KIDNAPPED
Chapter Five
………

Daria stood by Jane's locker as Jane loaded up her backpack to go home for the day. Then they'd hit her locker and...

"Good afternoon, ladies. Girding yourselves to face the slavering hordes of the fifth estate?"

Daria turned. It was, of course, Upchuck. "Oh, hell. I'd almost forgotten about the paparazzi. I wonder how many are still out there."

"About twenty all told, including three packing big video cameras. But I and my noble steed are at your service, as ever. Let me take you away to the Golden Pagoda, or the Olive Grove, or...Chez Pierre!"

"I've got a lot of research to do today, Charles."

"Then let me take you to the library, or anywhere you want to go."

Jane closed her locker and slipped her backpack on. Daria said, "Well, I'd planned to go to Clown Books and maybe to the library. What about you, Jane?"

"I need to get home and start waking Trent up. Spiral has a gig at McGrundy's tonight. I'll just walk, since I'm not newsworthy."

"Uh, okay. Catch you later."

"So... shall we go?" Chuck asked.

Daria looked at him. Maybe he isn't really leering, she thought, Maybe his face is just naturally shaped like that. "I have to go to my locker. Meet me at the auditorium door, same as yesterday."

…..

After they had cleared the cordon of commentators, Daria straightened up in the seat of Chuck's car.

"I didn't see you much today. Anything wrong?" he asked.

"No. I spent some extra time in the computer lab."

"Special project?"

"Sort of. I was researching agents."

"Ah, background material for another Melody Powers story?"

"Not that kind of agent. Literary agents. I'm going to hire one."

"Really! An advanced step so early in your career." Chuck sounded impressed.

"Suddenly it's later than I thought. I need one."

"You've decided to get serious about selling a book?"

"Well, yes, but I mostly need the agent for ancillary rights and advice right now."

"Ancillary rights? That sounds as if the main sale is made, or nearly so."

Darn. The cat's out of the bag. Well, no matter, really. "Chuck, can you keep a secret? For a few days?"

He perked up. "Absolutely. You may trust me with your most intimate confidences."

Yeesh. "You sure have a way with words, Chuck. You should see about getting it removed. The secret is that I've gotten an offer from a publishing company, a good offer. I'm going to sell them the North American book rights. But stuff like foreign rights and book club rights and audiobook rights still have to be negotiated, and I need professional advice on publicity and other things. So, I need an agent."

"Wow! They want to buy all that?"

"Well, the thing is, a standard book contract includes all of those rights in the sale price, whether the publisher thinks anyone will want them or not. An agent will keep the rights the publisher doesn't want for me, and make sure they pay a fair price for the ones they do."

"You know a lot about the publishing business."

"I wish. I've been doing some reading, but most of what I know is how much I don't know, or don't understand."

"Ah. The beginning of wisdom, so they say. What are you looking for at Clown Books?"

"Names and contact info on agents who represent books similar to my Melody stories."

"Can I help?"

"Uh, well, you could go to the action-adventure section and write down authors, titles, and publishers of books like that. I'm going to look some things up in the latest Writers' Market, which I can't afford yet."

…..

As they emerged from Clown Books, Daria accepted a couple of sheets of notebook paper from Charles. "Thanks, Chuck."

"I live but to serve. Where to now?"

"Home. I think I have all I need. I just need to go through it all and evaluate it."

"Let me take you to dinner, Daria."

Daria's mind felt like it had missed a shift. "What?"

"You know, the main meal of the day. A quiet restaurant, fine food, chamber music in the background, perhaps a candle on the table. We could relax and talk..."

"Uh, that sounds... nice, Chuck, but I really do need to get this taken care of as soon as possible."

They had reached his car. He stood there, hand on the door handle, and his shoulders sagged. "Sure, I understand. You don't want to be seen in public with the ol' Chuckster. It could ruin your reputation."

"Chuck, I'm being seen in public with you right now. And I'm sure you recall that a few days ago I was seen in public in the parking lot of the sleaziest motel in the county, without a stitch of clothes on, by pretty much the entire planet. Whatever reputation I have left after that..." Daria stopped as her slight irritation dissolved in the face of his disappointment and... something. She decided that demolishing his argument with resistless logic wasn't the way to go here. "All right. Anywhere you want to go on the far side of town, just keep me away from the media. But just a snack. I really do need to get this done soonest."

…..

Daria selected a nacho, twirled it to wind up the stringy cheese, and popped it into her mouth. "Of course you can have an autographed first edition, Charles. You can have as many as you want. You keep buying and I'll keep autographing, till I pass out from the marker pen fumes."

Charles grinned at the thought of Daria woozy from marker pen fumes. "Excellent! Put me down for a gross! I'll start embezzling from my college fund right away." He took a sip of his cola. "So this Ms. Huntington thinks Blood Oath Of Patriots should be made into a movie? I couldn't agree more! Can't wait to see it!"

"Not quite. What she said is, she thinks there's a good chance a studio will buy or option the movie rights to it."

"Practically the same thing, right? I still can't wait to see it!"

Daria smiled and shook her head. "Remember that gigantic warehouse in the last scene of Raiders Of The Lost Ark? Hollywood studios have warehouses like that full of books they bought rights to but never made movies of. Some even have scripts and screenplays ready to go. A few may even get made... in ten or twenty years." She sighed. "Hollywood is a strange and evil place. Wise men don't go there."

"All the more reason for Melody to go there and clean it up." Chuck grinned, picking out a nacho. "Fear not, my lovely... I mean Daria. Blood Oath will get made, I have foreseen it!"

