Rating: R (violence and language)

Special THANKS go out to Thomas Mikkelsen and Nemo Blank for their patience and assistance in beta reading these stories!  And a very special thanks goes to Nemo for his plots and ideas that I used extensively in this story.

The Snatch

By Trent Lane

Transcribed by Steven A. Brown

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztrentzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztrent!zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzTRENT!!!

"…urglzzblaahngh?" he managed, lifting his head off the soft, soft pillow.

"Trent!  Yo, bro!  Rise and shine!  It's half past noon.  Can't sleep all day."

"…why not?" he slumped back into the pillow.

"Because I didn't come home after my first semester at college to let you sleep while I'm awake.  Besides, I have a dead car battery."

"…just take my car and go get another one," Trent suggested, hoping she'd leave and he could get back to some serious z's.

"I thought of that very thing, but truth be told the large black oily puddle under it kind of scared me off."

"…gnnnn.  Not again.  Okay, I'm up.  I'll get on to fixing it and we'll go get you a new battery."

"No need to hurry on my account.  Daria's home for the summer anyway and is coming over in a bit to get me a new battery.  Try to look a little more presentable than working on the car in your underwear this time."

Trent sat up in bed, covers ever so respectfully placed to keep this a family story.  "Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I hear you.  Hey, if Daria's coming over to take you to get a battery, why'd you wake me up?"

Jane looked at her brother.  "She's coming over to help me get my car up and running.  Your car's rusting an agonizing death but that doesn't mean you can borrow mine later to get to the club.  You forget about that new responsibility line you swore you were working on the other day?"

That got him.  "No, I remember.  I'll get started on it after a certain pesky sister gets out so I can get dressed."

Jane left with a grin.  She did leave the door open.  Trent had to get up in order to slam it shut.  Or, it would have slammed if it hadn't encountered debris littering the floor during its trajectory.

Later, Trent, sporting his work clothes which consisted of some scruffy jeans with a hole in the knee and a not-too-clean t-shirt, jacked up his beast and crawled under it to get a better idea of what problems he now had to fix.  He heard another car pull up after draining the oil and there was no doubt who the boots belonged to.

"Hey, Daria," he said from under the car.

"Hey, Trent's car.  Since when did you come alive?"

"Since I had to allow Trent to climb under me and fix my oil pan."  Trent edged his head out from under the engine and smiled at Daria.  "Good to see you even if it is at this ungodly hour."

"It's morning," she replied with her poker face.

"So that's what it's called.  I've been trying to remember." Trent crawled the rest of the way out from underneath the car.

She smiled subtly.  "So what's the problem with your beast now?"

Trent shrugged.  "Ahhh, I need to get a new plug for my oil pan.  It's not too hard, but takes a little time.  Hey, how'd your first year of college life go?"

"Okay, I guess."

"But…?" Trent prompted.

"What makes you think there's a "but" coming?" Daria eyed him suspiciously.

"I could sense it, man."

"You could, could you?"

Trent smiled.  "Nah.  I really just listened to your voice and heard a "but" coming."

"That could mean anything.  Maybe I had a bean burrito for breakfast."

"Mmmm, burrito for breakfast.  Only, why are your avoiding answering the "but" question so much?"

Daria smiled.  "Okay.  Fair enough.  I guess it wasn't as hard as I expected it to be."

"It wasn't?" Trent asked, surprised.

"Not really.  I felt that I was smarter than some of my teachers.  In fact, the hardest part of the year came when I broke up with Tom a couple months after graduating from Lawndale High."

"Hey, that's right.  I guess I can't say you're the coolest high schooler anymore."

"Huh?"

"You're not in high school anymore," Trent explained.  "Now you're just the coolest person I know."

Trent noticed Daria blush slightly at that and try to hide a smile.  He'd always liked it when she tried to hide her smile.  It showed as a flashing crack in her Take No Prisoner emotional armor.  Or something like that.  He didn't really give it a whole lot of thought – he just liked it when she smiled.

"So what have you been doing since I left for college last year?" Daria asked.

"Nothing much," Trent replied honestly.  "Same as before.  Only worse."

"Worse?  How?"

Crap, he thought.  He hadn't meant to say that.  Nothing he could do about it now.  "Ahh, I feel that my life sort of went downhill after you and Janey left Lawndale.  I'd go on stage and there just wouldn't be that rush, you know?  I'd go through the motions but that was about it.  I didn't get that "feel" of driving home the music.  Not until Janey called and said she was coming home for the summer."

"Trent…" Daria started.

He shrugged his shoulder and gave her a goofy grin.  "Yeah, I know.  I can't plan my life around her.  Anymore than I can keep living in this house."

"Why can't you keep living in the house?"

"My parents are putting it up for sale.  Got a note from them a couple weeks ago."

Daria was shocked.  "Does Jane know about this?"

"Not yet.  They said not to mention it as they'd tell her themselves when they got home for Memorial Day."

"Trent, Memorial Day…"

"Yeah, I know.  It was a month ago.  Something must've come up for them.  I'm going to let Janey know myself."

"You know, if something came up with them now, maybe you could keep living here since something seems to always come up with them," Daria suggested helpfully.

Trent looked at her, thinking about it.  A few seconds later, he replied, "Nah.  Time to move on.  Time to go.  Time to spread my wings."

"You're joining up with Paul McCartney?"

Trent grinned at the jab and changed the subject.  "So are you doing things with your family today?"

"Define 'family'," Daria returned.

"I take that as a no?"

"No, really.  Define a family.  You see, I believe a person has two families in life – those they're born in and stuck with, and the ones they make for themselves.  And as corny as this sounds, you and Jane fall in the family cluster I've made for myself.  So to answer your question, yes, I'm doing something.  I'm going to the parts store as soon as Jane manages to get herself out here."

Trent gave a relaxed grin.  "Cool.  But how about tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah.  You and Janey doing anything tonight?"

Daria gave this some thought.  "I guess we could stick around here and tear up some bad movies."

"Or some good movies."  Trent looked under the car and noticed the oil had long since stopped dripping.  He got back down on the ground and wiggled back under the car.

"Or some good movies.  God, I'm in a rut, aren't I?"

"Can you hand me that crescent wrench?"

Daria handed him the tool.  "I am, aren't I?"

"Define rut," Trent joked.

"Forget it.  You're not getting me to do your dirty work."

"How about you and Janey coming to our gig tonight?"

"Well, it certainly saves me the effort of telling  you what a rut is.  Okay, I'll come.  Can't vouch for Jane, though."

"Cool."

"Vouch for me, what?" Jane asked, coming out of the house.

"Going to Trent's show tonight."

"Sure, I'll go.  Saves me the effort of telling you what a rut is."

"You were listening," Daria accused.

Jane grinned.  "Hello!  And how long have you known me?"

"Too long for you to simply vanish without people asking me questions like where I hid your body."

"Details, details.  C'mon, let's go.  You gonna be here when we get back, Trent?"

"Nah.  I have to go to the Zon early and renegotiate the band's contract."

"Make sure you get paid in American dollars this time," she reminded.

"Sure, sure, Janey.  But who would have thought Peso's would have been worth so little."

"Anyone who's been to Mexico?" Daria put in as she and Jane headed for her car.

Trent grinned at the barb and went back to working on his car as they loaded up and took off.  Daria had a point.  She always did, if you listened closely enough.  She was right, someone who had been to Mexico would have known how worthless Peso's were.  He should have known.  He'd met Penny six months ago in Honduras but hadn't paid any attention to anything.  Not like he should have.  And he'd been burned because of it. 

That wasn't going to happen again.

*****

He knew it was an odd sensation, but he couldn't help but go over it again and again in his head.  During the day he was hidden.  He could come and go as he pleased without anyone knowing differently, but he was still hidden by design.  Ah, but when night came along, he really opened up.  Not the kind of opening up that landed you a wife and 2.5 kids in the suburbs along with 3 mortgages and two mini vans, but the best kind of opening up there was – the kind where he didn't have to please anyone but himself.

He considered himself a hunter.  He saw the world as his prey.  He wasn't at the very top of the food chain, he knew, and there were always others waiting to take him down and chew on his neck until his legs quit twitching and his eyes glazed over.  But he knew he was clever.  He'd gotten this far without any problems and at every turn, the authorities were baffled.

And that pleased him even more.  He knew it, and still enjoyed it.  He knew a lot of things about himself.  He knew it was only a matter of time before he got old and careless, and when that happened, the world would go away for him.  But until then, he had his hobby and his hunting.

He sighted his prey once again.  There she was, he noted out of the corner of his eye while sitting and drinking some coffee in his vehicle, acting as if he were more interested in reading the paper in his hands than in her pretty, innocent face.  He had marked her the previous week and made it his obligation to study her.  It was necessary for the game after all, he gloated to himself, knowing that she would soon be his.  There she was, coming back to her home, to her family.  He sneered and gave little thought to her family.  He didn't care about them at all.  They might even be better off without her, he rationalized.

He saw her leave her car and go up the walkway to the house.  He knew his patience, preparation and skill would eventually be rewarded.  Nine other girls had been taken without a trace.

Looking around the car he examined the back seat again. The hidden compartment under it was invisible.  His associates had suggested it and it worked beautifully.  The circuitous channels that they communicated through were all agog at his latest proposal.  As well they should be, he smirked.  He was an artist and there was his canvas, oblivious to her danger.  Her big glasses and modest outfit made his mouth water.  She was perfect.

This was a big step for him, he knew.  There were more risks, but also more rewards.  He had long tired of little girls.  They were used up far to quickly.  The growing horror and terrible knowledge that lead up to the look of ultimate betrayal at the moment of termination was what the video club paid to see.  He needed a perfect virgin sacrifice, old enough to last through the ordeal and understand her degradation yet still innocent enough to appease the dark longings of this peculiar circle. 

Well, more like his peculiar circle.

He glanced at his watch and noted the time.  He had errands to perform which, left undone, might bring this hunting trip to a brief and unspectacular end.  He knew where she was.  He knew she was in for the night like all the previous nights.  He'd be back.

And she'd be there.

*****

At the Zon, Trent helped the band unload the gear from the Tank.  He was amazed that the van still ran and knew it was only a matter of time before even creative help in keeping it going wouldn't be enough.  Fortunately, the increase he'd gotten out of the club's manager ought to help.  Of course, it would take a few months before it could help enough, but he had to start somewhere.

Night had finally showed up and so did a crowd.  He'd told Jesse, Nick and Max about the raise they were getting and they were pumped, feeling that this could be the year things took off.  Or the year that Nick's kid quit wearing diapers.  Either way, Trent knew something was in the air.

They started playing.  Trent started singing.  That night, he played the best he had in years.

*****

Mr. Maimer, as he liked to call himself, watched as one of his clients drove off from the convenience store.  He stood next to his car, thinking it wasn't such a good idea to meet in a location like this, but the chances of the hicks in this town even suspecting they were there were practically nil.  Besides, he'd already gone in and bought some coffee earlier and met the clerk.  He was a louse and in his own way, riding the same mental waves as himself when he was younger.  He could see it in his eyes.

He had one more person to meet before the night's festivities could begin, not that he was complaining.  Just knowing that he was getting better at multitasking.  If only his guidance counselor could see him now.  Oh wait, she had.  Or rather, one of her daughters had and that was close enough for him.

