritted her teeth and browsed over to her shameful film. She clicked and watched as the bar went slowly across, indicating it was working. She glanced at her watch. One minute left.

"Hurry up!"

Finally, the screen cleared and she held her breath. She refreshed the site but it didn't appear. "Dammit, come on!" She pictured the evil man standing next to her husband with a razor, watching a computer screen, waiting for the video.

Another agonizing minute passed and she refreshed again. There! An image of her video, "American Whore" popped up just above and to the left of the upload box. She sank back, breathing a sigh of relief, even as she was embarrassed by the thumbnail image of herself.

The phone rang.

She snatched it up. "Satisfied?" she growled.

"Oh yes. And it came just in time. I had the razor up against your husband's left ear when I finally saw it. I only cut him a little."

"Damn you! Why are you doing this?"

"Because it amuses me. I am disappointed in the video, however."

"What do you mean! I did everything you asked."

"It seemed a bit amateurish. I'd like to see more art in your next one."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Do some zooming. Maybe change the angles."

"You don't give me enough time!" She had no idea how she was supposed to masturbate while being the camera operator. It would certainly break the mood!

"Use your imagination." In the background, she heard a man exclaim and curse.

"What's that? What are you doing?"

"We're expressing our displeasure with the quality of the film with your husband. He agrees it could've been better."

"Don't hurt him! Let me talk to him!"

"Maybe later. Now, are you ready for your next assignment?"

"Oh god no! Please! Just release him! I've done what you wanted!"

He laughed in her ear. "There's another package on your front step. Go get it and follow the instructions inside." The line went dead.