"Ha. And who have you foreseen in the starring role? Angelina Jolie? Elizabeth Hurley?"

Chuck's grin widened and his eyes glittered with a mad intensity. "No, they are not worthy. There is but one who can fill the role of Melody Powers. Daria Morgendorffer!"

Daria's fit of laughter ended her nacho eating. After she wiped the cola off her shirt, they left.

…..

Quinn peeked in the Morgendorffer front door, scanned the family room, and winced. Her parents and Daria were all right there, seated around the coffee table. "Family Court" flashed in her head. But they gave no indication that they'd been waiting for her, or were even aware of her presence. She entered with the smoothness of long practice, keeping her shopping bags out of their line of sight, and deposited them as high up the stairs as she could reach. Then, sauntering casually over toward the sofa, she listened in to the conversation enough to determine that Daria was talking about some stuff she'd looked up. Carefully choosing a position so that they could clearly see she was empty-handed, she said," Hi, guys," in her most casual voice. Receiving brief greetings in return, she sauntered back out of their line of sight and back to the stairs. Retrieving her bags so carefully that not even the slightest rustle of plastic gave her away, she swiftly but noiselessly ascended the stairs with her booty.

Stashing the bags in her closet, she returned as quickly and quietly as possible. If they didi't notice that she'd been upstairs, shopping wouldn't even occur to them. She walked casually over to where she'd stood before. Helen and Jake were still listening to Daria and looking at some pages of notebook paper spread out on the coffee table. Daria glanced up at her briefly, and a twinkle in her eye told Quinn she'd noticed, but Quinn knew Daria wouldn't say anything.

"...and the ones I found two or more favorable references to are on this list. So I propose to start calling or emailing them, starting with her." Daria pointed to a name.

"You've done very well in such a short time, Daria. Go ahead," Helen said. Turning to Quinn, she said, "And how was your day, Quinn?"

"Oh, the usual," Quinn replied. "I heard that the band had an unscheduled practice this afternoon."

"Hmm," Helen replied non-committally.

"And they're going to have another one tomorrow. And the booster club is dragging bunting out of storage."

Daria looked up at that.

"And I heard a rumor that Ms. Li ordered a banner."

"Oh, no. Oh, crap," Daria said.

"That would be my guess," Quinn concurred. She couldn't hide a small smile.

"What's the matter, Daria?" Helen asked.

"The Last time Li ordered a banner was for Tommy Sherman Day."

"So?"

"So? SO? Tommy Sherman didn't survive Tommy Sherman day, remember? His memorial goal post fell on him and killed him."

"What does that have..."

"I was the last to see him alive, you know. Me and Jane."

"I'm sure that was..."

"And now he's come for me. He's reaching out for me from beyond the grave."

"Daria, what on earth are you raving about?"

"Mom, Daria figures Ms. Li's planning a Daria Morgendorffer day and, being Daria, she doesn't like it, and she's being all yellow-dramatic about it," Quinn explained.

"Daria, is that right?" Helen asked.

"No, of course not. It's 'melodramatic'. M, e, l, o, d..."

"I mean, do you think Ms. Li is planning a Daria Morgendorffer day?"

Daria gave her mother a look. "Oh, no, that would be silly. The banner will probably say "Happy Grandparents' Day."

Helen returned the look, with interest. "Don't you use that sarcasm on me, young lady. I'll make you eat it."

"Well, I can't answer yes to a question like that! It would be the height of arrogance."

Helen continued to glare at Daria for a second, then turned to Quinn. "Quinn, do you think Ms. Li is planning a Daria Morgendorffer day?"

"Of course. Like, what else could it be?"

"Well, that's wonderful! You should be proud, sweetie! Shouldn't she, Jake?"

"Uh, yeah! She sure should!"

Daria crossed her arms and glared off into a corner. "I'm already proud of what I did. It was the right thing to do, and I'd do it again. I don't need to be stood up in front of the school and slobbered over."

Helen looked at Daria, and her irritation faded away, replaced by affection and sympathy. "Daria, there are certain events in our lives that are marked by celebrations and ceremonies and speeches of various sorts, because we need them. As a society or a culture, I mean. Things like weddings and funerals and anniversaries, including anniversaries of famous dates in history. And like awards ceremonies. This will be a great honor for you, Daria, but it's also for your classmates. Ms. Li will bring you up on stage and say, basically: 'This one has done well. Go ye and do likewise.' It's really for all of us, dear, because we need more young people like you."

Daria turned and looked at her mother for several seconds. "I see what you're saying, and you make a good point. If that was what it was really about, I wouldn't object. I still wouldn't like it, but I'd go along with it. But Li has a way of shining a spotlight on someone, and then bumping that person out of the way and winding up in the spotlight herself. That's what she'll do with me; mention how clever and brave I was, but credit my Lawndale High education and probably her personal guidance. She says it's for the honor of Lawndale High, but it's really all about her. And money. There's always a money angle somewhere. She covers her tracks pretty well, but you just know that sometime, somewhere, she gets up in front of someone or some group and says, "I did X and Y and Z, therefore give me more money."

"Daria, fundraising is part of her job too. Maybe it shouldn't be, but it is. You should be glad that she's good at it."

"Oh, yeah, she's good at raising it, but then what happens to it? Why do we have security cameras and security guards and guard dogs when our textbooks are falling apart? Why do we have bulletproof skylights over the swimming pool when the roof of the library caves in from neglect? Why are we always out of school supplies?"