He needed to go and collect his star for the next performance.  He mentally kicked himself for not having a contingency plan in place.  After all, not just anyone would do.  It had to be someone who others wanted to protect.  She needed that air of innocence.  His next contact wasn't due for another four hours so all he needed to do now was cruise the neighborhoods for all the good it would do.  He shrugged off the negative thinking.  Maybe he'd find someone else if he couldn't get his start.

But then he realized that fate sometimes worked his way.  Actually, it worked his way more often than not.  But this time, when opportunity knocked, he threw open the door and saw it for what it was.  His star had just driven into the parking lot and pulled up to the convenience store a few car slots over from him. 

He looked around.  He didn't like the lights the store cast but there wasn't anything else on around.  No other stores, and the street wasn't that well traveled.  He knew he'd have the time.  He didn't like the looks the clerk gave her while she wasn't looking – no!  She was mine, he thought angrily.

But she was there!  She was perfect.  It was a sign.  And he didn't go against signs.  Not when they were right so often.  Inside the store, she went down the candy isle he noticed.  Just like a little girl.

He opened the driver's door and popped the hood of his car, making sure to unlock the other doors in the process.  He grabbed a flashlight and went to the engine, keeping an eye on her.  She bought gum.  It was Juicy Fruit!  His favorite.  If this wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.

She was humming as she came out the store.  He noted that the clerk went back to reading his Playboy.

It was now or never!

"Excuse me, miss?  Do you have a moment?"

"Hmm?" Daria replied, looking up.  "Sorry, didn't see you there."

Mr. Maimer smiled reassuringly.  "No problem.  If you don't mind, I've got some car troubles…"

Daria said, "You must have me confused with someone who can actually work on a car, mister."

He flashed her an embarrassed look, meaning to lower her guard.  "I only need you to hold this flashlight for a second while I look at my car's distributor cap."  He cleared his throat, letting his embarrassed look deepen.  "I think that it might be the wrong cap.  It keeps popping loose, ever since I changed it myself."

Daria hesitated but then agreed.  He looked harmless enough and it was the sort of stupid thing that Jake might do.  "Um, okay I guess."

Daria went over to his car and held the flashlight on the car's engine. 

"Shine it right here, and thanks a million."  Mr. Maimer leaned into the engine and peered carefully at a bundle of wiring.  After a few moments, he said, "Oh, that's right."

"What?" Daria asked, wondering how long a 'second' was. She had things to do.

Mr. Maimer took a quick look around.  "This car has electronic fuel injectors."

"What's that mean?" she asked, frowning.

Mr. Maimer rose from under the hood and replied, "It means it has no distributor cap."  He then zapped her in the neck with his stun gun that he'd concealed in the air filter box.

Daria didn't see the zapper even as he applied it.

Daria slumped into his arms and he quickly lugged her to his passenger door.  He opened it, moved the front seat forward and threw her into the back seat, still unconscious. 

He looked to the store to see if he'd been spotted.  He hadn't as the clerk continued to read the interesting articles found only in Playboy.

She had dropped nervelessly and landed face first, twitching and grunting.  He grinned at the sight, mocking her by grunting along with her.  Then he cursed as he noticed that she had bloodied her nose and marred herself when she fell.  He'd wanted her in prime condition, not already bloodied.  Well, as the old saying went, beggars couldn't be choosers.

He touched the arm controls in the back and she slid through the crease of the back seat and back rest as he rolled her into the trunk.  The springs on the back rest came back to their original position.

He closed the door, went around to the front and closed the hood.  He then noticed and picked up her car keys from the ground where she'd dropped them and got in to the driver's seat.  He drove off normally from the lot.  The clerk continued to ogle the centerfold, still oblivious to the outside world.

A few minutes later, on a deserted street with its light busted, he took his time, carefully sedating her, restraining her and securing her in the compartment behind the seat.  He took a long look around, saw no one, and drove away, content.

Folded into the compartment Daria, confused and terrified, moaned and struggled weakly as the stun wore off. It was futile.  She soon lapsed into unconsciousness as the sedative took hold.

*****

Someone came in, was the first thing that Trent thought as he woke.  The phone wasn't quacking, the lights weren't on and the person wasn't making too much noise.  He gathered all that as he broke free of the sand in his eyes and looked over at the person sitting on his bed.

"Janey?" he asked, confused as to why she hadn't forcibly woken him up which she seemed to enjoy doing.

"She's gone, Trent," Jane replied, a haunted tone in her voice.  Trent wasn't so deaf from playing all these years that he couldn't pick up on that.

"Who's gone?" he asked, coming fully awake.

"Daria," Jane's lower lip trembled.

"Talk to me," Trent instructed, getting out of bed and putting his clothes on.

"I went over to Daria's house this morning to see why she never showed up at the Zon last night," Jane started.

Trent had wondered about that last night but figured something else must've come up.  He hadn't been too worried about it, figuring that she and Jane must've been catching up on old times.  Only, now that he thought about it, Jane was there for a little while before disappearing.

Jane continued.  "I went over to talk to her but ended up talking to Mrs. Morgendorffer.  That's when she called the police.  From what I gathered, she claimed that Daria never came home and that Quinn found her car at a convenience store late last night with Daria nowhere in sight.  She said that Daria's room was empty and she doesn't know where she is.  Oh, Trent, I'm scared.  This isn't like Daria, you know that."

"What did the police say?" Trent asked, thinking.

"They eventually showed up but said they couldn't do anything since she's legally an adult, that they have to wait 48 hours before starting a search.  Trent, we've got to do something.  She's my best friend."

"We'll do something," Trent answered with grim determination.

*****

Trent, Jane and an awakened Jesse (who had crashed on the sofa) headed for the Morgendorffer's and talked with Daria's parents.  At first they had thought Daria had had some car troubles and simply called Jane and then stayed at her house all night.  But when Jane came by earlier that morning to check on Daria, that set the panic off in Mrs. Morgendorffer's head and she called the police.  Trent tried asking some questions but was gently put off by her ringing cell phone.

Mr. Morgendorffer wasn't any help at all.  He was a basket case ranting and raving at anyone who listened, which turned out being Jesse.  Trent wasn't worried about that since Jesse liked to play in front of speakers and couldn't hear much of what Daria's dad was saying anyway.

Jane was a little more helpful in corning Daria's sister, Quirky or Quacky or Quinn or something like that.  She at least managed to tell them where Daria's car had been found.  Quinn knew there hadn't been any car trouble as she'd taken Daria's spare keys and started it right up this morning and drove it home.  She was worried and it showed – she wasn't wearing any makeup as Jane pointed out.

The Morgendorffer's had the general consensus that this was a kidnapping for ransom and therefore weren't leaving their house in case the kidnapper called.  The police were on the track that Daria had simply gone off on a long weekend with an old boyfriend and would be back within the 48 hours and they wouldn't have to waste any more time looking into it.

Jane knew better as the only old boyfriend Daria had had was currently in Europe with his family.  Trent had a bad feeling about this that he just couldn't slake.  He needed more information and together with Jane and a rescued Jesse, they headed for the convenience store.

*****

Trent drove a quiet Jane and Jesse to the convenience store where Daria's car was found.  It was an older store, Trent noted, but then again, what wasn't an older store in Lawndale anymore.  A small parking lot existed in the front and on one of its sides.  Residential houses were nearby and if someone blinked, they'd miss the store as it blended in with the neighborhood.  The one street light overlooking the front of the store was broken.

They went in. The store hadn't kept up with regular maintenance and it showed.  Tiles were cracked, paint peeling, water stains on the ceiling.  The inside reminded Trent of any other store he'd ever stopped at over the years.  Plenty of junk food, sugary drinks, and an asshole behind the counter waiting for them to leave so he could get back to reading a Playboy magazine.

Trent went directly to the counter, and the 40-ish, greasy haired man standing behind it with the stained uniform of one too many slurpee's.

"You want something?" asked the clerk, eyeing the potential customers with disdain.

"Yeah," Trent answered.  "You know who was working here last night?"

"I was.  Why?"

"Do you remember seeing this girl?" he asked, showing the clerk a picture of Daria that Jane had given him.

"Hey, look, pal.  Some cops came around earlier and asked some questions.  You want answers, talk to them.  I'm busy.  So if you aren't going to buy anything, take a hike."  The clerk went back to reading the Playboy he'd stashed under the counter.

Trent turned around and thought.  He knew he was worried.  His vision came in pulses of color – red – really red – back to yellow – back to clear.  Trent knew he wanted to hurt the thing that would hurt his friend.

Jesse noticed Trent's gaze and recognized it for what it was.  "Hey, dud," Jesse said.  "Calm down.  We'll find Daria, don't worry."

Trent began to calm.  "I know.  I just hope it'll be in time.  I gotta use the bathroom.  Be right back."

Trent went to the bathroom and put water on his face to further cool off.  He didn't want to get that angry.  Not just yet.  Toweling off, he looked around at the decay in the bathroom.  Everything was yellowish.  The baseboards, walls, the ceiling… except in the corner which was black.  Looking closer, Trent noticed it was black …and shiny.

Trent walked out of the bathroom with a grim determination.  He went back to the counter.  No other customers were in the store.  He looked the clerk in the eye.  "You have cameras mounted in and around the store for security," he said.

"Yeah.  But they don't work.  They're just for show.  Told the cops the same.  VCR they were hooked up to has been broken for over a year."

"The owner know they're broken?" Trent asked.

"I am the owner.  Now if you ain't buying anything get out."

"You ever have any of your fingers broken?" Trent asked without humor.

"Huh?  No, why?"

Trent grabbed him by the throat with his left hand and his collar by his right hand and pulled him over the counter.  Trent wasn't very muscular and the exertion showed on him, but he didn't care.  "Because I found a camera in the john and I figure that a peeping freak like you would probably have other VCRs ready to take the place of a broken one.  And if you don't produce a tape from last night then I'm going to have my friend Jesse here break one finger after another until you do produce a tape.

"And then I'm going to get very angry and probably break the rest of the bone in your body, starting with your neck.  You got that?"

Jane was astonished at Trent's outburst.  Jesse wasn't so amazed as he'd seen it once before, when they were on the road and had to deal with a lying bar owner trying to weasel his way out of a contract.

Shaking, the clerk said, "Look, I don't want to get involved.  That's why I lied to the police.  I've got a tape.  It cycles every 18 hours so I don't think it's been recorded over yet."

Within minutes Trent had one of the four tapes the clerk used every day to record things around the store.  Tight lipped, Trent said, "If this is a fake… I'll be back."

At home, Trent put the tape into the VCR and began playing it.  Every few seconds, the camera footage flipped from one camera to another.  There were six total camera shots – two outside the store, three inside watching the merchandise and the counter, and one in the bathroom.  It took Trent about 15 minutes of zipping the tape forward with the remote before he found what he wanted.  Jane, Jesse and he all sat on the sofa and watched the soundless images.  What Trent didn't see on the tape as the images switched, he put together in his mind.

A car pulled into the lot.  The tape was in black and white and there was no telling what color it was.  The driver got out, went into the store, bought something, exited and sat in the car.  The light was fairly bad as the image was illuminated by the interior store lights only.  Soon enough, another car showed up.  Two big, beefy guys got out, looked around, expecting trouble.  The first driver, who was bald, got out and went to the car.  A window rolled down and someone in the car handed baldy an envelop.  The only image Trent caught of the person in the second car was of his Rolex.  The window rolled up, the big thugs got back in the car and it left the parking lot.

