“Quiet!” one of the men above them snapped. The boots pressed down harder.
George was aware they were moving quickly through the city streets, which he knew had little traffic at that hour. Despite the earlier warning, George moved to try to get more comfortable, forcing Paula to do the same.
“Stay still!” one of the captors warned.
As they rode in silence George tried not to think about what was going to happen to them or why they were being abducted. Their captors seemed professional and highly trained from the way they functioned with such efficiency, without the need to talk. He wondered if they were government agents because of their lack of identity, but that didn’t make any sense, since he’d already been arrested. In fact, the only government agency that would act in this manner was the CIA. He couldn’t believe that anyone thought he and Paula were terrorists, needing rendition to some place like Guantánamo.
After what George estimated was about forty-five minutes driving on what felt like flat Los Angeles streets, they started going uphill. It was steep enough for him to feel the pull of gravity. George suspected they were traveling up one of the numerous canyons of Los Angeles. He heard no conversation between the abductors, which suggested there was no confusion as to where they were going.
Suddenly the van slowed and seemed to pull off the main road. George guessed they had left pavement as he could hear gravel crackling under the tires. Then the van stopped and George heard a muffled creaking noise that sounded like a gate being opened. He strained to listen for other sounds that might give him a better sense of where they were. The van started to move again, still on gravel. After a minute or two it stopped again. This time the engine was turned off and a few moments later the doors opened, including the ones in the back.
Immediately George sensed dry air coming into the van. It was also decidedly cooler here than at Paula’s house in Santa Monica. Putting together all the clues of drive time, uphill travel, and the change in temperature and humidity, he surmised that they could be somewhere up in the Hollywood Hills. Maybe the location to which Zee had traced one of the high-anonymity proxy servers that had something to do with overwriting the iDoc dump commands.
The blanket that had covered them was pulled away, and they were again half carried and half dragged out of the van. Outside of the vehicle, they shivered in the night air until blankets were draped over their shoulders. That act alone made them both feel more optimistic. If their abductors cared enough about their well-being, then the situation might be hopeful. They were pushed forward across the gravel drive on their tender bare feet until they eventually reached the relief of a paved sidewalk.
As he walked George could glimpse a section of the walkway through a small open space at the bottom of the hood covering his head. He could tell that a string of lights ran along the walk. He heard the howl of a coyote in the distance as they entered a lighted building and were pulled to a stop. To their surprise, their hoods were pulled off, and they were shocked to see all five of their abductors standing before them with their faces fully exposed.
Their captors were all large, powerful-appearing, racially diverse men with short haircuts that made George think of the Special Forces. All were armed with holstered sidearms. The fact that the men were allowing themselves to be seen sent a chill down George’s spine. He knew that kidnappers never showed their faces if there was a chance that the victims would be released once ransom demands were made. Since their abductors had shown themselves, George worried that there were no plans for them to be released. His mind raced through all other options and came up blank, and a bolt of terror rippled through him again.
Paula, obviously panicked, nonetheless immediately launched into a vociferous tirade. “What the hell is going on here! Who are you? Why have we been brought here? You people can’t go around kidnapping whomever the hell you damn want!”
George cringed. He was worried that she was inviting the beating that had been threatened earlier.
The men in black didn’t respond. It became apparent that they were waiting. Waiting for what? George wondered. He looked around, noting that they were in a large reception or waiting room area. The place had a definite institutional feel. Everything was white, tan, or gray. The furniture was nondescript and definitely not new, maybe from the fifties or sixties. The floor was some sort of composite material, like old-fashioned linoleum. There were a scattering of dated magazines on side tables. For illumination, there were banks of harsh, recessed fluorescent lights.
All at once a door opened and three men and three women appeared. All were middle-aged and dressed in pressed white pants and shirts. There was no talk and certainly no smiles. The ethnically diverse group comprised a couple of African Americans, a Caucasian, two Latinos, and an Asian. What that suggested, if anything, George had no idea. They shared a common trait: all were large and muscular and appeared capable of handling an unruly person, if need be.
It was immediately apparent to both George and Paula that they had been expected. There was no conversation. The men in black merely nodded to the newly arrived attendants, then disappeared back out into the night. Their mission was apparently over.
For a moment Paula watched the men leave and, recovering from the shock, she turned to the attendants and directed a slightly modified repeat of the furious attack she had unleashed on the abductors. “Where are we? Why have we been brought here? This is crazy! We’ve been kidnapped.”
The attendants were unfazed. The women pulled Paula back toward the door from which they had come.
Paula screamed, “Let go of me! I’m not going in here! What kind of freaking place is this?”
“Ma’am,” one of the women calmly responded, “you are in a private mental health rehabilitation center.”
“What! Why?” Paula demanded. She sounded more infuriated than scared. She tried to refuse to move.
The attendants were apparently accustomed to Paula’s attitude. One of the attendants took a syringe out of her pocket.