"I don't know, Daria. Do you want to investigate her activities?"

"I think someone should."

"Well, to get something like that started, someone has to come up with enough evidence of malfeasance or criminality to justify the expenditure of investigative manpower. Do you have such evidence?"

"Maybe. Well, probably not. I have a lot of examples of strange behavior, suspicious expenditures, and misplaced priorities. It would take me a lot of time to compile them, though. I'm sure I could get more."

"And that would take even more time. When were you planning to do this?"

"Uh, I wasn't. Someone should, though."

"Yes, perhaps they should. There are millions of things that someone should do. But in the real world, things get done when somebody stops saying 'someone should' and says 'I will.'"

"Damn it." Daria sat there for a minute, frowning in thought. "Well, I've already done my service to mankind for the month. I have something I have to do for myself now." She picked up a phone and punched in a number from one of the sheets of notebook paper on the coffee table.

…..

"Daria! You looked great up there onstage! I could swear you'd been practicing for a month. How'd you find out?" Jodie Landon asked as she put her lunch tray down.

"Quinn tipped me two days ago, when the band had their first unscheduled practice. I can't believe Li thought she could keep it a secret."

Jodie said, "From you, she thought she could. You're not exactly plugged in to the grapevine. She swore everyone to secrecy, with dire threats of retribution for anyone who blabbed."

"But why would she want to catch me flatfooted like that? Why wouldn't she want to give me time to prepare? Did she say?"

"She figured you'd use any time she gave you to weasel out of it, or maybe just bolt. Truth to tell, I halfway believed her. You should've heard the noise she made when she saw you in that outfit and realized you knew all about the assembly!"

"You should've recorded it. We could have all sorts of bad fun with a funny Li-noise," said Jane.

"I love that blouse, though I never thought I'd see you in something like that. Is that maroon?" Jodie asked.

"Quinn says it is," said Daria. "I say it's dark red."

"It's crimson," said Jane.

"Feminine yet a bit... dangerous. And that skirt isn't your usual either, is it? It looks shorter, and the material is nicer."

"It's a little shorter. It stops as far above the knees as the zip boots come up below the knees. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to find one just right. I had to make Chuck take me home and get Mom to help me."

"You went shopping for clothes with Upchuck? What were you thinking?" Jane exclaimed.

"Yeah, silly me."

"How long did it take him to get bored out of his mind?" Jodie asked.

"Actually, he was getting really flushed. I swear, sometimes I think that boy has X-ray vision."

"Naah, just a vivid imagination. What'd you expect, with you in a changing booth a few feet away, continually taking off clothes?" Jane smirked.

"I'm kind of surprised you went to all that trouble," Jodie said. "Actually, I'm very surprised. What inspired you to go out and pick out a new outfit?"

Daria took a cautious nibble of her salisbury steak. "My agent. She convinced me that I should change my image to look more credible as an author of novels of international intrigue."

"Uh, I don't intend this to sound snide or anything, but how did she succeed where all before her failed?"

Daria looked down at her fruit cocktail and smiled wryly. "Better bait. I want a career as a writer so bad, I'm willing to go to great lengths to get it. I'll even dress attractively if I have to."

"Hee hee! You make it sound as if you're suffering!"

Daria glared at her. "Thin ice, Jodie. I am suffering. I hate dressing like this. And if anyone else hits on me, I won't be the only one suffering."

"Sorry. So how did you get so good at dressing attractively in such a hurry?"

"Well, first off, your assumption that I didn't know how to dress attractively before is incorrect. I was just using my knowledge to achieve different ends. But I did get a lot of advice from my publicists."

"Publicists... plural?"

"Yeah. Well, they aren't actually mine. My agent has one and the publisher has a whole department. It was mostly my agent's publicist's advice. The publisher's staff are trying to get the bookstores to order lots of copies, setting me up interviews and stuff, but she's working on selling the movie rights, and actually getting a movie made. She's the one who says I should wear 'Melody-ish' clothes without actually trying to dress like Melody."

"Wow. A movie. What are the chances of that?"

"Of selling the movie rights, pretty good. Of the movie getting made, not nearly so good. But my agent and her publicist are really working on it, because the difference in money would be huge, especially if I get a job as a consultant or helping with the screenplay. And they keep telling me this is a major window of opportunity for me, while the press is still after me and they're still showing that damn video footage. So I'm doing what they want, as much as possible."

"Before I forget, Daria, thanks for the interview, and that article, and those two great excerpts from Blood Oath. I never thought I'd get to put out an extra, and I'm really glad my first one is about your novel being published. We're charging fifty cents a copy to non-students, and the media are still buying them like hotcakes. It's doing wonders for the Lowdown's budget."

Daria smiled. "Glad to do it. I hope the media spreads those excerpts everywhere. And I hope you'll get the chance to print another extra about the movie rights being sold."

Jodie grinned. "I'd love that. Of course you realize that, if that happens, Ms. Li will probably want to hold another assembly."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Daria's smile turned slightly wicked. "In fact, I might even help her out with it. I'll get some of those publicists down here to show her how they do it in the big city."

…..

Daria's head hurt, and there were several aches and twinges from various parts of her body. She didn't want to wake up, but something told her she should. Then something tugged at her ankle. She managed to get an eye open. She was in a strange room. That wasn't good.

The tug came again at her ankle. She looked down. Someone was squatting in the floor in front of her. Someone in a flowered dress. Someone with short curly gray hair. The old woman. Uh-oh.