About then is when Daria's car drove up into the parking lot.  She got out and went inside.  The bald guy went back to his car, popped the hood and opened it.  Daria came back out while he is checking something in the engine.  She stopped and came over to his car.  Something happened and the guy closed the passenger door, then his hood, got in his car and drove off.  Daria's car was still in the parking lot with no Daria in sight.

Trent knew he had the kidnapper.  The only problem was, he didn't have that great of an image of him.  All he knew for sure was that he was bald, in good shape, and drove a large two-door car.

*****

"Look, man, I'm telling you my friend was kidnapped!  Can't you get that through your head?!" Trent snapped at the desk sergeant.

"And I'm telling you, sir, we can't do anything until after 48 hours," the desk sergeant controlled his reply.

"Look, there's got to be someone who can help us with this," Jane complained, again.

"We've gone over this," the sergeant started.

"I know, but we know she was kidnapped, dude!" Jesse said.

Trent listened as the arguments began their third trip around the duty sergeant.  He knew the sergeant didn't believe them but hoped the continued persistence paid off.  Trent did notice one thing odd about the police station today than any of the times he was here in the past – there were a lot of people in there who weren't wearing uniforms.  A lot more than normal.  He smelled Fed.

Resigned to the fact that these three kids weren't going to leave, the desk sergeant did what he normally did in cases like this.  He passed the buck by calling someone else down.  A few minutes later, a young man not in a police uniform, and definitely far younger than the sergeant, walked down a corridor and up to the front desk.

"What's up, Carl?" the non-uniformed man asked.

"Missing person.  They'll explain," he said, indicating Jane, Trent and Jesse.

"I'm detective Myers.  Can I help you?"

Jane launched into the same narrative she'd used with the desk sergeant and the detective seemed genuinely interested.  Especially when Jesse brought up the bit they had proof of the kidnapping.  He wasn't the detective assigned to the case, he informed them, but would probably be assigned once the required 48 hours came.

Detective Myers took Jane, Jesse and Trent into another room and stuck the tape into the VCR.  Trent had rewound the tape to where the kidnapping took place.  They all viewed the tape again. 

Once the action finished, Detective Myers said, "I'm sorry, but the tape shows nothing.  Sure, there was some guy at the convenience store, but it didn't show him taking her.  In fact, knowing the Morgendorffer parents like we do, it's the consensus around here that we think she probably ran off with some guy, probably an old boyfriend.  And technically, we still can't do anything yet."

He opened the door and began to usher a shocked Jane out.  Trent didn't even bother to grab the tape as he rushed to catch up to Jane.  "Look, man," Trent yelled.  "Some bald-headed perv took Daria – I know it!  So why the hell don't you cops do something about it?!"

"Are hands are tied for another 26 hours, Mr. Lane," Detective Myers informed him.  "And right now we have our hands full with another case.  End of discussion."

"I'm gonna crucify you if anything happens to Daria because you were screwing around, cop."  With a grim determination plastered on his face along with lips pressed tightly shut, Trent stormed out with a numb Jane and a dazed Jesse in tow.

Unknown to Trent, Jane or Jesse, a Fed watched them with mounting interest.

*****

Frustrated, the last thing Trent wanted to do was spend any more time at home, pacing and feeling useless.  It didn't matter that he still felt useless since he had no idea of how to find his friend, he just didn't want to stay home any longer.  As night fell, Trent and Jesse headed for the Zon.  He could at least work out some frustration on stage.

Several hours flew by and Trent showed no signs of stopping.  Neither did Jesse, but Nick and Max were practically worn out as they hadn't taken any breaks.  Trent ignored them as he studied a group of suits that had walked in about a half hour earlier.  He had seen them before.

They were on the tape at the convenience store.  In fact, the best dressed jerk of the three men at the bar was the one who had given the kidnapper an envelop.  He was probably responsible for Daria's kidnapping.  But why?  Trent watched them and was pretty sure ten minutes after they showed up, a drug buy went down.

Trent wasn't sure if Jesse had recognized them but he didn't have any more time to figure out how to get to them as the well dressed trio finished their drinks and headed for the side exit.  The only good news for that was it brought them a little closer to the stage.  Most of the club was either sitting, drinking, sitting and drinking, or just plain out of it.  A few were dancing wildly around the stage which gave Trent an idea.

As the well dressed trio came closest to the stage, Trent jumped the couple feet to the floor and ran up to them, smashing his guitar over the head of the lead bodyguard and bringing him down.  Trent spun and looked at the well dressed smack pusher.  The second bodyguard, following Mr. Well Dressed decided the best thing for Trent was a good beating.

Fortunately Jesse, always ready for a good fight, showed up and smashed his bass guitar over a thick bullet-necked skull the same as Trent.  The second bodyguard went down hard.

Trent advanced on Mr. Well Dressed who in turn reached into his pocket and whipped out a gun.  Trent was faster with the pitcher of beer he confiscated from a small table and used the pitcher as a sapper and smashed it over the pusher's head.  Gun in hand, Mr. Well Dressed went down.  Trent reached down and took the gun away, putting it in his pants pocket.

Sensing something was amiss, the crowd began to look around in confusion.  Many began to understand that the music had stopped.  It wasn't as if they could hear at that point having spent way too much time in a small club with way too much loud music coming their way – it was more that the rest of the crowd had stopped gyrating with the music, or so they hoped.

Trent, not wanting to lose momentum, yelled, "Cops!  Cops!  Everybody run for it!  It's a raid by the cops!  It's a big drug bust!  Everybody's going down!  Get out of here while you can!"

The few that could still hear knew what to do.  Being underage and in possession of fake ID's, they ran like hell with panic written all over their faces.  It was instant pandemonium as the rest of the crowd followed suit in a sort of stampede, sensing that something was definitely wrong which usually meant the police were involved somehow.

"Jesus, Trent!  What the fuck are you doing?"  Jesse was staring stupidly at the bleeding, unconscious bodyguards.  The one that Trent had hit looked like he had a fractured skull.  Same as the one Jesse took out.

Trent looked at Jesse, his face blank and very cold.  "He knows who took Daria.  I saw him on the video.  I'm going to get him to tell me what he knows, but I need to get him out of here first."

"Oh."  Jesse quickly pulled the weakly twitching smack dealer's jacket up over his head so that he couldn't move his arms, then kicked him until he quit moaning.  "You go ahead and open the Tank's door."

"Thanks, brother."  Trent looked at an aghast Max.  "Give me your keys, right now."

"H-h-here, man, take them!"  Max was a lover, not a fighter.

"I can't be involved in this shit, Trent, I got a kid to feed."  Nick wasn't scared, he just had his own priorities.

Trent had no problem with either of them.  This was his business, not theirs.  He didn't resent them for not joining in.  "It's okay."  He tossed Max his car keys. "You guys pack up and we'll see you later."  Trent nodded at Jesse and set out. 

Jesse grabbed the unconscious smack-pusher by his ponytail, dragging him out to the Tank after Trent.  The bodyguards were left behind.  Trent didn't give any thought to the deal he'd signed only yesterday to keep the band going as he tied the creep up with some spare rope and duct taped his eyes and mouth.

In the now-deserted club, Nick and Max rapidly packed up.  On the way out they rolled both bodyguards and Max stole the pusher's BMW.

As Trent took off, another car followed, smoke swirling around the interior where a very interested man had watched the night' festivities.

A half hour later as pretty-boy started to wake while laying on his back on the floor of the Tank, Trent decided to help things along by slapping his cheeks a bit.  "Wake up, creep," Trent ordered.

"Uuuhhhh, wha…?" he managed, looking around.

"I've got some questions for you, creep.  Answer them and I'll let you go.  Otherwise…" Trent didn't elaborate.

"Go to hell," replied pretty-boy.  "I ain't telling you crackers anything."

Trent weighed less than pretty-boy so he quickly took a seat on pretty-boy's chest.  "I want you to tell me who the rat bastard is who snatched Daria.  Then I want to know why and I want to know where she is now."

"I don't know who you're talking about, you dumb cracker!" he managed even though Trent sat on his chest.

Trent pulled out a picture of Daria and put it in front of pretty-boy's face.  "Daria," Trent said.

"Who the hell is Daria?"

"Family.  So why did you have her kidnapped?"

"I didn't have anyone kidnapped.  Are you crazy or what?"

Trent smacked him hard enough to draw a trickle of blood from a split lip.  He got visibly meaner as pretty-boy watched.  "Listen up, dirt bag.  You're involved, you got that?  You were there.  You met with your sick-o friend at the Gas-R-Us last night.  You gave him an envelope.  You leave.  A few minutes later Daria shows up.  Sick-o grabs Daria and leaves."

Trent moved so the creep could see the meanness in his eyes.  "So you tell me where she is, man, or so help me I'll skin you here alive.  You got that?"

Slightly nervous, Jerk-Boy said, "I don't know much about that guy.  My boss simply told me to meet him at that location on that evening."

"Wrong answer, dirt bag!" Trent yelled, smacking him across the cheek.  "You knew him well enough to shake hands and smile when you saw him."

"I don't know who he is," protested pretty-boy.

"I think you do," Trent replied calmly, his eyes glinting black and cruel.  He began working the dealer over with a few well placed smacks to the head.  "Jesse, get me the pliers, okay?"

"Sure," Jesse replied, a little queasy with what Trent was doing and nervous with what he figured was going to happen next.  Trent didn't show his dark side very often, but when he did, it was always very bad news for someone.

"Pliers?" asked pretty-boy.

"I'm going to torture you until you tell me everything that I want to know."  Trent was matter of fact.  "If you don't tell me, I'll torture you to death and then go catch your bodyguards for round two." 

Jesse sat stolidly for a second and then dug out the pliers.  "What will we do with the bodies?"

Trent took the pliers, giving his friend a grateful nod.  "I don't know. Maybe just throw them out into the woods.  It's not like the dick-head cops in this town would find them anyway."

Jesse shook his head. "If we kill them, I want them gone without a trace, dude.  I don't want anything coming back on us.  How about we take them out to the big tire-pile out on route six, dump gas on it and burn the bodies.  I heard that a tire fire can get up to six thousand degrees."

"Cool."  Trent turned his attention back to the horror-stricken drug dealer, taking the pliers from Jesse and rolling the creep over to get to his hands.  "Talk now or I'll cripple you."

Pretty-boy quickly said, "Shit!  Don't!  Fuck him, his name's Bill Luden."

Trent rolled him back.  "Where can I find him?"

"Don't know.  I get calls telling me where to meet him when he checks in.  Otherwise, no one knows anything on him."

Trent wasn't buying it.  "If you creeps don't know a thing about him, then how do you know you can trust him?"

"Yeah, how do you know he's not a snitch, man?" Jesse asked.

Pretty-boy spat out a little blood along with a tooth.  "He has your friend, right?  Let's just say it's not the first time he's been known to take someone's friend."

Trent blinked several times as his hands clenched and unclenched.  Finally, "You don't know how close you came to me killing you, you piece of crap.  Jesse, knock him out."

Jesse rolled pretty-boy over, then whacked him with one of the spare microphones.  Rolling him back, Jesse then re-taped his eyes and mouth shut.  He then whacked pretty-boy a second time over the noggin', figuring what the heck.

