Chapter 3

Biderman's chart of coercion – Second stage. Isolation. Deprives individual of social support, effectively rendering him unable to resist, makes individual dependent upon interrogator.

Ken awoke with a single thought in his head. That there was a woodpecker trying to drill its way out through his back. The pain was insistent and his first reaction was to try to roll over so that he could see what was causing it.

He tried to bring his arm up for leverage, but realised his wrists were somehow linked together. His chloroform clouded mind couldn't take it all in to begin with and he let out a low moan as he slumped back against the table feeling dizzy and sick. He recognised the symptoms from the time he'd accidentally inhaled chloroform during an experiment in the physics lab at school. He hated the feeling then, and, he decided, he still hated it.

'He's coming round' Ken heard a voice say. It came from behind him and he made a conscious effort to try to wake up sufficiently to tell the person that they were hurting him. The blond man took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his thoughts into some sort of order. But the drug continued to befuddle his mind and for a moment he couldn't make out where he was. Was that his Dad behind him? Where was he? Was Chancita somewhere near? She'd make it stop hurting, she always did.

OK Ken. Shudup and try an' get yourself under control. Take your time and think. What's the last thing you remember? Um…. park. A car…SHIT that hurts. Oh my God, I was shot! OK ok. Calm down. Are you in the hospital?

Ken opened crystal blue eyes and took his first proper look around. He was laid on his belly on some sort of operating table and his wrists were tied together below the table top preventing him from getting up or rolling over. He raised his head setting off new pains in his back and down his legs, which also seemed to be immobilized, although whether they were tied, or whether he'd been seriously injured he couldn't tell. He was in a smallish room which looked a little like an ER, although it didn't smell quite the same and it sure wasn't Mercy Hospital, where he was being trained. The room was white tiled and there seemed to be work benches around the walls with equipment laid out on them, but although it seemed familiar it was as though he'd been transported to another world where normal stuff was suddenly either too big or too small. Forceps the size of fire tongues, needles 12" long – it didn't make sense.

And then he felt the pains in his back again, making him gasp and groan. He felt hands on his back and cool air and realised whoever had him had removed his shirt. The hands that worked over him were strong, confident and not especially gentle, but he didn't think they were hurting him intentionally either. There were murmured voices, but no-one spoke directly to him, although he could hear them quite plainly. They appeared to be operating on him. Dear God! Did they realise he was awake?

That's why he was in so much pain!

They were operating and he wasn't asleep!

He let out another moan through gritted teeth as another sharp pain took his breath away. Something was probing the wound on his back, he could feel cold metal being pushed inside. Shit! They're looking for the bullet?

He tried to listen carefully to the voices.

'I thought rubber bullets weren't supposed to penetrate'.

A chuckle. 'Well they tested 'em on cows. He's obviously not as thick skinned. He'll make it. Can't see anything too bad. Just clean it and stitch it. He'll be fine. But he'll be hellish sore for a while'.

'He's awake'.

'Lucky him! Finish up here and I'll ask where he's going next'.

Ken heard a door open and swing closed as the hands returned to his back. He felt cold fluid being poured into the wound and screamed once as it bit like fire at his open hole. The person ministering to him said nothing.

'Hey….hurts' he panted. 'Can you give me something…..something for the pain….huh?...just stop a while. Need to breathe'.

The person ignored him and now he could feel the wasp sting sensation of a needle biting into his flesh as the two sides of the bullet wound were drawn together. This pain was less than those he'd so far endured, but his nerves were raw and he hissed as the needle dug in again and again.

Ken was confused. Where was he? Why were they patching him up? Why wouldn't they speak to him? And who were "they"? He gritted his teeth and waited, sweat from the pain trickling into his eyes and stinging them. He decided to conserve what energy he still had in the hope that maybe someone in charge would come along and tell him what was going on.

The hands at his back finally finished their murderous ministrations and Ken felt a dressing being taped down over the wound. He thought then that maybe he'd get some answers and that the person who'd been patching him up would stop and explain everything to him, but instead, the silence continued as instruments clattered on metal receptacles and the door of an autoclave opened and closed.

'Where am I?' Ken mumbled. He felt nauseous from being forcibly held on his belly, sore from the work that had been done on his back, confused from the chloroform and waking in a strange place and above all scared. It wasn't that he was cowardly. Hell, he'd even once won a civic award for jumping into the lake to save a little girl from drowning. He prided himself also on having a clear mind in a crisis. But that was fine when the crisis was happening to someone else. He felt alone and isolated now and the silence was worse than any amount of blows or violence would be. He groaned and tried again, his voice weak and thick from the drugs.

'Just tell me where I am huh? Please?'

The body in the room with him ignored him and carried on with cleaning up after the operation.

'I haven't done anything to you. Why are you doing this? Let me go?' A nasty thought crossed the blond's mind and he swallowed hard.