Daria pulled her leg away, but it was caught in something. The woman said something like 'hah!' and got stiffly to her feet. Daria tried to back away from her, but could not. She seemed to be tied to a chair.

"Woke up, didja? Well, you're too late! I got ya tied up nice and snug. And you're gonna stay tied up till they turn Willy loose! That'll teach you to pick on Willy! Teach them too! I'll teach 'em all! Ha ha haa!" And with that she left the room, limping slightly, ignoring Daria's protestations. From what Daria could hear, she walked down a hallway and out of the house.

Memories came trickling back. Daria had testified before the grand jury about her role in the kidnapping drama, and they had, unsurprisingly, handed down an indictment of the kidnapper. He was a custodian at the municipal auditorium where the fundraiser for the lawn art museum had been held, and had apparently helped collect the donations, so he'd had some idea of how much had been collected, and had known the Guptys had taken it home with them. It also turned out that he had lived across the street from the Guptys until recently, with his mother. For some reason they had put the house up for sale and moved out. Daria was unclear whether it was because they couldn't stand the Guptys, or for financial reasons, but one thing that was clear was that they had hard feelings for the Guptys and blamed them, their behavior, their kids, and their kitschy lawn decorations for the house not selling.

Then the last memories started to return. Daria had been outside the courthouse, walking down the sidewalk, and had seen the woman standing by an older model sedan, struggling to get the door open. The hinge seemed to be sticking, and the woman seemed to lack the strength to pull it open by herself, and Daria had offered to help. And then had come the needle stick, and she had known no more.

Until now. Now here she was, tied to a chair in an empty room. The woman apparently had some idea of trading Daria for her son's freedom. That didn't augur well for her mental capacity. Daria couldn't see any way that could be made to work.

She turned her head to see as much of the room as possible. There were two windows in one wall, with shades covering them. In an adjacent wall, there was one window, covered with gauze curtains. The pull-down shade was missing from this window, and a piece of rolled-up carpet lay beneath it. Daria thought that it was in this direction that the woman had gone when she'd left the house. There seemed to be parts of two houses visible through this curtained window, at a distance that suggested they were across a street. That was probably the front side of the house, then.

On the side of the room opposite that window, there was only an empty closet, its door standing partly open. There was a full-length mirror set into the closet door.

Daria's swiveling her head around had told her that there was rope around her neck, not tight enough to choke her, but not loose enough to let her put her chin on her chest. She wondered what the purpose of that was. There were ropes tying her wrists to the arms of the chair. Three turns of rope went across her upper thighs, tying her to the chair seat. She could feel but not see ropes around her upper arms, her chest, and her ankles. None of them were painfully tight, but it was rough rope, and it chafed her neck, wrists, and ankles.

Daria tried to rotate the chair around so she could see the rest of the room, without success. It was a heavy chair, and friction held it immobile. It was also uncomfortable. She could see that the seat was upholstered in red velvet, but there was little padding under it, and the wood under the padding was flat and hard. The chair back felt like it made a 90º angle with the seat. Not a good sitting chair.

Daria tried hopping the chair up and down. This worked, although it was laborious, and she was able to turn the chair enough to see the rest of the room. There was nothing more to see. Well, at least she knew she was alone in the house. The racket would have brought someone to investigate, had there been anyone here.

She tried to pull her wrists out of the ropes that bound them. No good. Though the wrist ropes were loose enough so that she might be able to do it, she didn't have enough range of movement in her upper arms to pull her hands out.

Damn! There must be something she could do. She looked around the room again. Nothing that might cut or wear through the ropes except possibly the window glass, if she could break it, then pick up a piece. Extremely unlikely, as nearly immobilized as she was.

The mirror in the closet door caught her eye. If she could work her way over to it, she should be able to close the door and then examine herself and the chair in the mirror, and tell more about how she was bound and what it would take to escape those bonds.

She began hopping the chair toward the mirror.

After having to stop and rest several times, Daria finally managed to reach the mirror. Closing the door proved much harder than she thought it would, but she got that done too. She sat facing the mirror, breathing heavily, and really hating the piece of duct tape over her mouth. She'd nearly passed out a couple of times because she couldn't take in enough air through her nose, and she was dizzy now.

She'd need to back away from the mirror to see any details of how she'd been tied up, but one thing she could see now was that the chair she'd been tied to was an ugly Spanish Colonial thingcrude, cheap looking, and heavy.

The rope around her neck was also around the center board of the chair back, which had a long narrow strip of padded upholstery. A rudely carved top cross piece was visible above her head connecting the back board and the two back posts, which were finished off in large knobs above the cross piece. It was crudely reminiscent of a throne... or maybe an electric chair. The knot in the rope must be in the back; it wasn't visible.

Having caught her breath, Daria hopped the chair back away from the mirror as far as she could before she had to stop for breath again. Damn. Not far enough. She could see ropes criss-crossing her chest, again with no knots visible. These were tied around the entire chair back. She could see part of a knot in the rope that tied her right wrist to the chair arm. It was underneath the arm, but she'd assumed that.

As she sat and waited to get out of oxygen debt, she thought about the unfairness of life. Or Is it, from some cosmic viewpoint, actually fairness? I risked my life, came close to getting killed, and mortally embarrassed myself to save the Gupty kids from their kidnapper, but then I was rewarded by having my first two Melody Powers novels bought, along with first refusal rights on my third, which only exists as a sparse outline and a page or two of notes. And just yesterday a major studio bought the movie rights to Blood Oath, outbidding another big studio.