Trent and Jesse each took a grab on the shoulder and pulled pretty-boy to the rear of the Tank.  Trent opened the back door and immediately saw someone standing there, smoking a cigarette.  Hands in his light jacket pockets, the slightly taller than Trent man asked, "You boys need any help dragging that unconscious fella to the woods before you dump him?"

Trent's eyes narrowed but he didn't take any action.  He didn't sense any mistrust from the smoker.  "No, we can manage.  Y'know, you look kind of familiar."  Then it hit him.  The police station.  "You here to arrest us, man?"

"For starting a fight, inciting a riot, kidnapping a creep, and beating the hell out of him?  No.  Why should I?  Name's Scott Winters.  I saw you at the police station earlier today."

"You're not a cop, at least not from Lawndale.  You a Fed?" Trent asked, dragging pretty-boy out of the Tank and dropping him on the shoulder of the road.

"You've got good eyes, son.  Yeah, I'm with the FBI.  We're here hoping to find Paul Lassiter's connection…"

"Who?" Jesse asked.

"He'd be the guy you two just worked over.  He's just a connection man.  We're trying to find the major players in a drug line from Texas to Michigan along with every other state and major city in between.  The problem here is that we don't have any case yet other than him having possession.  We haven't found his connection man or how the deliveries are made."

"That's not at all interesting nor do I give a damn, man," Trent said smartly.  "All I care about is just finding Daria."

"Then I think we can help each other out as I'm pretty sure the delivery man is none other than your kidnapper."

"Jerk-boy here said his name's Bill Luden," supplied Jesse.

Scott replied, "It's an alias.  We got that tip last year and ran it to a cold end.  All we really know is that he likes to call himself Mr. Maimer.  Look, the guy we're both looking for is extremely slippery.  We haven't been able to find him at all in the last few years but if we find him now, the FBI can track him back to the source and stop deliveries."

"What makes you so sure the guy you're looking for is the same one I need to find?" Trent asked.

Agent Winters indicated unconscious pretty-boy.  "Two reasons.  I overheard some of your interrogation.  Paul said the person who does the deliveries can be trusted as he's snatched other people before.  Before getting assigned to this distribution case, I worked on nailing this creep.  I know the family of one of the people this nut case kidnapped.  And the second reason – I saw the tape you left at the police station earlier today.  The probable kidnapping matches the M. O. for this perp.  I want him just as bad as you do, son.  That's why I'm taking a big chance to help you two."

"What big chance helping us, man?  We're here to help you solve this case," Trent pointed out.

"Yes and no.  I use any help from you to solve the drug case and you get taken in for kidnapping that sleaze.  Then I have to explain why I didn't get involved earlier and the whole case can be thrown out by one of his slick lawyers."

"Fine, dude," replied Jesse.  "So what can you tell us about the real kidnapper?"

"Can you bring in other Feds to help us find her?" asked Trent with a pleading tone to his voice.

"We're on our own for the time being," Agent Winters replied.  "Upstairs won't go in for saving one person if they can find and stop a drug shipment instead."

"What?" Trent looked at him sharply, about ready to ask more.

"And before you ask, I'll tell you why in one word.  Publicity.  Now as for what I can tell you about this nutcase, here's how we're going to handle it.  You two keep it quiet between us.  Here's my card.  Give me a call on my cell around 6am and I'll go over what I can on the creep's background we've put together.  As for what to expect out of this creep, go to this Eyecandy.net web address," he wrote the address on the back of his card, "and enter in this encryption password to access it.  I'm letting you know, this isn't easy stuff to watch.  I'll help you out as much as I can in the morning.  Now why don't you two give me a hand in dragging this guy into my car.  I need to get him to the hospital."

Trent reached down to lift pretty-boy.  "I'd just as soon as leave him on the road."

"So would I," agreed Agent Winters, "but if I rescue him, this might give me the in I need to access their mob.  I do that, I might get a lead on this sick bastard."

Trent and Jesse dragged the unconscious dope pusher to Agent Winters rental, putting him in the front seat.

Jesse made for the van's driver chair, got in and started it up.  As Trent slid into the Tank's passenger seat he noticed Agent Winters had removed his Fed clothes and was in the process of putting on preppie clothes he'd stashed in his trunk, changing his appearance in order to facilitate the illusion he rescued him from the side of the road.  As Jesse drove off, Trent wondered if working with a Fed was a good idea.

*****

Daria woke to a surreal world.  No, it was real, she reminded herself.  She tried to move but her arms was tied behind her back.  She tried to talk but found that difficult with the gag in her mouth.  She took in what information she could.

She was in a dark room.  It smelled damp and musty.  She knew she was in an old house.  She heard creaks coming towards her.  A door opened and light rushed in to fill the void, causing her to blink the sharp pins out of her iris.

Blinking, she saw a hand attached to the rest of a bald guy reach down and grab her coat.  He pulled and she came off the floor.

Daria struggled, trying to get her hands to work.  They didn't.  She didn't bother crying or sobbing as it never occurred to her to try that tactic.  She put her thinking on evade and escape, not useless hysterics.

"Good, good," baldy suggested, grinning.  "Struggle all you want.  It makes it more fun that way."

She heard what he said so she stopped struggling and stood up straight.  He kept his meat hook on her arm but she looked him straight in the eye.  Her hands were beginning to tingle but were still useless bound in front of her.  She could smell the scent of duct tape over her mouth.

The bald perv took another look at her, saying, "Such a pretty thing."  She allowed it as it gave her hands time to regain sensation.

His hand never left her arm, though.  Daria realized this was not a good situation as the creep kept looking her over like a piece of beef.  There was only one thing she could do she concluded.

His eyes finished their inspection and came back to Daria's eyes.  He was happy with his selection – she'd last for two days, maybe three.  Then he noticed something …odd.  Her eyes were speaking to him.  Her eyes…

CRACK!!

Daria let loose a kick with all her leg behind in into the bald creep's knee and connected with a loud crack.  She was pretty sure it broke something as he went down to the floor but didn't stay to find out.  She took off running, still trying to get her fingers to work.

His grin wide as ever, he hobbled back to a standing position and went after her.  "Good, good," he muttered.  "First strike to you, my pretty.  Now it's my turn…"

Fade.

*****

Trent and Jesse paced Jane's room while she worked on accessing the computer site Agent Winters had given them.  It was nearly 1am.  They should have been tired but nervousness fueled them on.  Jane finally gained access and the screen came to life displaying a dull, drab room that badly needed some paint. 

"Is this real time?" Trent asked.

"It appears to be," Jane answered.  "Probably a webcam hooked up to the computer like I used to have."

"What's that on the chair?" Jesse asked of the one piece of furniture in the picture – a wooden chair probably 30 years old. 

Trent looked.  The chair had no seat cushion any more (if it ever had one) and the handles next to it had something dangling from them.  Each side was the same.  "Straps," Trent realized aloud.

The room was lit by a couple dangling light bulbs and apparently nothing else.  No window in sight – nothing.

Within minutes they see someone come into the picture.  It is a man, presumably bald, who is now wearing a former President Carter mask.  He drags a dazed Daria with him and pushes her into the chair.  Her feet are tied as are her hands.  He cuts the bonds around her wrists free with a knife.

He then strapped her into the chair.

Jane, Trent and Jesse watched in growing horror.

"Well hello there all," Carter-mask said to his web audience.  "And welcome to another session of Dr. Kill-The-Joy's secret operations!  Our contestant today is Daria.  Yes, I know a little bit more older than previous contestants but at least she'll last to the end, right?  Ha, ha, ha.  So what's on the agenda tonight?  How about some lacerations, contusions, abrasions and possibly amputations?  What's that?  We've done this before?  Well, of course we have, but now I'm interested in going for a new personal best time.  Come on in and watch me operate."

He turned his attention back to Daria and said, "This will only hurt you a lot."  He then took the knife he used to cut her bonds and cut her jacket from the left shoulder to the elbow, exposing the skin.  "So fine of skin," he grinned, then began to cut an incision around her bicep.

Daria screamed.

Trent, Jesse and Jane turned white.  Jane fled the room, unable to take it.  Jesse followed suit.  Trent watched a few minutes more before leaving – not to watch Daria bleed, but in order to memorize all characteristics of the room and of the creep who did this.

He was going to find him and make him pay.

It was a long and restless night for all three.  Trent skipped sleeping as he didn't want to see any nightmares like he'd just watched.

*****

Daria woke again.  She was still in the chair.  She knew she was fading in and out of consciousness, each time out a blessing that this sick bastard kept bringing her back from.  Daria was no fool; she'd recognized the chair and the straps instantly and knew what was coming.  She'd actually written a scene like that in her Melody Powers series years ago, and it was ironic how it came back to haunt her.  Shiftless commies.

No, wait.  They weren't to blame.  It was the sick bastard in front of her with the knife.  Did she just black out again?  "Why?" she asked aloud.

That seemed to pause him in his tracks.  Carter-mask looked down at her as she looked up at him with her red, puffy eyes.  "What do you mean, 'why'?" he returned.

"Why are you doing this?"

He stood up straight and rubbed his chin, thinking about it.  After a minute or so he looked back down at her and said, "Well, I guess I could say that it's because that's what my paying clients want to see.  Or I could say it's because I wanted to go to medical school but my parents wouldn't pay the tuition so I got bounced out of college.  But in all actuality, it's because I enjoy it."

"You're a sick bastard," Daria managed.

"Such flattery.  Now hold still, there's some red puffiness around your eye that needs to come out," he said, advancing on her.

Daria screamed as he came closer with the knife.

She blacked out a few minutes later.  Carter-mask looked down at her and knew he couldn't risk more tonight if she were to last to the conclusion tomorrow night.  "Okay, campers, that's enough for tonight.  She's still got a pulse so that means tune in tomorrow night at the same time, same channel for the exciting conclusion!"

*****

Trent listened to the last of the insane broadcast.  His mind raced while the rest of his body churned at what Daria had gone through.  He couldn't watch what had happened and could barely stand to listen to it, but he needed the information.  She was still alive.  That was what was important.

Alive for now.  But not by this time tomorrow.

He needed to find her.  He needed information.

It wasn't the time to call the Fed, Trent knew, but he couldn't wait any longer.  He dialed the cell phone number.

"It's very early in the morning so this had better be good," came the short reply on the other end of the phone.

"Scott?  This is Trent.  We met a few hours ago…"

"I remember.  Your timing is actually pretty good.  I just got off the phone with my old partner.  The creep you beat up is still in recovery so I've got some time to talk."

"Did he find out anything?" Trent asked, hoping.

"John was able to backtrace the signal to this county so we know he's somewhere nearby.  That's his standard M. O. anyway."

"I kind of guessed," Trent replied.  "I figured he couldn't have gone too far anyway but if he's still inside the city and county limits, he needs a very isolated area so that means in the woods.  There are plenty of cabins around the outskirts of town with no one nearby."

Agent Winters said, "Try thinking of any that are run down.  He won't rent a place.  It will be a place that is deserted and isolated.  That usually means old.  Can you think of any place that fits the bill?"

"I've got a couple of ideas," Trent replied.

"Great.  Some friends of mine are already en route and will be here sometime tonight…"

"We don't have the time to wait, man.  We need to check into this now."

"Look, Trent, I know you're concerned but you're not trained to deal with someone like that."

