Someone's Watching
Chapter 10
Greg checked the time and finished off his second cup of whatever the "C" rated diner was attempting to pass off as coffee. He had wanted a drink, but knew the amount it would take to settle his nerves would keep him from driving legally. The stalker's note had directed him to a small town forty-five minutes from Vegas. It had given him a room number at a rundown hotel a couple of blocks over from the diner. He had driven to the address when he arrived to check out the location. He knew he was taking a foolish risk going alone, but he didn't have a choice. He debated calling Russell, but decided against it. If he could talk to this guy, maybe he could avoid anyone discovering what he had tried to hide for so many years. Greg raked both hands through his hair and closed his eyes, willing this all to go away. He didn't know who the meeting was to be with, but he was fairly sure he knew what it was about. Unwelcomed memories of 15 years earlier, when he was a student at Stanford, flooded his mind. He tried to shake them out of his head, but it was useless. He checked his watch again and sighed. It was time to meet his stalker.
Greg surveyed his surroundings as he walked up to Room 124 and stopped. He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated, his hand freezing in midair. Then he quickly knocked.
After a couple of beats, the door swung open. Russ Lucas stood before him. His anxiety quickly turned to hatred as he eyed one of the men who had caused him so much agony years ago.
"What the hell do you want?" Greg hissed.
The man smirked. "Come on, Sanders. I was hoping you'd be a little more excited to see me. Haven't you been expecting me?"
Greg only stared at him, disgust in his eyes. Lucas laughed, seemingly amused by Greg's reaction.
Stepping aside, he motioned toward the hotel room. "Well, come on inside."
"If you want to talk, we talk out here." Greg was determined to take control of this situation before it got out of hand. He wouldn't allow himself to be manipulated again. If he talked to Russ Lucas, it would be on his terms from this point forward. Greg hadn't noticed the presence silently approaching him from behind. His breath caught as the arms tightened around him from behind, affectively pinning his arms to his sides, preventing him from taking defensive action. Careful to make the encounter appear to be a playful embrace, the man leaned closed to Greg's ear.
"Thought you might be a little skittish, Sanders. Now you come on inside before we beat the shit out of you right here." He tried to escape the hold, but the man only increased the pressure of his arms which prevented Greg from taking another breath.
Greg didn't doubt the man would follow through with his threat. There was nothing he could do to prevent himself from being maneuvered into the room. Dread filled his being as he heard the door slam and lock.
Once inside, the man released Greg. He then delivered a quick elbow to his ribs. Greg grimaced and bent slightly, but kept his composure.
He had recognized the voice of the man who had forced him inside as belonging to Eric Hilton. Sitting at the small table in the corner of the room, nursing a beer, was Joe Logins. Where was Bradley? Panic rose in Greg throat. This was worse than he had expected.
"Sit down," Lucas demanded, pointing to the bed.
"I prefer to stand," Greg snarled although panic was about to overcome him.
Lucas turned and Greg never saw the upper cut coming. He hit the floor with a thud and a groan. As he attempted to push himself up with his arms, his head was still spinning. Lucas reached down and jerked him up by the collar and slung him on the bed.
"I said, 'Sit down!'" Lucas was losing his patience.
Regaining some of his senses, Greg slid back to the edge of the bed and sat as instructed.
"Now, I'm sure you remember your old buddies, Hilton and Logins," Lucas pointed his head in their direction.
Greg surveyed both with disgust. Over the years he had forgotten how much he loathed them.
The look caused a small smile to cross Lucas' lips. "I guess you're probably wondering where Bradley is. Actually, he's the reason we're all gathered here today."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He had Greg's attention. Bradley had been behind everything before; the thought of him scheming something else, and that it included him, was unnerving.
Lucas flashed the disgusted look this time. "Don't play dumb with me, Sanders! You know he's behind bars because his street dealers ratted him out to the cops."
Greg was genuinely surprised. He knew Bradley was a thug and couldn't imagine anyone going against him. But being a drug supplier had definitely kicked things up a notch. His dealers must be insane to turn him in. The thought multiplied his fear tenfold.
"Actually, I didn't know that." Greg answered honestly.
"He is. But you're about to take care of that."
A nervous laugh escaped Greg's lips. "What do you expect me to do? I can't get him out of jail."