Has my pendulum of fortune swung too far to the rosy side, triggering a karmic backlash, to mix metaphors? How much of my recent fortune was payment for previous misfortune, and how much was overage, for which I'll now have to make restitution? Daria shook her head angrily. Ridiculous! Superstitious bullflop! There's no such thing as karma, there's no such thing as luck, and fairness is something little kids whine about, a flawed concept that doesn't exist in nature. I'm here because Willie's mother is as batty as he is. She's probably the cause of his battiness. I need to focus here, and deal with the immediate reality.

Daria laboriously hopped the chair farther back, until she could see the whole chair, and all of herself, in the mirror. She glumly studied her reflection. It didn't look good. There was no knot visible that she had any chance at all to reach, and there was no likelihood that an unseen knot might be reachable either. She looked at the ropes around her ankles. Both were single loops with uncomplicated-looking knots, not hard to untie if she could reach them. But she couldn't. There was quite a bit of slack in them, so that her lower legs weren't actually in contact with the chair legs. A small bit of consideration on the old woman's part. Nowhere near enough slack, though, to enable her to pull her feet out of the loops. Damn.

She continued to stare at the ropes around her ankles. Something...

It hit her. The ropes were below all the cross braces that went from one chair leg to another. There was nothing to prevent them from being slipped off the bottom ends of the chair legs but the floor.

Daria visualized how it would have to be done. She'd have to turn and back up to the nearest wall, and find the distance at which she could tip the chair back, and it would just barely lean against the wall and stay there... she'd have to be careful not to do it too far from the wall or she might not be able to straighten up again... okay. She knew how she had to do it. She started to hop the chair again.

Daria stopped to catch her breath. The chair back was square to the wall, about four or five inches away. This should be too close, but deliberately so, for safety. If I can't unlean the chair from the wall, or if I fall over, or otherwise get into a position I can't get out of, I'm screwed. Now easy...

Pointing her toes and straining, she tipped the chair slowly backwards. The knobs at the tops of the back posts hit the wall. She relaxed her feet, and the chair tipped forward again. Right. She hopped the chair forward a little and leaned back again. The chair back bumped the wall, and wouldn't stay. Okay. Another small hop forward, and lean back again. It still wouldn't stay, but almost this time. One more small hop away from the wall. Daria caught her breath, and then tipped herself back again. She leaned back farther, farther... she strained and shoved off with her toes... felt the chair tip past the balance point... and thump gently against the wall. It sat there, the front legs off the floor, her feet off the floor, leaning against the wall. She looked in the mirror and started jiggling her feet, watching the ropes.

Several minutes later she managed to finesse and finagle the rope on her right ankle, the one nearest the mirror, off the chair leg. She lifted that leg so that she could see the other one better in the mirror, and in a few more minutes she had worked that loop of rope off the left front chair leg too. She thought a minute, and then attempted to kick and jiggle the rope off one foot. This proved easier, and in another minute, both loops of rope were lying on the floor. Smiling a smile of partial satisfaction at her achievement, she evaluated her new situation.

Without much hope, Daria tried to raise a foot high enough to reach one of the ropes that bound her wrists to the chair arms. No good.

There's no way I'm going to get myself loose from this chair if I can't get at least one hand and arm free. And the only way I can see that happening is if I can detach the front end of one of these chair arms. Daria pulled, tugged, and wrenched at the chair arms in every direction, but they seemed quite solid. Damn. Now what?

She couldn't think of anything more she could do in this position, so she stuck her feet out in front of her and pushed forward to straighten the chair up. She rocked forward more forcefully than she'd intended, and ended up on her feet, with all four of the chair's feet off the floor. Surprised, but hoping this might be turned into an advantage somehow, she turned and staggered over to the mirror. It was definitely a whole lot easier to get around this way than hopping the chair. Turning this way and that in front of the mirror, she located a couple of knots, but saw nothing that might help her get loose.

Wait a minute. Do I need to get loose? Could I maybe get out of the house without getting out of this chair? Daria turned from the mirror and waddled over to the door that led out of the room. As she reached for the doorknob, the knob finials of the chair back struck the door, causing her to stagger backward and almost fall back into a sitting position. The neck rope tightened cruelly on her neck. After a brief swearing session, a little thought, and some surprisingly difficult and painful maneuvering and posturing, she managed to get a decent grip on the old, heavily tarnished doorknob, only to find that it was locked.

Daria set the chair's front legs down and leaned its top against the door to relieve herself of its weight, while she rested and caught her breath. It was a poor sort of rest, though, in the bent-over half crouch the chair forced her into. When they catch that damned old woman and convict her, she thought, I hope they put her in a cell that's about four feet in each dimension.

She straightened up, as much as she was able, and looked at the door. The grain is oak, the paneled construction makes me think it's probably not a veneer, and the alligatored varnish says it's old. I don't know how sturdy it might be. But it is an interior door. It's worth a try.

She backed away from the door, then turned carefully around and backed up again until the back chair legs hit something. Bending over until she could see the bottom edge of the door between her feet, she adjusted her position until the chair was lined up squarely with the door. Taking two steps forward, she backed up rapidly and rammed the door. There was a solid thump rather than the splintering of wood she'd hoped for, and the chair tried to straighten up to vertical, jerking back painfully on her neck.

Mentally calling down further curses on the old woman, she took three steps forward, then backed up and rammed the door again. The lifting-toward-vertical was more pronounced this time, the seat rising beneath her and lifting her off the floor. If her upper arms and chest hadn't been tied to the chair back, she was pretty sure the neck rope would have snapped her neck, or at least crushed her larynx. She managed to turn around and face the door before she had to set the chair down.