"I'll go myself if I have to," Trent said firmly.

Silence.  Then, "Do you at least have a gun?"

"Yes."

"Give me the location of the place you're going to check out in case something happens to you as well.  I'll let my associates know.  Look, I'm being paged here at the hospital so whatever you do, just be careful.  This guy is one sick puppy who gets his kicks torturing girls.  If he catches you, I don't think he'd skip the torture scene just because you're a guy.  So be careful and shoot him if you get the chance."

"Understood.  And thanks."  Trent then gave him the address and instructions on getting to it and then hung up.  Turning, he noticed Jane and Jesse standing in the hallway, having listened to his conversation.

"Is he coming?" Jesse asked.

"No."

"Then we go it alone," Jane said.  "If we wait much longer, Daria is toast.  We all know that."

"I know, Janey.  I know.  I'll be right back."  Trent went into his parent's bedroom and opened Vince's closet where he pulled out a small box containing a handgun.  He loaded it and then pulled out the second pistol he'd lifted from the creep he'd bashed around a few hours ago.  It was bright, shiny, and fully loaded as well.  Trent then went back to his room and grabbed the switchblade off his nightstand and put it into his pocket.

Trent came down the stairs and noticed that Jane and Jesse were ready to go.  "Here, Jesse," Trent gave Jesse his father's handgun.

Jesse took it and looked at it questioningly.  He then looked at Jane and gave it to her.  Jane pocketed it without thinking, much to Jesse's relief.

Trent opened the door and headed for the Tank.

"Where are we headed?" Jane asked, climbing in to the makeshift third chair between the two front chairs.

"We're headed for Clyde Lake.  It's nearby and still has some isolated homes in the area.  I thought we'd try the Willard residence first and then go cabin hunting."

"Why there?" Jesse asked.

"It's the first place that came to mind when I spoke with Agent Winters," Trent replied, driving off.

Nearly an hour later the three got out of the van and headed up the gravel path towards the old Willard place.  It was still roughly a half kilometer away but Trent didn't want to give anyone advance notice he was coming by.  "From here we walk," Trent said.

The others said nothing as they began to walk up the wide path SUV's called a road and non-SUV's called a suspension killer.  Less than 20 minutes later they saw the house.  It looked deserted.  It was just getting light enough to see outside as the sun crept up through the trees on the horizon.

"Let's split up.  Janey, you and Jesse take the back entrance.  I'll go through the front."

Trent pulled the pistol up and began to creep up the rest of the way to the house.  Jane and Jesse skirted through the trees to get around to the back of the house.

Trent looked at the house.  It was built nearly 80 years earlier.  It was two story, originally white, and had long gone to seed.  It had a detached garage just off the front porch which he headed for.  The windows had long since been broken out of the house and the garage.  He looked inside and noticed the same car that was in the video from the convenience store.

He had them!  Heart pounding, he headed for the front door.

*****

Daria began to wake again, this time feeling very light headed.  She knew she wasn't at 100% or even 75%.  She was doing good to be at 50% tops.  This wasn't going to be easy, she knew.  She knew he was having too much of a good time to stop.

She had to find a way out of this.  But how?

"Would you let me go if I slept with you?" she asked as he retied her hands together.  She didn't have the strength to resist.

"Kind of hard to seduce a man with blood on your face, honey," he said.  "Oh, that's right, you were out.  Here, why don't you have a look and tell me if you still want to sleep with me."  He pulled a small mirror off his tool tray and held it up to her face.

Daria took one look and got sick to her stomach all over again.

The creep who had since taken off the Carter-mask watched her reaction, savoring it for all it was worth.  That was what he lived for.  The ultimate betrayal.  And here it came.

Daria looked at him with hate on her face.  "Mind if I return the favor to you?" she managed.

He chuckled.  That was a good one.  Most simply started screaming.  He was going to have to start with the slightly older ones from now on.  He finished retying her hands and lifted her up.  She didn't resist as he pulled her along, opened the closet door and dumped her to the floor.

Daria knew she was in it deep now.  He wasn't interested in girls as he was interested in pain.

But she couldn't give up.  She needed to go to his mental level if she was to survive.  She needed to find a way to crack his mental code. 

She needed to find a way to crack him over the head. 

Quietly, she began to laugh at her situation.  The absurdity of it wasn't lost on her.

*****

Trent tried the knob on the front door.  It turned in his hand and he opened the door slightly, looking through the crack.  He didn't see anything.  It was dark.  He opened the door all the way and looked around. 

Nothing.

It was deserted.

Trent listened for any noises and heard something coming from the kitchen.  Slowly, he made his way to the back of the house.  A few seconds later he saw two familiar shapes coming through an open window into the kitchen. 

Jane heard a sound and whipped around suddenly, bringing the gun up and sighting it into the hallway Trent was in.

"Easy, Janey," Trent said.  "I haven't found anyone on the main level yet."

"Is anyone here?" she asked, helping Jesse to his feet.

"Not sure.  Why don't you take the upstairs?  I'll look around the main level, Jesse, you take the basement."

They split up and Trent systematically searched the rest of the house.  There were two bedrooms on that floor along with a pantry and a dining room.  All deserted, grit-covered and apparently unused for a number of years.  Trent noticed the dust and debris hadn't been touched recently.  Several windows had cracks and holes, but were largely intact.

He was set to go upstairs when he heard Jane's blood curdling scream.

He raced out the back room, down the hall and started up the stairway the same time Jesse came up from the basement.  They made it to the second floor and noticed Jane crying in the hallway towards the back.  Trent came up, not knowing what to expect.

"She… she was here," Jane managed between sobs and some slight hyperventilation.

Trent and Jesse look in the room she was standing near and noticed that it had recently been occupied.  A chair, straps and smears of blood could be seen.

"Janey," Trent began.  "Maybe it wasn't her…"

"No, it was.  Oh, God, he's a monster."

"How can you know for sure?" Jesse asked, not wanting to go into the room.

"This was on the chair," she said, holding up a jar.

A clear liquid held the remains of a human eye.

"This is Daria's eye," Jane said and began crying again.

"Jesus," Trent said softly, not able to take his gaze off it, going white by the second.

Jesse threw up.

*****

Trent, Jesse and Jane investigated the other locations but had no success.  Nothing showed out of the ordinary, or the places were already occupied and no one had heard anything.  They saw garbage trucks making their runs, public service fixing power lines, even a furniture delivery service, but nothing unusual.  No other car similar to the one they'd already found.  Trent knew then that the car had been stolen and ditched.

They called Agent Winters to let him know what they'd found at the Willard house who said he'd run a squad up there to dust for prints but Mr. Maimer's other locations had been found and no prints were ever discovered there or on the bodies.  "I think he's changed his M. O. since the last time," was all that Trent rolled around over and over in his head.

They returned home, frustrated and exhausted about mid-morning.

"Trent, you need to sleep," Jane said as they came in the kitchen door.

"I can't sleep, Jane.  We've got to find Daria."

"You won't do her any good when you fall asleep at the wheel while looking for her," Jane replied testily.

Trent sat on the couch and looked depressed, closing his eyes to get the stinging to stop.  "He's out there.  I can feel it.  He's near, but I just can't figure it out."

"No one could before, Trent," Jesse helped.

"This is different.  I feel I know something.  I just can't place it."

"Trent, try to get some sleep.  You need it.  I'll wake you in a few hours," Jane instructed, too late.  Trent had already fallen into an exhausted sleep.

Trent fell into a deep sleep, but not a peaceful one.  Even subconsciously he couldn't shake the site of Daria's eye floating in a jar.  But his dreams when back even further.  He was back in high school.  He was on a date with a girl he knew – Lisa.  They were going into the Willard place.  That was why he'd thought of the place to begin with.  He'd been there.

Trent woke, shaking.  That's it! he realized.

He looked outside and saw that it was early evening.  There wasn't any time to wait.

"Jesse, get up.  Janey, up, up, c'mon, wake up," he instructed, shaking each of them.

"Urrmmhpphh… I'm up, I'm up," Jesse managed.

Jane struggled to a sitting position.  "What's next, Trent?  You got any ideas?"

"Yeah.  I just figured out who this guy is."

Jane's sleep evaporated as she wanted to know the score.  "Tell me."

"All the clues are there.  The car used in the snatch of Daria was stolen.  It was left at the old Willard place.  We know the sick bastard and Daria stayed there as we found… part of her there."

"Yeah, we know all that.  But where did he go after that?" Jane asked

Trent looked at his sister.  "He went back to work, Janey."

"What?  How do you know that?"

Trent paced back and forth, shuffling thoughts to match his movements, grasping one and holding on to it.  "Because he slipped up.  Think about it.  When we went to the Willard place, we were able to turn the lights on."

"You can do that in any home, man," Jesse observed.

Trent smiled.  "Not everyplace.  True, homes do have power lines connecting to them, but the Willard place was old and abandoned back in the 70's.  So long abandoned that the power had either been redirected or simply cut from the house.  I know this because years ago I went out with Terry while a senior at Lawndale.  We went to the Willard place and couldn't get any power to come on.  I didn't even notice power lines that day."

"So why does it have power now?" asked Jane.

"Because the creep needs power for his webcast."

Jesse still didn't get it.  "But how do you know this guy went back to work, man?"

"Think about it.  Winters said this guy hadn't been caught and was extremely slippery.  The Feds thought they'd had him a couple years ago on a sweep but he'd gotten away after killing victim number four.  Scott said it was as if he'd simply vanished.  He never used the same place twice and never bothered to clean up the victim.  All Winters said their profiler had given them was that he was probably a white male, late 30's to mid-40's, physically fit, and seemed to enjoy pain."

Jane grimaced.  "Yeah, and not to mention he was smart enough to set up and use a webcam to a paying audience as well as being smart enough to elude the police for the past two years."

"Right.  We know he gets his kicks by setting up a pay-per-view murder of little girls and now young women.  This indicates he's mentally unbalanced.  But we know he's intelligent.  Therefore it's logical to assume he holds down a job."

"How do you figure that?" Jane's curiosity was piqued.

"Because if killing girls was a full-time job, he would have had a lot more victims over two years."

"That still doesn't explain how you know he went to work," said Jesse.

"I'm getting to that.  I'm thinking, what if he didn't just up and disappear on the Feds but simply hid in plain sight?  Like in a public service truck?  The kind of truck that's used to bring power to an old abandoned home?"

Jane caught on.  "The same kind of truck we passed earlier near the lake."

Trent added to it.  "The kind of truck that's big enough to hide someone in if need be.  Jane, call Winters and let him know what we've found out.  I'll warm up the car."

Trent was in his idling clunker when Jane and Jesse ran out the house and jumped into the car.  He already had it backed out of the driveway as Jane said, "No answer on Scott's line.  We're on our own."

Trent looked over at his sister.  "You still armed?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Me too.  Jesse, how about you?"

"I'm good," he yawned, still waking up.

They drove an hour back to the lake.

The lake was nearly two kilometers across by one kilometer wide.  There were sporadic cabins on its shore.  Trent drove his car up and down plenty of dirt roads and saw plenty of other cars parked.  He discounted any cabin with more than one car, or any cabin closer than 200 meters from another.

"We need to find her or she's probably a goner tonight," Trent said for the three of them.  Jane and Jesse nodded as they knew what was at stake.  "I'm still pretty sure he's in this area."  They only had a little over an hour before that sick bastard began his webcast and started up on Daria again.