Paula’s eyes opened wide, and she quieted down. She did not want to be injected. “Okay, okay! I’ll go.” She hesitantly allowed herself to be moved forward into the facility.
“It’ll be okay, Paula!” George called after her. “Just do as they say for now!” His mind was going a mile a minute, trying desperately to figure out what was happening. Then two of the male attendants grabbed George’s arms and urged him to follow Paula.
George heard the heavy door close behind them with a concussive sound, advertising just how impenetrable it was. A resounding click indicated it was locked up tight.
Paula heard it, too, and was suddenly in a near hysteria. She tried to stop and free herself from the grasp of the attendants. “You don’t understand!” she yelled. “We’re here against our will! We’ve truly been kidnapped by those apes that brought us here! We need to call the police!”
The attendants said nothing, strengthened their grip on her arms, and nudged her forward.
She stared at their maddeningly calm faces in disbelief. “I said we’ve been kidnapped! Don’t you get it?”
The attendant with the syringe responded. “Yes, we get it. We hear that a lot. That’s what most all the people say when they first arrive.”
Paula and George were shocked into silence by the comment. Paula looked back at George questioningly. George made an expression of total confusion. They were both at a complete loss.
“Please!” the attendant said. “Be cooperative! It is for your own good. We need to get you comfortable.”
Reluctantly, Paula acquiesced.
The two were led through a large common area furnished similarly to the outer reception area. There were no signs of any other people. Then they were escorted down a long, brightly lit corridor. There was no conversation. Paula had seemingly resigned herself to the situation. They came to a door, which one of the female attendants opened with a key attache
d to a ring, which was in turn attached by a wire to her trousers. She motioned to Paula to go inside.
Paula hesitated and George took a step forward to look. It was a relatively small room, approximately ten feet by ten feet, and all white, with a simple bed and chair. There were no windows. George felt a nudge on his back and moved down the hall.
He could hear Paula protesting that she didn’t want to go into the room. One of the women told her that if she didn’t cooperate, she would be tranquilized. That was the last thing George heard as he was pulled to a stop outside another door beyond which was a room similar to Paula’s.
“After you,” the attendant said to George.
George stepped into the room. It had a bed and a chair and nothing else. No decorations on the blank white walls and no windows. There was a bathroom that had no door. Inside were a toilet, sink, and shower head. The shower was not enclosed and a drain was positioned in the middle of the floor. The word institutional popped into George’s mind.
On the bed were clothes that looked like hospital scrubs. They were a nondescript medium blue. There were also underwear, socks, and slippers. George looked up. In the middle of the ceiling was a small inverted dome of dark glass, which George guessed was a surveillance camera.
Another attendant stepped behind George and used a pair of clippers to cut through the plastic tie binding George’s wrists. When he looked down at his wrists he saw there were deep red indentations but no lacerations.
“Dress,” the third attendant ordered as he pointed to the clothing on the bed.
George finally spoke, attempting to keep his voice calm. “Can you tell me where we are and why we’ve been brought here?”
“You’ll know that in the morning.” The man’s voice was impassive, and he spoke as if to a child.
“I know you said you’ve heard it before, but we actually have been kidnapped.”
The attendant nodded and again pointed to the clothes on the bed. “Please, put on the clothes. And, yes, we hear all the time about being kidnapped. Almost everyone who is brought here says it and, in a way, they are right.”
“What other people?” George asked, although he could only guess. He imagined it was people with serious addiction problems whose families had resorted to forcible therapeutic intervention.
“Please, just relax. You’ll learn everything you want to know in the morning. I suggest you get some sleep in the meantime.”
George tried to ask a few more questions, but to no avail. The attendant merely repeated that George would have to wait until morning for answers. With that, the three attendants turned and left. George heard another resounding click as the heavy door was secured.
He sat on the bed and stared at the door, feeling a twinge of claustrophobia. He got up to test the knob and confirm it was locked. You never know, his brain kept telling him, it just might miraculously open. He gave the knob a twist and jiggled it. It didn’t open. He went over to the wall that he guessed was common with Paula’s room and put his ear against it, but heard nothing. He rapped on the wall. Almost immediately there came a muffled reply. George guessed the wall to be thick and soundproofed. He called out Paula’s name but heard only silence in reply.
Next, he checked the bathroom. He saw nothing he hadn’t already seen when he’d glanced into it earlier. It was remarkably utilitarian with no sharp objects he could use to harm himself. He went back into the main room and sat on the bed. His heart was still pounding from the ordeal of being kidnapped. What the hell was going on here? What other disaster could possibly await him after being arrested, thrown in jail, and now committed involuntarily to a mental health institution?
He lay back on the bed, worrying about what he had brought upon Paula. It seemed to his paranoid mind that any woman he got close to—Pia, Kasey, and now Paula—seemed to suffer some horrible consequence.