Breathing heavily, aching in several unexpected places, and in serious pain where the rope went across her neck, Daria stared at the door. There were some scuff marks where the bottoms of the rear chair legs had hit it, but definitely no holes, no splintered or cracked wood. This door is made of sterner stuff than the bathroom door at the Dew Drop Inn. It looks like as long as I'm tied to this chair, I'm not going to be leaving by this door.

Daria looked around the bare room. I'm running out of options here. Her eye lit on the mirror on the closet door. No. It's already shown me all it can. Turning her head the other way, she saw the window that faced the street. Hmm. Maybe I could attract someone's attention. If not, I might try breaking the glass. If I can get my hand on a long enough, sharp enough shard, maybe I can free one hand, and then... if I can free one hand and not drop the piece of glass, it should be only a matter of time before I cut myself completely loose. Eww, cut myself. I probably will, she realized. Not too badly, I hope. Well, got to get back on my feet. Damn, that's going to take some effort, even before I go over to the window and... do whatever. Maybe I should just sit here and rest a few more minutes before I start.

She sat there for a few seconds, staring at the door. No. That crazy old woman could come back any time. She could knock me out again and take me who knows where. And when she sees that the ankle ropes are off, she'll surely restrain me even worse. So, no naptime today.

Daria laboriously hopped the chair over to the wall and turned it around. She tipped the chair back till its back touched the wall, then hopped it away from the wall another small hop. When she leaned back again, she felt the chair tip past its balance point just before the top of the back hit the wall. Smiling, she took a second to remember how she'd done it the last time, then thrust forward, kicking her feet out in front of her. The chair came away from the wall, tipped past the balance point, and the front legs hit the floor with a wooden thump. Daria kept the momentum going until the chair was balanced on her back, then took a couple of small steps forward to keep it there.

Wasting no time on self-congratulation, she turned and headed toward the window that looked out on the front yard. The curtains that covered the window, once white, were a brownish yellow from age and neglect, and there was a gap of about two inches between them. The window itself came down to within a foot and a half of the floor, and was apparently a fixed window, rather than the more common double sash type. It consisted of many small panes in a framework that had been inexpertly repainted more than once.

Daria visualized breaking some of the panes, using the large knobs on top of the chair back. It would probably take quite a hard blow to break glass with wood. She pictured herself striking the window with the chair, using a sort of bowing motion, harder and harder until the glass broke. She pictured the momentum carrying her and the chair forward, into and through the breaking window, off balance, unable to stop as her neck fell onto the jagged glass shards held upright in the frame...

Damn. That didn't seem like such good idea. And that one thin layer of fragile glass was all that separated her from the outside.

Outside. Oh, yeah, what's outside. She peered through the gap between the curtains, through the dirty glass. Because of the high chair back that protruded ahead of and above her head, and because of the roll of carpeting against the wall below the window, she had to shuffle back and forth behind the gap to scan the scene outside.

A low bush was just outside the window, then a small patch of unkempt lawn with a for sale sign stuck in it. A narrow residential street with trees, lawns, and houses on the other side; fairly new houses with white or pastel siding, about two bedroom size... something about the house directly across the street caught her eye. Not the house, but the yard... no, not the yard, but the yard decorations. The many tacky decorations. It was the Gupty house.

The Gupty house. After a brief flash of happiness to know where she was, she realized that it didn't actually improve her situation any. In fact, if she'd thought about it, she probably could have guessed her location. The kidnapper's house, across from the Gupty house, that they'd moved out of but hadn't been able to sell. Hmm, maybe this did improve her situation. If the old woman had demanded her son's freedom in exchange for hers, surely this would be one of the first places the police would look for her. Yeah! Of course! The police would find her.

As if her musings had been prophetic, a Lawndale Police car pulled up across the street. A policeman got out, scanned the neighborhood, shoved his stick into his belt, and walked around the front of the car. Daria tried to yell, succeeded only in going 'mmmf, and mentally cursed the piece of tape over her mouth once again. She bent forward to knock on the window with the chair back, but stopped after one knock when she remembered the thought experiment she'd done a minute ago. She knocked on the side of the window frame instead, but that didn't make much noise.

The policeman walked up to the Gupty's front door and rang the bell. Daria thumped the chair down on the floor as hard as she could. He gave no sign of having heard. There must be too much background noise outside, Daria thought, and he can't hear me. And with these curtains on the window, he can't see me either. Well, that's one thing I can fix.

She moved up to the window until the finials on the chair back touched it, and tried to grab one of the curtains. She couldn't. She straightened up as much as she could so that the top of the chair back wouldn't be so far forward, put a foot on the roll of carpet, and with difficulty managed to get part of a curtain in her fingers. Careful not to trip and fall as she stepped down off the rolled-up carpet, Daria backed away from the window, holding onto the curtain. She felt the strain increase, heard a creak from the curtain rod above, and then... the rotten fabric tore, leaving her holding a small ragged scrap.

"Mmmm!" she swore foully as she hurried back to the window. Across the street, Mr. Gupty was walking down his walkway, talking to the policeman. He pointed at the house. Daria thumped the chair on the floor with all of her might. She tried rapping with the top of the chair on the window again. Neither man seemed to have heard. I have to make them see me, she thought.