He drove around looking at other cabins and locations for another 30 minutes but nothing matched what he was looking for.  Finally, he drove up a slope and stopped the car on a rise overlooking a cluster of cabins below.  They got out of the car.  They looked at the cabins and lights near the lake.

"I've been looking in the wrong location," Trent said.  "He won't use any of these cabins.  They're too close together.  Daria's screams would be heard."

Jane looked towards the woods, following other gravel roads that disappeared in the moonlight.  "There have to be more cabins up these roads."

"I think there's a couple up this way and another up the left fork," Trent said.  "Why don't you and Jesse take the car and check out the couple up the right offshoot.  I'll go on foot up this other."

Jane nodded her head.  "Right.  If we don't find anything, we'll come back down this way and then up your road and pick you up."

"Be careful, man," Jesse said, getting into the driver's seat.

"You too," Trent forced a reassuring smile.

Trent watched them head up the gravel drive until the taillights disappeared.  He then took a quick look at his road and started jogging up.  Minutes later he was sweating and swearing.  "Stupid… lousy… #$@*&! second-hand smoke…" 

But he didn't quit jogging.

Nearly 10 minutes later, sweat pouring down his face, he spotted the lone cabin against the trees.  There were some pines close in to give it a rustic look, but most of the clearing within 30 meters had been cleared away.  It had been removed not only as a fire preventative measure, but it also allowed for additional parking.

Trent noticed the public service vehicle parked instantly.  He didn't know if it was the same one he'd seen earlier that day or not, but he was reasonably sure a public utility worker couldn't afford a cabin in the woods.  Nor were they working this late at night.

Trent did a quick inspection of the truck, making sure it was empty.  It was.

Quietly, he made his way up to the cabin.  He tried the front door latch.  Luck was on his side – it was unlocked.  He opened it slowly, looking in the crack first to get a lay of the room.

The place was dark.  He heard nothing.  Smelled nothing out of the ordinary.  Shaking his head, Trent figured he'd come up empty again.

*****

"Boy, howdy, campers.  And aren't we having some fun today?  I tell you, if you get a chance to do what you enjoy, it surely can't be called work.  What do you think, Daria?"

"That you're a sick, maladjusted jerk who hasn't ever had to work a day in his life?" she said defiantly.  Only, it didn't come out that defiantly.

"Oooohhh, tough words for someone so young.  But I've got to disagree with you on one thing – I do have a job.  My dad got it for me.  Say, you don't mind if I whistle while I work do you?"

"Does it matter if I care?"

"Not really," he replied, smiling under his mask.  She was a fun one.  She'd long since given up on pleading with him to let her go.  He cast his attention to the webcam.  "Okay, for tonight's lesson I thought we'd start on the upper body and work our way up."

"Repeat," Daria managed.

He looked back at her and lifted her head up by the chin.  She blazed hatred at him through her one eye.  "Not the way I have it planned, little dumpling."

He dropped the head and went to the tray next to the chair, whistling.  "How about the wood chisel?  Nah, we'll save that for later.  Chainsaw?  Now that's a repeat if I ever saw it.  Ah, here it is."

He walked back to Daria and lifted her head again, so his audience could see.  This was his favorite part.  The realization.  He held up a silver letter opener for her to see.

"Do you have any mail for me, young lady?" he asked.

"Bite me," she replied.

With his other hand he pulled her jacket down from her shoulder.  "Now is that any way to talk to your daddy?"

"You've never eaten dinner at my place before."

He took the letter opener and began to gouge a spot in Daria's shoulder.

She cried out, wanting him to stop even though she'd told herself she wouldn't cry out.

That's what he wanted.  He grinned and poked the opening in a little further.

*****

Trent heard a sound that chilled him to the bone.  It was Daria.  In pain.

Adrenaline pumping, he re-gripped the pistol and headed for a back room in the cabin.  He noticed a faint light coming from under a door.  As gently as he could, Trent turned the knob.  He knew what he had to wait for and kicked himself for needing it.

He waited for Daria to cry out again to cover the noise of his opening the door slightly.  It was a distraction that would work to his favor, but his gut churned at the sound of agony in her voice.

She quieted down and Trent heard a man's voice yakking to someone.  He had to assume two or more people inside.  He stepped back in the hallway, then kicked door.  It flew open and bounced a little on the wall and came back, but stayed open long for Trent to jump through, his gun pointing to the first person he saw.

It was some creep wearing a Clinton mask.  Trent's eyes swept the room quickly and noticed the creep was the only other person there besides Daria.  A computer with a webcam was positioned to view Daria's demise.  Trent's attention was firmly on Clinton-mask, his gun pointing towards his chest.  Two hands on the handle as he remembered.  He was nervous as hell but supressed the feeling.  He couldn't use it so ignored it.

Clinton-mask was standing within a few feet of Daria.  Trent noticed her arms were tied behind the back of the chair and her head hung limply.  She made some sort of gurgling noise and raised her head.  There was dried blood around where her left eye had been, caked down the side of her face.  She looked at him with her good eye, possibly not comprehending what she saw.

"Put the knife down," Trent ordered.

"Now what kind of fun would we have if I dropped the knife?" he replied.

Trent could hear the smugness in his voice and clamped shut his jaw before he said something too animal.

"Drop it or I drop you.  Your choice."

Clinton-mask reevaluated his choices and dropped the knife to the ground.  It thunked as it hit and a little bit of red splattered off.

"Take off the mask," Trent said as he took another step closer to this creep.

He took the mask off.  Trent didn't recognize the man who was a typical middle aged power truck driver with a slight beard that looked more like 3-day old stubble on someone who would never grow a beard.  The most noticeable characteristic he had was to not have a chin.

"Boom, boom, what'cha gonna do when they come for you?  Right, copper?  What are you going to do now that you have me in your sights?  Gonna take me to jail?"  He grinned like he knew something.

Trent didn't know what this loser had in mind but if he had to guess he would've put good money on this bastard having connections.

Trent didn't trust him.  Not for one second.

Trent took another look at Daria.  She had a bleeding hole in her shoulder.  He turned his gaze back to the sadist.  "I'm not a cop, man.  And you're through messin' with my family."

The creep's eyes went wide for a moment as he considered diving for the knife he dropped.  But Trent expected him to do that and instead put a bullet through his gut.

BLAMMM!!

The sick SOB spun around from the concussive force of the entry and exit wound, and slid down a wall.  Trent moved to stand over him.  A red stain spread on the creep's shirt.

"Aaaahhh!  You shot me!"

"You're right," Trent agreed, cocking the hammer and shooting him again, this time in the leg.

"Aaaahhh!  Yes, that's how to do it, buddy.  Make it a game.  Maximum pain for maximum gain."

Trent's rage went out the door right then and there.  He had no intention of turning into another version of this jerk.  But his resolve stayed long enough to finish what he'd started.  He had more important things to do than play head games with this loser.

"Goodnight, Gracie."  Trent stepped back and shot him four more times, in the chest and in the neck.  The lights went out in the perv's eyes.

Trent dropped the gun and ran for Daria, pulling the switchblade out of his pocket to cut the straps off.

"Daria?!  Daria?!!  Don't you die on me!  Goddammit, I didn't just commit murder-1 to have you fade!"

Jane and Jesse ran into the room, out of breath from running after they'd heard the first shot.  "Trent?!  Trent!  Oh my God, Daria!" Jane cried.

"Jesse, call 9-1-1!"

"Daria!  You're okay, do you hear?!  You're okay!"

Jesse took a look at the dead guy, gulped, then took the phone from Trent and called the numbers.

Fade.

"Daria?"

EPILOGUE 1:

One month later.

Trent and Jane had been with Daria at the hospital every day to check up on her.  The docs finally said it was time for her to go home and recuperate there instead of letting the HMO sock it to her father anymore.  Daria visibly relaxed when Trent and Jane came into the room.

"Jane, can you do something for me?"

"Sure," Jane replied quickly, glad to do something for her friend.

"Take my parents outside and don't let them back in."

"Now, look, sweetheart," her mother began, crossing her arms.

"Don't now look me, mom.  You and dad are driving me crazy.  Just go with Jane… for now, okay?  I can get my things packed myself."

"Well, okay, kiddo," her father said with some sort of contained fury at being a miner or something when he was a kid.

After they left, Daria got busy and started seriously packing her things.  It mainly consisted of picking up something, determining if it would break or not, and then tossing it into a bag.  If it was breakable she left it behind.

"So what do you plan to do now?" Trent asked.

Pick up, judge, toss, pick up, toss.  "That all depends," she replied candidly.

"Depends on what?  You missed those flowers on the table over there."

"No I didn't.  It depends on where you're taking me tonight."

"Are you sure you're up to going out tonight?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to spend it with my parents."  She stopped her packing and looked out the window.  "Look, Trent, I've spent a lot of time thinking about what happened.  It was a bad time for me, it was a bad time for all of us."

Trent didn't say anything as he sat down on the edge of her bed.  He didn't want to break her concentration.

"I've had nightmares about it every day since.  I'm going to have nightmares about it for years to come.  But getting back to my old life is not an option I can give myself."

"Why not?" Trent asked.

"Because I was a victim in my old life.  And I won't be a victim again.  It's time to get on with living, to try new things, and spend time with you."

"Me?  Why me?"

Daria turned and looked at Trent.  "Because I not only feel comfortable in your presence, but also protected."

"Oh, that.  Don't worry, it'll probably pass.  Kind of like a bad sandwich," he kidded.

Daria smiled at the joke.  "I know it may pass.  But there's also a chance it may not pass.  And there's a possibility I don't want it to pass.  I want to explore my feelings with you.  I might get run over by a bus and die tomorrow so what the hell, let's get on with living life now.  And I want to stick around with the family I've created."

"Cool."

EPILOGUE 2:

Three months later. 

Daria sat in the passenger seat of Trent's car.  She still sported a bandage on her eye.  She wasn't convinced anything could ever be done to make it look normal let alone see out of it, but she allowed her mother to still think things could be done.

"Are you ready for this?" Trent asked.

Daria looked back towards the driver's seat with her good eye.  She grinned and held down the excitement she was feeling.  She'd been planning this for a while now and currently had butterflies in her stomach as the time approached.  "I'm about as ready as I'll ever be.  And I really want to do it."

Trent leaned in closer so she could feel his body warmth on the cold winter night.  "It's not too late to back out if you want," he offered.

He noticed her eye go wide as she asked, "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"Hell no.  But I'm willing to wait for as long as it takes.  I want you to feel comfortable with this.  I don't want to push you into something you don't want to do."

She smiled her slight grin towards him.  He couldn't help but notice it, just like every other time she did it.  "Don't worry, Trent," she said.  "I'll be fine.  In fact, the more I think about it, the easier it gets for me."

Trent leaned back into his driver's seat.  "No regrets, then?"

"No.  No regrets, tattoo-man.  Let's do it."

Trent unlocked the back door, opened his door and got out.  Daria opened her door and got out into the cold night.  Her breath came in controlled bursts that Trent noticed.  He could feel the cold as well.  But there wasn't anything he could do about it for the moment.  It was late at night and they needed the quiet and isolation if they were to do what needed being done.