"You will. And you're going to do it by bring me the evidence that implicates him."
Greg was having troubles believing what he was being told to do. "I can't do that! And, besides, you said his dealers turned him in. What about them?" His voice was beginning to rise.
"The dealers are not your problem. They're being taken care of," growing tired of the questions. "And I'm sure you'll find a way to do what you're told or else."
Greg had a feeling this was what he had been dreading, "Or else what?"
Lucas, Hilton, and Logins began laughing as Logins turned the laptop he had been working on towards Greg.
"We've got a little surprise for you and I don't believe you've ever seen," Logins laughed as he hit "Play."
Greg felt his world falling from beneath him. Sensuous music had been added and he didn't remember the lighting, but he definitely remembered being a part of what he was seeing. Even though the audio was on, he couldn't allow himself to decipher what was being said. Waves of nausea began to overtake him. Greg closed his eyes praying that when he opened them again, the screen would be different. But, it wasn't. It was the same; Greg Sanders tied to a bed, star of his own porn film; the other men in the room were his co-stars. Bradley had been behind the camera. The video continued and Greg began to zone out. He mind went back to the night it happened. He remembered it all very vividly. After they concluded the film, they had proceeded to beat him unconscious and dump him behind a liquor store. He would never have revealed the identity of the attackers, but Bradley had carelessly left a credit card in his pocket and it had fallen out. He was arrested and found guilty of the assault, but Greg never reported the rape or the others involved.
The visual and emotional assault continued for 42 minutes. When it concluded, Logins powered off the laptop and closed it. Greg was numb. There was nothing he could do or say. He knew exactly what the 'or else' would be. This video released on the internet. Fifteen years ago, that had not been a concern for him. But things had changed. Who would have ever believed that technology would be his undoing?
"You have 24 hours," Lucas began, "if you fail to deliver, your cameo appearance will hit the internet." Lucas paused, gauging Greg's response. There was no objections, no questions, nothing. Greg only stared into his eyes.
"You got something to say?" Lucas probed.
Greg sighed, "No." He knew what he had to do and, more importantly, he knew that he would. He would be destroyed if the video turned up on the web. The men had threatened him when the film was made that they would always hold it over his head. And now, that's exactly what they were doing.
"Give me your socks," Lucas demanded.
"What?" Greg thought he had misunderstood.
"Socks, Sanders!"
Greg bent over and removed his shoes and socks. He glanced up and saw the men all gathered around him. He quickly stood as panic consumed him once more.
"As before, we need to leave you with a little something to remember us by," laughed Lucas.
Hilton and Logins grabbed Greg as Lucas jerked his shirt open, popping the buttons off as he went. Lucas yanked the socks from Greg's hand and stuffed them into his mouth. He then scooped up the rope he had placed on the chair beside the bed while the other two men struggled with Greg to remove his tee shirt. They dragged him over to the bathroom door and wrapped the rope around both wrists. They threw the rope over the door and tightened it, thus leaving him shirtless with the arms stretched and secured to the top of the door. As realization of what was about to happen registered with him, Greg began to thrash about in an attempt to free himself.
Greg cried out at the incredible force of the first lash of the belt. A mental picture of Eric Hilton's 6'4" muscular frame flashed through his mind. It was no doubt Hilton delivering the blows. Greg barely was able to suck in a small breath before the belt again set his back on fire. He was powerless to prevent the tears from forming in his eyes. And no matter how hard he tried to steel himself for the next blow, he was unable the hold back the muffled screams as the belt dug into his flesh. When the lashes finally ceased, Greg was unconscious.
When he came to, Greg was lying in the back seat of the rented car. The pain was overwhelming. He gingerly pulled his shirt back on. He needed something for the pain and a place to rest. He walked to the hotel office, rented a room, and purchased a bottle of Tylenol and water from the convenience store next door. He immediately downed 4 of the pills and washed it down with half the bottle of water. Alcohol was what he needed, but he didn't have time to get over its effects. He had to get himself straightened out and back to the lab. But, God, he had to get some relief first. Greg headed back in search of the room he had been assigned with a new dread settling over him. How was he going to get into the evidence room and steal sealed evidence from a case that he had nothing to do with?