Going through a series of contortions similar to the ones she'd used to get a grip on the doorknob, Daria worked herself into position again to grab the curtain. This time she stayed pressed up against the window as she slowly gathered up more and more of the flimsy fabric until she held the entire width of one curtain in her hand. Then she backed away again. The curtain drew tighter, the curtain rod creaked, the fabric began to make tiny popping noises. And then, just as she feared the whole curtain would tear in half, the curtain rod pulled loose from one wall mount, then the other, and fell to the floor. Grudging the time it took but knowing she couldn't afford to trip on it, she kept backing away until she had dragged the curtains away from the window. Waddling back to the window as quickly as she was able, she arrived just in time to see the police cruiser disappear out of her field of view. Her tormented scream would have rent the air, were it not for the duct tape.

Lawndale's finest. Yeah, they'll find me. They'll find my liquefying corpse, still tied to this chair, when the neighbors get really persistent with their complaints about a foul smell.

Oh, hell. I wish I hadn't thought that last thought, particularly the liquefying part. Now I have to pee.

Dammit, dammit, dammit! I almost wish that damned old woman would come back, if she'd let me go to the bathroom! I don't want to be found sitting in a puddle!

Leaning closer, Daria peered out the window. No other traffic was visible on the street at the moment. Mr. Gupty paused on his way back to his front door to pick up something off the lawn. She felt tears begin to form in her eyes.

Daria turned around, facing directly away from the window, carefully noted her exact distance from the side wall, and took five measured steps forward. Then, not giving herself time to think about it, she started backing up as fast as she could. She lifted the chair's legs as high as she could, stepped high so as not to trip on the carpet roll, and squeezed her eyes shut.

She felt the back chair legs hit the window and heard glass break. She expected the chair back to protect her from the jagged shards as she fell through the window, and hoped that she was right, or at least lucky. Her foot touched the roll of carpet, about where she'd expected it to be, and stepped up onto it. Then the chair's front legs hit the windowsill, and the chair flipped violently up toward vertical, snatching her along with it. Her momentum and the chair's smashed through the rest of the window's panes and out into the sunlight and outside air, rotated through vertical and over onto her back. She felt herself falling and tensed for a painful impact.

A multiple crunching, snapping sound and the feel of the chair back pressing into hers told her she had fallen onto the bush. Her eyes flew open as she felt a sharp pain in her chest. A long daggerlike glass shard stood out vertically between her breasts, its edges glinting brightly in the sunlight. As she stared in horror, it leaned to the left and fell away out of her range of vision. She heard a soft thud as it hit the ground and the pain in her chest changed to a minor pricking sensation. She breathed a sigh of intense relief.

Her downward progress slowed and stopped, and she rebounded slightly, while feeling some twigs poking her painfully on either side of the chair back's central board. The chair tilted down and to the left as it started to slide off the bush, until Daria's feet and its front legs touched the front wall of the house, and it stopped. She sat there, closer to horizontal than vertical, and watched a few last shards of glass fall out of the window frame, and took another breath.

The slam of a car door and a shout of "Omigod, did you get that?" cut through her feeling of relief. They were followed by the sounds of two pairs of feet running across pavement and then lawn, quickly drawing closer. A microphone, a young man's face, and a TV camera thrust into view, and the young man's face asked, "Are you all right?"

Daria replied, "Mmm." Her look said, "You forgot to wear your 'stupid' sign, didn't you?"

"Oh, sorry," he said, and, reaching out and seizing a corner of the masking tape covering her mouth, he ripped it off.

"Aaah! Oww!" Daria cried out in pain.

"Sorry," he said again, then, "I'm Arthur Bodies of WLAW Channel 18 Action News. How do you feel, Daria?"

Daria stared at him for a second, mentally censoring the first several answers that popped into her head. "Incredulous."

"Incredulous? Why incredulous?" he asked.

"I can't believe you're trying to interview me while I'm tied to a chair!"

Behind a large freeform mahogany desk, in a leather executive chair with a very tall back, sat a man. He was a very impressive man. His impeccably styled wavy black hair was streaked with white, he was well tanned and looked fit, and his nails were manicured. His expensive, perfectly tailored suit was enlivened by a tastefully outrageous silk tie and matching handkerchief in the pocket. Behind him stood another man in expensive casual attire, designer sunglasses pushed up into his pale blond hair, a gold chain disappearing into his silk Hawaiian shirt. Both these men were intent on a presentation being displayed on a large laptop computer.

The man running the computer leaned over the large desk, occasionally tapping a few keys. He wore sandals, slacks, and a t-shirt under a light jacket, and had a three-day growth of beard and mussed hair. It was difficult to tell how much of his general rumpled appearance was for effect and how much was from a recent episode of overwork or partying, or both.

The presentation that held these men's attention was a series of video clips of Daria Morgendorffer, culled from recent TV news. Daria running out of a motel room naked and clobbering a kidnapper with a toilet tank lid, Daria holding a press conference, Daria dealing with harassment at school, Daria holding another press conference, Daria fielding questions as she left the courthouse, Daria crashing through a window tied to a chair and then taking the measure of a foolish reporter, Daria emerging from the courthouse again and taking questions, Daria doing interviews on news talk programs, and then back to Daria dashing out of the motel room naked.

After seeing the montage of clips three times through, the man in the executive chair turned to look at the man standing beside him. This man smiled a calculating smile and nodded to the seated man. The seated man turned to the slightly rumpled man and said, "Get her." The slightly rumpled man replied "Consider it done," closed the large laptop computer and hurried out of the office.

…..