He opened the rear door and leaned in, grabbing something.  He quickly got out of the car and closed the door.  He carried a very large padded briefcase as he and Daria walked up to the office building they were parked next to.  She quickly punched in the access code to the building and they entered.  Just as quickly, they walked to office #111 where Daria pulled out a key and opened the locked door.

Inside Trent put the case down on the single desk and began to unpack the laptop and webcam, hooking it up to wires and plugs previously tested.  Daria moved the desk chair out of the way, feeling she would need to move around as the night wore on.

Tests and trial runs complete, at nearly 1am, Daria began speaking into the active webcam.

"Well, hello again, dirtbags.  As you each know from the e-mail sent last week, I now know who you are and where you actually live.  I've researched each of you and even know what it is you do for a living.  This subscriber database was taken from your former host whom you should all remember as he was the sick creep who took my eye."

"You might be wondering why it is I've asked you to tune in for tonight's show.  The bible has a saying – an eye for an eye.  Therefore, we're going to play a new type of game."

Trent walked into webcam view.  He wore red tinted glasses that complemented his black dress pants and white button-up long sleeved shirt.  He still had the gun he used to shoot the previous host but it is now in a shoulder holster as if he were a legit bodyguard which truth be told, he had since become.  A personal bodyguard for Daria only.  One with a legal permit to carry a weapon.  He no longer looked like an overgrown kid with music aspirations if only the right deal would come along… instead he looked like someone who was no stranger to killing a person if they needed removing from the gene pool.

Daria continued.  "My associate and I have given a lot of thought to this new game.  We call it, 'Getting Rich'.  Here's how it works.  It's quite simple, really.  Anyone who can come up with 50 grand will be deleted from the subscriber list and avoid 'retribution' from the Feds who will be getting said list tomorrow morning."

"As you may have guessed," Trent started, "we already have an online account for you to drop funds in.  That number is now appearing on your screen.  This offshore bank accepts Visa, MasterCard, straight electronic deposits.  Basically, if it's currency, they accept it."

"And of course, if it makes you feel any better, consider this an impromptu pledge drive for me to get a new eye.  The lines are open, so feel free to make your deposits for another three hours.  After that, the lines close and this list will be sent."

"How about that, Daria.  We have our first confirmation of funds.  That's one down and 32 more to go.  Strike that person from the list."

"You got it, Trent.  Well, that certainly opened it up.  Scratch off three more names as I just got confirmation… No, make that four names."

That night, Trent and Daria made over $800,000 dollars in the first half-hour.

They didn't bother to scratch any of the names off the list, though.  Instead, they faxed the entire list to Agent Winters. 

EPILOGUE 3:

Six months later.

Clouds built up in the distance as the sun began its slow descent into the sea off the coast of Jamaica.  Daria breathed in the warm air and looked over, expecting to see Trent asleep.  His chest rose and fell rhythmically and he appeared out cold but as soon as Daria began to reach over to touch him, his eyes snapped open and he began scouring the beach for anything out of the ordinary.

She was used to it.  He'd been doing that for a long time now.  He was always making sure who was around and what he might be up against.  She thought at first that it was her coming in to wake him that caused him to react that way but she knew better when he said, "Company."

Daria looked around and quickly saw three men coming up to them, not dressed as tourists.  One was dressed in shorts and a tropical shirt, but the other two were wearing three-piece suits and wearing shades even though the sun had since set.  She recognized tropical shirt guy from a picture in the newspaper only.

"Hey, Scott," Trent said easily.

Agent Scott Winters of the FBI pulled up a vacated chair and thumped down, sweat pouring down his neck.  "Jeez, it's hot.  You couldn't have picked a better place for your honeymoon?" he asked, shaking Trent's hand.

"We weren't expecting company," Trent replied simply.

"Yeah, yeah.  A pleasure to meet you again, Daria, albeit under better circumstances," he said, shaking her hand.

"I recognize your face from a picture in the paper, but have we met?"

"Not really.  Trent and I sort of… worked… together during your ordeal some time ago.  I met you when you were in the hospital.  I doubt you remember me.  By the way, I like the eyepatch.  Green's your color."

"So my sister keeps telling me."

"So what brings you out to sunny Jamaica, mon?" Trent asked, eyeing the two suits.

"Trent, Daria, I'd like you to meet some gentlemen.  This is Donnie," he indicated a burly man in a brown suit, "and this is Mick," he indicated the muscle in the black suit.  "Let's stay with first names only at this time.  They both work for someone who's sometimes known as The Goose."

Mick said, "The Goose got a tape of Mr. Maimer's final performance, when he was working you over, Mrs. Daria."

"And he din't like it," Donnie chimed in.

"He did like the endin', though."

"Which is why he sent you this," said Donnie, opening a briefcase, flap towards Trent and Daria.

The case contained stacks of bills.

"It's a million dollars in case you're wondering," Scott supplied, smiling.

Trent accepted the case, closed the lid and looked back to the suits.  "Why?" he asked.

"The Goose's granddaughter was snatched by that Mr. Maimer about a year ago," Scott said quietly.  "When he found out who did it, he put an open contract out on him.  Trent, you fulfilled the contract by killing him."

"You sure seem to know a lot about Mr. Goose's business," Daria observed.

"You might say… we have mutual interests."

"I'm surprised that he was okay with us getting rid of that dope runner then," Trent commented.

"Rival mob," Donnie said.  Mick punched him in the arm to shut him up.

"As Donnie said, there was no conflict of interest while I was working on the case back in Lawndale."

"You're the one who sent us the names and addresses on Mr. Maimer's computer so we could blackmail the rest of those scumbuckets," Daria realized.  Agent Winters simply smiled and said nothing.  "So after we sent you the list back, what happened to them?"

"Actually, nothing happened since some of the files on the computer were mysteriously misplaced or destroyed.  In fact, the FBI would very much like to backtrace some of those files back to the viewers and are defragging the computer to get what they can but I doubt they will get very much.  However, that's also why we're here.  Mick?"

"The Goose was impressed with the way you snuffed that sicko, Mr. Trent, and would like to offer you a retainer."

"A retainer for what?" Trent asked.

"For getting back at the creeps who paid that Mr. Maimer to whack young girls.  It seems he has recently acquired a list of names and addresses and is looking to do some serious payback."

Trent and Daria looked at each other.  Daria could see the turmoil in his face and said, "Do whatever you think is best, honey."

Trent looked at the mob torpedoes and said, "I'm sorry.  I can't kill anymore.  I'm more of a nonviolent kind of guy."

Donnie and Mick both smirked, showing their disbelief.  Trent didn't know it, but he was something of a star, albeit of a very small screen.

Scott rose to his feet, saying, "Think it over, Trent.  If you should change your mind, here, give me a call."  He handed Trent a business card.

"I won't be changing my mind," he said, putting the card under his towel, next to his .38 Special.

*****

Agent Winters was in his office in Washington a few days later when the phone rang.  "Hello?"  Pause.  "I'm glad you gave it some thought."  Pause.  "Yes, he would like it drawn out to maximize the effect."  Pause.  "You do?  Great.  I'll let him know.  I'll be in touch within a few days."

On the other end of the line, Daria hung up the phone, thinking.  Trent may have returned to nonviolence and certainly enjoys his time up on stage.  But what was there for her to do?

But she only had her mind.  And there wasn't anything to keep her mind from wandering.  Wandering and wondering.  Wondering and plotting.  Plotting downfalls.  Planning destruction.  She had been busy creating multiple revenge scenarios against the creeps who financed the loss of her eye.  She didn't know if she would kill them, but she would certainly make them pay.

Any way she had to.

EPILOGUE 4:

Two months later.

Daria sat at her computer, staring at the screen, thinking.  It was nearly a year to the day when she almost died at the hands of a sick SOB.  She looked down at her hands, noting they didn't quiver when she thought about him anymore.  She was finally getting some closure on this whole ordeal.

Of course, it didn't hurt that closure came in the way of an ever-increasing bank account.  She didn't know if any of the pervs had known each other or not, but she was certain that by now they would've noticed certain very rich individuals being destroyed in very creative ways.  They weren't being killed, Daria hadn't been able to get herself to go that far.  She was grateful for that at least.

Her conscience was still with her – but she'd known it had been a very close thing to going over the edge.  She knew she wasn't like she was a year ago, but at least she could still live with herself.

Several of the pervs had even tracked her down and called her, offering to pay her more in order to avoid being ruined financially.  She had accepted their proposals and then squeezed them dry.  Once she was done, she then found a different avenue to destroy their characters.  She still had no sympathy for them, she never would.  But she did enjoy spending their money.  What happened to them after they were rendered penniless was their concern, not hers.  She knew they'd have a hard time keeping ahead of The Goose's contracts, but that was the bed they made and now they could lay in it.

By the time she'd ruined all of Mr. Maimer's regular viewers, she had acquired a fortune of nearly 21 million dollars.  All acquired illegally – or, somewhat illegally, or at the very worst, immorally.  And almost all donated to various charities anonymously.  She did keep several million for herself – she wasn't stupid after all.

But like everything else, it was time to move on.  She and Trent had outgrown their apartment in Lawndale.  The way she saw it, there just wasn't anything left for her anymore.  She was tired of being the object of everyone's pity whenever they went anywhere.  Look, there's the poor girl who was attacked.  Hey, isn't that the victim of that serial killer – what's his name – oh, yeah, Mr. Maimer, etc., etc., etc.

She closed the laptop and disconnected it from the wall.  She looked around her office.  There were dust bunnies in the corner, the closet was empty, the furniture was all gone save for the chair she was sitting on and the desk she was using.  The room would probably be used as a second bedroom again by the next tenant.

She'd already talked it over with Trent and in the morning they'd be leaving.  There was more to the world then this town.  She wanted to see it.  Trent would always find solace in his music.  It calmed him as well as energized him.  But she was different.  She didn't have music for that.

She only had her mind.  That, and an eyepatch over her one eye to compliment the tattoos on her arm that matched Trent's (and hid some of her scars).  At least she hadn't gotten her bellybutton pierced again.

Her parents didn't want her to leave.  Hell, they hadn't even wanted her to move in with Trent so long ago but she'd done it anyway.  As is, she was too restless to stay.  Deep down she knew it was time to leave.

So she did.

The End

Location: History 363. 

Time: Now.

Nick:                                       Discussion.  Diana?  Thomas?  Tell me about Trent Lane.

Thomas:                                 He was smart.

Diana:                                     Shrewd.

Thomas:                                 Driven.

Diana:                                     And a narcoleptic.

Kara:                                       Eeeeewwwwwww.

Thomas:                                 That means, he falls asleep a lot, Kara.

Kara:                                       Oh.  Sorry.

Ben:                                        To her defense, that puts my mind at ease as well.

Nick:                                       People, we're getting off subject here.  Miss Rajchel, what happened with Trent Lane after he put his story in the Time Capsule?

Diana:                                     We found records that Trent stayed in town for the next five years, playing bars and regional events.  During that time, he apparently also wrote and had published three well-received murder mysteries.  He apparently conducted author signings during stopovers at towns where he got gigs with Mystik Spiral.

Bob:                                        Mystik what?

Diana:                                     Mystik Spiral.  It was the name of their band.  It never went anywhere, but he stayed with them and played lead guitar.  I'm pretty sure that Trent Lane supported it with proceeds from his novels.  The others got jobs and eventually the band simply faded away.  I'm not sure if Trent leaving Lawndale was the reason it faded or a byproduct of its demise.