Feeling charged up as if from caffeine, he got up and paced the small room. Silently he mocked the attendant’s advice to get some sleep. There was no way in hell he would be able to fall asleep. Then he realized that there were no switches to turn off or even to lower the level of bright light in the room. He wondered if the room was meant for someone on a suicide watch. Vaguely he wondered why he even bothered to wonder. Would he really get all the answers in the morning, or were the attendants just trying to placate him with an empty promise? Then his mind switched to thoughts of whether anyone would look for him. It was another depressing question.
After a time George lay back on the bed. He closed his eyes to the room’s glare, but couldn’t turn off his mind. Could he actually be kept hidden away for an undetermined period of time? Could that really happen in this day and age? Unfortunately, he thought, it was possible. The only person he could imagine might actually look for him was the bail bondsman.
All of a sudden George felt tears well up in his eyes. Covering his face with his hands, he let himself cry for a few minutes before recovering. What pulled him out of his despair was the thought of Zee. As bad as his situation was, George had to recognize he was better off than Zee, who was dead. Or was he?
“Get a grip on yourself!” George said out loud. He stood up and started running in place. He knew he needed to get himself under control and hoped that by exhausting himself he could accomplish it. When he was adequately out of breath, he stopped running and flopped down onto the floor and did a series of twenty push-ups.
Once he was finished with the push-ups, George sat back down on the bed. His breathing was labored, but he felt more in control. He even thought he might possibly be able to relax.
52
MENTAL HEALTH FACILITY
HOLLYWOOD HILLS, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, JULY 7, 2014, 8:15 A.M.
A loud click jolted George awake. He shot up to a sitting position, shocked that he had actually fallen asleep. The door swung open and three beefy attendants came into the room. One was carrying a breakfast tray.
“What time it is?” George asked.
“Eight fifteen.”
“What about my friend? The woman?”
“She’s fine. She’s breakfasting as well.”
That was a relief, although why he believed the man, he wasn’t sure. “When am I going to learn where I am? And why, for that matter?”
“Eat. We’ll be back for you in half an hour.” They turned and left.
Great! Answers galore, George thought. He looked down at the food: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, and coffee. He was impressed, assuming it wasn’t poisoned or drugged. There was even a copy of the L.A. Times on the tray. How considerate, he thought. He drank his orange juice and picked at the food. He had no appetite. He scanned through the paper and found no mention of a kidnapping or home invasion in Santa Monica, or any follow-up on Zee’s death.
George used the toilet and washed his face, then went to the wall between his room and Paula’s and rapped on it again. There was a muffled knock in reply. He tried again to call out to her but heard nothing back. Without a clock or a watch, he didn’t know how much longer he would have to wait, but soon enough there was a knock on the door, just before it swung open again. The same three attendants stepped into the room.
“Ready?”
George ran through several smart retorts in his mind but held his tongue. He knew it was best not to aggravate his keepers. “Ready,” George agreed. He stepped into the hall with the three attendants following.
Almost simultaneously, Paula emerged from her room dressed in scrubs similar to George’s. Three matrons in white followed her almost in step.
George’s heart lifted. “Paula!”
The attendants made no move to restrict contact between them so he enveloped her in a hug. When she hugged him, he could hear the relief in her voice as she said, “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Are you okay?”
She let go of him and trie
d to regain her composure. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”
“Same here.”
“What is going on, George?” She looked up and down the hallway and then at the attendants, who appeared to be waiting patiently.
“I have no idea. Hopefully we’re about to find out.”
“Please!” one of the female attendants said, motioning them to follow her down the hallway the way they had come when they had first arrived. “You need to get a move on. You don’t want to be late.”
George and Paula did as they were told with the other five attendants trailing behind. Having gotten away with the hug, George took Paula’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back as they exchanged a wary glance. They held hands as they walked.
“Do you know where we are?” she asked in a whisper.
“If I had to guess, I’d say somewhere in the Hollywood Hills.”
She glanced over at him. “That’s odd if you are right. But then again, what is there about all this that isn’t odd?”
They were led into a conference room, glimpsing a sign on the door: BOARDROOM. They had encountered no other people, attendants or inmates.
Inside the room was a long table with seating for five people along each side and one at each end. A whiteboard was mounted at one end of the room. A large window looked out upon a stand of dense sycamore trees. No other buildings were visible.
George and Paula were asked to sit on the opposite side of the table, facing the door. Again they did as they were told. Hoping answers were forthcoming, they were willing to be compliant. Three attendants positioned themselves at each end of the room and stood silent with folded arms.
George and Paula looked at each other, increasingly baffled. They had no idea what to expect, but at least they were being well treated, hardly like kidnapping victims who would normally be kept in total isolation without being allowed to see or talk to their captors.
After a few moments, George leaned over to Paula and whispered, “How was your night?”