"Hey, Jane. Daria, where were you yesterday?" Jodie asked as she came to a stop by Jane's open locker.

"Police station again. They wanted to be sure they were clear on all the details before they sent the charges against Mrs. Fry to the grand jury. I probably could've gotten back here in time for gym class, but I hung around to soak up some police station ambiance in case I ever write a cop novel. I did not, of course, tell you that."

Jodie smiled. "Mum's da woid," she said in a bad '40s movie thug impression. "We're starting to print the Lowdown for this week, and I thought I'd check to see if you had any late-breaking news."

"Mm, nope. You already know that Five Star Pictures bought the movie rights to Blood Oath."

"I still think I should have put out an extra when you found out," Jodie said.

"Nah. If you had, most of the students would've thought that meant they were definitely going to make the movie, and they would've been constantly asking me when it was coming out until I graduated."

"Or snapped and gunned down a dozen or so," smirked Jane.

'Yeah, or that. If I find out they have definite plans to film it, that would be more like extra-worthy news."

"I'm counting on you to let me know as soon as you hear about that. Hmm, I see you're back in your old outfit today. Any particular reason?"

"I can't be expected to look elegant, alluring, and vaguely dangerous every day," Daria said. "And I was getting tired of being hit on, so I decided to remind everyone that I'm just me."

"She can't take being popular," Jane said, still rooting in her locker. "God help her when she hits the best-seller list. She'll be a literary Janis Joplin."

"Oh, I don't know. She's been the media's darling for almost three weeks now, and hasn't imploded yet. Speaking of the media, the stuff I've been hearing about Mrs. Fry on the news these last few days make her sound worse than her son the kidnapper."

Daria nodded, frowning. "She's a real piece of work, all right," she agreed. "I've heard some stuff around the police station that the media hasn't gotten hold of yet, and the more I find out about her, the closer I get to feeling sorry for little Willie."

"Considering how close he came to killing you, and what he did do to you and the Gupty kids and the fashion club, that's saying a lot," Jodie observed.

Jane closed her locker and turned. "Yeah, more than I'd say. I had a scary thought last night. What would've become of Willie after Old Lady Fry kicked it? He might've become a real life Norman Bates."

Jodie shuddered theatrically. "That is a scary thought. Fortunately, Norman Bates is a fictional character."

"But he was based on a real person," Daria said. "Those two are yet another illustration of the fact that no one in the world can mess you up as bad as your own mother."

"Well yeah, theoretically, but monstrous mothers like that almost never occur in real life," Jodie replied.

"Eewww, Quiinn, youur cousin is wearing those... thinngs againn. I wonnder if I shouuld, liike, try to counsell her." Tiffany's voice. The fashion pack was on the hunt.

Daria, Jane, and Jodie glanced their way as they passed down the corridor. Sandi Griffin gave Daria a look that most people reserved for stinky stuff on their shoes.

"No, Tiffany," she sneered, "Some people are beyond help."

Daria spoke not a word; she merely glanced at Jodie and raised an eyebrow. Jodie cast her eyes ceilingward, then, shaking her head ruefully, put a hand over her face. Jane chuckled and was about to say something when Daria suddenly jerked as if she'd been shocked.

"Aah! she cried out, thrusting a hand down the waistband of her skirt. "Geeze!" Jodie and Jane exchanged a raised-eyebrow look. Daria brought her hand out of her skirt, holding a tiny cell phone, which she opened. "Damn vibrating ring!"

Jane snickered. "Gee, Daria, where exactly were you, uh, carrying that thing?" she asked.

Daria was squinting at the tiny labels on the tiny buttons. "Lane. Mind. Gutter. Out," she snapped. Finding the button she sought, she pushed it and held the minuscule phone to her ear.

"Hello?" ...yes, this is she. ...yes. ...uh-huh. ...You want me to what? ...You're kidding. ...Uh, well, I'll have to check with my parents, but I'm okay with it. ...November sixteenth. What's your name again? ... and your number? ...okay, talk to you later. Bye."

Daria shut off the phone, slipped it back into her waistband and stood there, eyes wide, staring blankly at Jane.

"What? Who was it? What did they want?" Jane asked.

"It was the studio... Five Star Pictures."

"Well, what did they say? What did they want?"

"They want me to..." Daria blinked and shook her head. Her mouth hung open slightly.

"Do a rewrite? Change the ending? What?" Jodie demanded.

Daria turned to Jodie, her expression one of wide-eyed disbelief. "They want me to... play Melody."

Jane let out a whoop. Jodie gaped for a second, then spun around and took off up the corridor at top speed, yelling, "Stop the presses! Stop the presses!"

Grinning, Jane watched her go. "Now she can die happy."

Daria teetered back into the bank of lockers with a soft clank, and slowly brought up a hand to cover her mouth. Still grinning, Jane took her by the arm and led her toward Mr. O'Neill's classroom.

In a large but cluttered office, the rumpled man switched off his cell phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Smiling broadly, he pulled his large laptop to him across the clutter on his desk. He opened a folder labeled Blood Oath, and inside it he opened another folder titled Shooting Schedule. From the few files it contained he selected one titled 'Scene 26: Amelia's Hospital Room', made a note in it: Nov 16 or after, and resaved the file. Then, returning to a window showing a Five Star Pictures logo, he started working his way down through the menu tree, to Facilities and Equipment, then Sound Stages, then Schedules and Booking. Brow furrowing in thought, he stared at the complex chart for a minute, then reached for a pad and paper and began making notes.