Thomas:                                 Trent married three times.  We found an old article announcing his wedding to a Monique something or other – I can't remember her last name.  This was roughly the same time as when the time capsule went to ground.  She stayed with him, he played with his band, and eventually they divorced.  No reason as to why, other than one day she was gone.  He began writing murder mysteries after that.

Aaron:                                    You don't suppose he did some research into the murder angle, do you?

Thomas:                                 Meaning did he kill his first wife, Monique?  No.  I found a reference that she died during the VLS scare several decades later.  Her name is on the official list.  And seeing the picture of her, I can guess why she was taken out – she looked like a drinker.  Her cheeks were hollow, eyes recessed and she was pale since she didn't go out at night.

Mike:                                      Good thing Naomi wasn't there then.

Naomi:                                    Are you looking for a knuckle sandwich?

Mrs. Whitmore:                    Settle down, people.

Thomas:                                 Trent Lane apparently had better luck with his second wife.  It was during his post-band days while on a book tour that he met a waitress at a truck stop.  He said it was instantaneous, some etherial mumbo-jumbo, and a few months later they were living together.  A half year later, they were married, and he left town.

Amy:                                      Where did you find that information?

Thomas:                                 On one of his book's dust jacket's.  There was a short bio of him on it.  Anyway, that marriage lasted 25 years until she died of ovarian cancer.  They had two sons named Darren and Jack.  Both had no interest in music and went into military service instead.  They are both career men and still in the military.  Darren is an officer in Air Intel and Jack is a drill sergeant in Alabama.  Both are married and have kids.  Total, there are three girls and 2 boys which I've recently found out are trying to form a band.

Diana:                                     Trent has not remarried but is supposed to have a serious love interest these days.  We couldn't get his publicist to drop any names or anything.  All she would say is that he and this mystery woman have been an item for some time now.

Nick:                                       So Trent made a career writing mystery books?

Diana:                                     Well, yes and no.

Thomas:                                 He wrote a lot of mystery books when he was younger.  He made a good enough living at it since we couldn't find him working any other job.

Diana:                                     But when VLS came around, he got active in politics.  He had since moved to California with his wife and family and when campaigning, his laid back attitude got him noticed.  He got into the Senate and worked on family issues for two terms before resigning.

Thomas:                                 After that, he went back to writing mystery books.  He doesn't do tours anymore, but has a new book coming out this summer.

Nick:                                       Sounds good.  Anything else?

Thomas:                                 Some.  Diana and I got interested in some of the characters in the story.  We know that Jane is real since we talked about her weeks ago.  We also know Daria is real, so we decided to see if any of the other characters listed were real.

Nick:                                       And?

Diana:                                     We found that Jesse, Nick and Max were all people in his band.  The others we couldn't confirm, so we did some research on them.

Mrs. Whitmore:                    Really?  What did you find out?

Thomas:                                 That they all stayed in music, even after the band broke up.

Diana:                                     Although each went into something different.  Jesse not only got a job as a romance novel cover boy who marketed himself as the son of Fabio – whoever the heck he is, but also maintained his physique by opening a Power Aerobics studio here in town focussing on music for muscle conditioning.  It was moderately successful and he is the lead instructor to this day.  When I interviewed him, all I could think of was that for a 70 year old man, he didn't look a day over 50.  He also played bouncer when his kid played on stage in later years at the Zon, which finally went respectable once it was turned into a touristy spot because of Trent's growing fame.

Thomas:                                 Nick worked as a car stereo installer until he earned enough to open his own Quality Auto Sound franchise.  It was promptly robbed.  This led to Nick diversifying into auto alarm sales and the creation of his own theft deterrent which basically drained a car's battery into whoever tried to lift a stereo, usually putting the would-be thief into a coma.  Trent helped Nick pass legislation to legalize this form of anti-theft device, claiming "It's wrong to steal music, man, even on MSNNapster".  I haven't quite figured that reference out.

Diana:                                     Max became a born-again Christian who believed in miracles.  He tried convincing his former band mates they should sing in a church choir, which apparently they tried.  We found a reference to this on Max's website which as far as we can tell hasn't been updated in decades.  That isn't surprising considering  Max was institutionalized when he was in his late 20's, claiming he was the reborn Dali Lama's left shoe even though the current Lama wasn't yet dead, nor were any of his shoe's missing.  I didn't want to know any more of this so we left it alone.

Nick:                                       That's good investigating, guys.  So tell me, anyone.  What conclusions can you draw from this story?

Geoff:                                     Jane wrote it.

Nick:                                       You sound awfully sure about that.

Geoff:                                     I am.  I compared it to Jane's story as we went over it.  It's very similar.

Dan:                                        It's a different kind of story entirely, so how can it be similar?

Geoff:                                     It has a similar style to it, just like Jane's.

Steven:                                   I have to agree with Geoff.  It does have a similar style.

Thomas:                                 We thought of that as well, Steve, so we asked Nick to research the Li database and see if there was any reference to it.

Nick:                                       And there was.

Diana:                                     So instead of us telling you Jane didn't write it, why don't we let her tell you that.  Nick?

Nick:                                       Loading… now.

The electronic blackboard flickered to life.

BEGIN VIDEO

December 2001.

Location: Lawndale High, hallway.  Time: afternoon.

Daria walks up to Jane at her locker.

Jane:                                       Hey.

Daria:                                      Hey.

Jane:                                       Okay, enough of the bantering already.  I'll spring for pizza later.  Just don't get used to it.

Daria:                                      Why'd you do it, Jane?

Jane:                                       Spring for pizza?  Let's just say I have paying customers.

Daria:                                      Huh?

Jane:                                       Okay, okay, one customer who liked the portrait I did of him.

Daria:                                      That's not what I meant.

Jane:                                       Me neither.  He didn't like the neon colors I used on his nostrils, but a contract's a contract I always say.

Daria:                                      What I meant was, why did you write Trent's story?

Jane:                                       I don't know what you're talking about, girl in the green coat and glasses.

Daria:                                      C'mon, Jane, give it up.  I read the story.  It has the same pacing, the same characterization, basically, the same style as yours.  Why did you write Trent's story?  Did he oversleep again?

Jane:                                       Um, it's not like what you think at all, Daria.

Daria:                                      Jane, the styles are too similar.  You wrote both stories…

Jane:                                       Not quite true, Nancy Drew.

Daria:                                      Huh?

Jane:                                       I'll admit that I wrote the first paragraph of his story.  And I helped a little with the plot, but that's all.

Daria:                                      Then why does it sound so much like your story?

Jane:                                       Because Trent wrote both stories.  I'd actually fleshed out my story and Trent, um… sort of helped with the dialog and the pacing, and the style, and the characterization.

Daria:                                      Jane, I've heard Trent's songs, remember?  He couldn't write his way out of a paper bag.

Jane:                                       Again, not quite true, Daria.  Trent was always a good writer.  When he was still in high school, he wrote some really great stories.  It's just that he kind of… sucks with lyrics.

Daria:                                      You're kidding.

Jane:                                       And here you thought he was just eye candy all this time.  Now you find out he has a brain.

Daria:                                      Oh, crap.

Jane:                                       What?

Daria:                                      And here I was ready to congratulate you as well.

Jane:                                       For what?

Daria:                                      For having my fictional self tortured and mutilated.  You really know how to get on my good side.

Jane:                                       Had I written it, I would have gladly accepted it, and truthfully – I had to goad Trent into doing that bit.  He was unsure how you'd react if you ever read it, but he took care of the details.  As is, I knew you'd like that part.

Daria:                                      And why's that?

Jane:                                       C'mon, Daria.  Have you ever read any of the stuff you've written?  It can get pretty graphic.

Daria:                                      Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know.  pause  I just…

Jane:                                       Just what?

Daria:                                      It's…

Jane:                                       C'mon, spit it out.  But not on me.  If you're going to spit, do it on someone like your sister.

Daria:                                      Trent?

Jane:                                       Yes.  You know him.  He lives with me.  Big, tall guy.  Tattoos.

Daria:                                      He can write?

Jane:                                       Last time I looked.

Daria:                                      When the hell did that happen?

Jane:                                       I don't know.  Why don't you ask him.

Daria:                                      Oh.  Um… I need to… um…

Jane:                                       Go study?

Daria:                                      Yeah.

Jane:                                       At home?

Daria:                                      Yeah.

Jane:                                       Trent was awake when I left. 

Daria:                                      Yeah… um…

Jane:                                       Let's do pizza tomorrow.  You're paying.  My, look at the time.  Gotta go.

Daria walks off towards the school exit.  Jane stands at her locker and grins after her.

VIDEO ENDS

Nick:                                       So what was in the time capsule from him?

Bridget:                                  I thought the time capsule was his contribution.

Nick:                                       It was, but he opted to leave something behind as well.  Thomas?

Thomas:                                 It was a CD containing Mystik Spiral's first and only claim to musical fame.

Bob:                                        Did you listen to it?

Diana:                                     Well, it was hard finding technology so old to read it, but then we thought why not call Nick…

Nick:                                       Hey, easy there.  I'm still grading you.

Diana (grinning):                  And he had access to an old CD player.  We popped it in and downloaded all the files.  Jeez, what a sound.

Rose:                                      Good or bad?

Thomas:                                 Both.  The only songs I cared for on that album were Ice Box Woman, and Freakin' Friends.  And I'm not even sure about Ice Box Woman.

Bob:                                        Wasn't that based on a movie or something?

Jane:                                       Oh, who knows.  Do you always compare everything to movies and TV?

Bob:                                        Well… yeah.  Don't you?

Nick:                                       Simmer down.  Thomas, Diana – good job, you two.  Let's call it a day.  Who's up next for story-time?

Two students raise their hands.

Nick:                                       Kara?  Dan?  You two ready to go?  Good enough. 

NEXT:                                   Jodie's story: Video Interviews

Contact me:

jwbandsb@cs.com

Disclaimer

Copyright (C) 2002 by Steven A. Brown, all rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, with the exception of 1) brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews (yeah, like that's going to happen), and 2) the complete, unaltered text of this work, including this disclaimer (or an electronic document containing same and which has been data-compressed using a lossless algorithm) when used or reproduced for private and non-commercial use only (again, like that's going to happen). 

Permission is granted to repost, republish, or retransmit this work in any way, shape, or form as long as these disclaimers remain intact, and no one except Glenn Eichler, Susie Lewis, MTV Studios, or Viacom, the parent of MTV receive financial remuneration.

The Characters of Daria Morgendorffer, Quinn Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, Trent Lane, Kevin Thompson, Michael Jordan "Mack" MacKenzie, Brittany Taylor, Jodie Landon, Sandi Griffin, Timothy O'Neill, Angela Li, Anthony DeMartino, and many more, even if not mentioned here, are the creation of Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis and Copyright MTV Studios. This story is in no way to be construed as a challenge to said copyright.

The Characters of future students are entirely fictionalized and only sounds like the names of other fan fiction authors whose work I have read and enjoyed.  Just wait until I start putting in other author's nam… er, that is, it's all a coincidence I tell you.  A coincidence!   To those of you who may be offended, remember: this is a cartoon. This is not and could never be real.  Or could it?  I leave questions like that to philosophers, or to OTR drivers who have experienced significant sleep deprivation.