“Remember class, next week’s quiz will be on Chapters 3 and 4!” The teachers words were all but ignored by the class as they hurried out of the classroom, lost in the excited chatter of high-schoolers with a full weekend ahead of them, Monday’s classes a distant idea, not worth thinking about.

“See you girls later!” Denise Mitchell said, waving cheerfully to her friends as she left the building and ran out into the parking lot. The 18-year old senior got more then a few looks from her male classmates as she hurried to her car. Not only was she (in her oh so humble opinion) the hottest girl in school, with long blonde hair, pretty face and a hot body honed by four years of Cheer-leading, her daddy was rich enough for her to afford the nicest threads of any other girl in school. Today she had on a light blue blouse with a short, off white skirt and calf high boots.

Denise hopped into her cherry red sports car, a birthday gift two years ago, and drove out of the High School parking lot. She could have walked. Her house was only about ten minutes away by foot and the weather today was just gorgeous, but then people wouldn’t see her driving her nice car and if they didn’t what was the point of having such a nice ride?

There was only one other car parked in front of the house when Denise pulled up in front of it, her mom’s blue sedan. Daddy had driven his car somewhere on business and the housemaid had Friday’s off. Denise did have to pull around an ugly, grey utility truck parked on the street as she came up to the house, but she paid it little mind. This was a rich neighborhood, with lots of big, fancy houses with big pools, landscaped gardens, private entertainment centers, fancy kitchens packed with the latest utilities. There were always groups of workmen coming and going, doing some work on one of the houses to try and make it just a bit fancier and nicer then the neighbors, who would of course have to plan some remodeling work of their own to top them back.

“Mom! I’m home!” Denise called, dropping her schoolbag and kicking off her shoes in the entrance hall. She always did so, forgetting the housemaid had the day off and her mom always chided her for it, but it didn’t stop Denise from doing it. She was puzzled slightly when her mom didn’t call back a reply, so she called again. Still, the house remained quiet.

“She didn’t go anywhere, did she?” Denise thought, glancing over her shoulder. Sure enough, her mom’s car was still parked out front. “Maybe she hitched a ride with friends?” But Denise knew if that were the case, her mother would have sent her a text. “Maybe she left a note in the kitchen.” That was usually where Denise went first when she got home from school, grabbing a snack to take upstairs while she worked on her homework, or more accurately pretended to work on homework while texting her friends.

“Mom?” Denise called a third time, as she got close to the kitchen. This time, there was a reply, of a sort. It was a low murmur, muffled by walls and doors. Confused, Denise kept going, opening the door to the kitchen. Her eyes went wide.

For a brief second, Denise caught sight of the spacious, up to date kitchen and it’s occupants. One was her mother. Mrs. Mitchell was a close match for her daughter in looks, diet and exercise having kept her trim and fit. Her blonde hair was shoulder length, tied back with a hair tie. She’d dressed casually for a day in, in a pastel top and comfortable exercise pants.

At the moment, Denise’s mother was seated in one of the heavy oak chairs from the dining table. Her hands were pulled behind the back of it. The teen couldn’t see how they’d been tied together, at the wrists, with rope, but she could see how her mother’s feet had been bound the same way, at the ankles, lashing them to one of the chair legs. The older woman’s lips were covered with tape. Beneath, her cheeks bulged with some sort of packing, that muffled her frantic cries, begging her daughter to run for it. Above, her light green eyes were wide with terror.

The second occupant was a burly man, dressed in workman’s overalls. A baseball cap, pulled low and dark shades obscured his features well enough, but Denise's attention was more drawn to the snub nosed revolver he had pointed at her mother.

Shocked at this sudden, terrifying sight, Denise was slow to react. Her momentum kept her moving, through the door and into the kitchen. There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and she realized, belatedly, the intruder holding her mother hostage was not working alone. A second man, dressed like the first, came from beside the door where he’d been lurking, waiting for the teen to walk into their trap.

Denise raised her hands, trying to fight him off as his own came at her face. One settled on her shoulder, pushing her back, against the fridge, while the other pressed a cloth across the girl’s mouth and nose. She’d opened her mouth to scream in fright, and as the cloth clamped tight, she breathed in deep, filling her lungs in preparation. As she did, a sharp, chemical smell filled her nostrils and she realized the cloth had been soaked with something, the fumes it gave off making her woozy.

Frantically, Denise struggled against her attack, her hands scrabbling at the hand keeping the cloth pressed to her face. The rush of adrenaline gave her a few extra seconds of consciousness, fighting the effects of the chloroform, but she couldn’t dislodge the drugged cloth. As her lungs burned for air, she had no choice but to breath in again. The teen went lightheaded as they took hold of her. She swooned in the other man’s arms. The last sensations she felt were of being lowered to the ground, onto her belly. Her hands were picked up and placed behind her back, wrists crossed. As she felt rope beginning to wrap around them, everything went black…

***

Several hours later and in another city, two men were sitting in an office, talking. They were interrupted by a chime from one of the men’s phones. He took it out and looked at the message. A grin crossed his face. “The contractors have reported in.” He told the other man, and held the phone up.

The message had contained a photo attachment and it was opened. The picture showed a dingy, dismally lit room, likely a storeroom in a warehouse somewhere, left unused for quite some time, until now.

Denise and her mother were seated in the center of the room, on a pair of old wooden chairs. Both women had their hands pulled behind the backs of the chairs, bound and their feet lashed to the chair legs with rope. Tape covered both women’s mouths, bulging with packing, but their eyes had been left uncovered, for the picture at least, so they could look up at the camera, with expressions of piteous fright and misery. The morning’s paper was sat down on Mrs. Mitchell's lap, proving the picture’s date.

“Well done.” The second man said, hanging the phone back. He pushed a button on his desk. “Send him in.” He spoke into the intercom, then turned back to his partner. “I dare say this will certainly give us the edge in the negotiations.” Just as he said this, the door to the office opened, a third man coming in. “Ah, Mr. Mitchell, please have a seat. Now, before we discuss this deal, we have something we’d like to show you…”