'Was it you that sent the letter to my father? He won't pay. He….' The person moved swiftly across the room and took hold of a handful of silky hair, yanking Ken's head up and back until his neck was stretched taut and the blood vessels stood out like turgid ropes. His mouth opened involuntarily and an unseen hand pushed wadded up gauze into it, applying a length of white bandage around his head to secure it in place. Ken felt as though he was choking; as though threads of the gauze were invading his throat and he wanted to cough and dislodge them. But he couldn't get sufficient breath from around the gag to do anything.

The young man's head fell back onto the table with a thud. The procedure had been carried out once again in silence and he hadn't even been able to find out whether his captor was male or female as his eyes had been closed. He lay panting slightly, trying to get his heart rate under control for fear of hyperventilating. He could already feel the initial effects of carbon dioxide build up in his body; the panic; the light headedness.

Ken had no idea what to do, so he elected to lie quietly and conserve his energy. Maybe something would turn up. Maybe that cop who'd been at his house would have seen his kidnap. Maybe a whole host of black and whites would be on their way to rescue him now. Maybe he was living in cloud cuckoo land and he was gonna die.

The thought had a sobering effect and he tried to think. Ok, he'd seen a film once. A girl had been kidnapped and she was held for a long time by people who threatened to kill her. And she…..she….Oh c'mon Hutchinson think! She tried to establish a rapport with them; tried to make them see her as a human being and not just leverage.

That's it. It saved her life right? OK, well fine. How're ya gonna do that with a mouth full of cotton? Well give 'em time. Maybe…Shuddup with the "maybe's" huh? Just shudup!

He lay still, shivering now with cold and fear. What were they going to do? Where was he? When would his Dad tell the cops he hadn't come home?

The door opened and he could feel the cool air around him change. It made his shiver more and the medical student part of his brain told him that he was going into shock. He forced his head up again and looked straight into the big brown eyes of one of his captors.

It was a woman! And she was really quite pretty. Short brown hair, big brown eyes and an olive complexion. He was staring back at him and he wanted desperately for her to talk to him; to explain what was going on. But instead she stood and backed away and the young man felt other hands on his body. Those hands seemed to be untying his wrists from under the table and freeing his legs. He had the impression they were going to let him up. Were they going to let him go?

Ken's elation was short lived however.

The girl with the big brown eyes told one of the other pairs of hands to hold his arm out and he felt someone take hold of it and pull on it. He had no idea how long he'd been bound on the bed, but his arms had been held immobile all the time he'd been awake and now, as they pulled on it, the muscles protested and sent shock waves through his shoulders and back. Despite trying to keep quiet, Ken screamed through the gag, his body quivering as numbed nerves fired uncontrollably.

And then he felt the needle slide into a vein in the crook of his elbow and he screamed again, this time in forlornness. He wanted to be awake. He needed to be awake because he wanted to know what was happening to him and what they were going to do to him. The idea of these people having total control over his useless body was too much for him to contemplate; too scary to even think about.

Bu fortunately, he didn't need to think for very long as the drug raced its way through his bloodstream, erasing his consciousness like an eraser took away the marks on a page. The world dimmed and still, he fought against the effects of whatever drug they'd given him, but it was too strong and as the last vestiges of sensation left him, he thought he felt himself being lifted off the table.

oOo

'Sergeant Netter please' the voice on the telephone sounded low, rich; the sort of voice you didn't argue with and the woman on the switchboard told him to hold while she connected.

'Hank, got some guy for you. Didn't give his name. Shall I put him through?'

'Uh huh, thanks Hon'. Hank waited for the click signifying he was through. 'Netter. State your business'.

'Sergeant Netter, this is Dr Richard Hutchinson. You came to see me last night?'

Netter sat up a little straighter in his car. 'Sure, I remember. What can I do for you Dr?' He waited, really wishing that the Dr could hear his thoughts which went more along the lines of How could I forget such a cold hearted bastard? What the hell do you want?

'I think we may need your services Detective'.

'Oh?'

'It's my son. He's missing'.

It was said with no inflection in the voice, no panic, no "Oh God help me find him". Just a quiet statement of the fact.

'When did he go missing?' Netter asked, thinking that maybe the kidnappers may still be in the area. He started the engine of his car and turned it in the direction of the Hutchinson household as he spoke into the mic.

'I don't know'.

'Well gimme a clue. An hour ago? A couple of hours? Did you see anyone strange outside the house?'

'Kenneth didn't return from his jog last night' Hutchinson Senior said stiffly.

'Last night! You mean you've left it over 12 hours to tell me that your son…..the son you got a ransom note about is missing!'

'Don't take that tone with me Detective! I don't hold my son on a leash you know. He's 21. He's able to make his own decisions. I'm telling you now. He's missing and it's your job to find him'.

'I'm on my way over to your place now' Netter said icily.

'And what good is that may I ask? He isn't here! What do you hope to establish by coming back here? I want you out on the streets, or whatever you do, looking for the kidnappers. They wanted $1,000.000 for God's sake. And I'm telling you, they won't get it'.

Netter put the mic. back on the cradle in disgust. Cold hearted son-of-a-bitch! Doesn't deserve a son. He turned his car in a wide U turn and headed back to his office.