Chapter 24: Company Girl

Stacey Parks didn’t know Ben Kawolski. She’d never seen him before, never met him. A complete stranger. Until now. She was eighteen years old, in the back of some work van like her dad’s. She was all taped up; her wrists, her knees, her mouth. She screamed and screamed into the tape. She struggled to get up, but as the windowless van made several sharp turns she kept getting knocked down. All she could see was sky and trees going by. She didn’t know which way they were going. She began to cry, terrified. Who was this man? Where was he taking her? All kinds of evil things flashed through her mind. All those things they warned you about in church class. Now, here she was, falling around in the back of an empty van, unable to even get up.

Ben Kawolski worked for French Electric, a power company business in central Ohio. Long since divorced, Ben had the personality of a circuit breaker. He never dated, spending more and more time watching porn. Soon, he used his old camera with the zoom lens to get some good photos at the local mall and strip-mall parking lots. All this just kept leading him farther and farther along, until the next step was clear to him. He needed to see, to try, and get some for himself.

At the company picnic recently, he spotted his perfect subject: Their general manager, Steven Parks’ daughter, Stacey. She was young, maybe eighteen he’d heard, but she sure looked younger. She was quite short; maybe five feet tall. Very slim. Small boobs, but getting there. She seemed rather plain, under-developed except for that really hot ass she had. At the picnic he’d seen her in these very small, very tight pink shorts. He could hardly stop staring at her butt, her legs, her hair. Long, blonde, bouncy. He followed Steven home one day, then after that it was just wait and see. He figured she was going to the school down the street, Central Athena High. He learned through casual conversation at work that Stacey played in the school band there. He waited, parked by the sidewalk, between the school and her home, in the shadows by a group of trees. This was a long shot. He’d only sit her for a few nights. Don’t want to draw attention. Three nights went by; nothing, not a thing. The fourth night, around 8:10 PM, he saw someone in his mirror walking down the sidewalk from the school, carry a book bag and a violin case. He moved into the back of the work van; pulled his ski-mask down, touched the duct tape, got ready to do this. He kept watch ahead; nobody to be seen. Then footsteps. The girl was walking by now. As she passed the side doors, he opened it fast and jumped out.

First thing: arm around the head; cover her mouth. Keep her quiet. Next; one arm around her waist, keep her off balance so she can’t run. Third, and most important: Move as quickly as you can, dragging her back into the van. Close the door. Start taping her up. He slapped her often to stun her; help keep her quiet. He taped her mouth first; then her wrists behind her. He already had strips of tape hanging from the metal shelves. He moved very fast. He taped her knees together; smooth, soft skin. Last, he shoved the ski mask over her head backwards, blocking her view. He shoved her down, jump back in front. Less than a minute. Nobody around; everything outside was still quiet. A car came around the bend ahead; drove by. He kept low until it had passed. Then he sat up, started the van and turned around, exiting the subdivision and heading to his house. That was about twelve miles south, out in the country.

Stacey managed to get to a sitting position, sitting with her butt on her ankles. With this thing on her head, she couldn’t see a thing. The van swerved left, right, went straight for a long way. He was driving pretty fast. Some more curves, then he slowed and turned. She almost fell over. She was terrified. She couldn’t think of anything she could do. They were going somewhere in the country; she had no idea where that was. It seemed like a long time, but she calmed down enough to think it’d only been maybe ten or fifteen minutes since the man had grabbed her. She was breathing hard, fast through her nose. It smelled and sounded like some kind of work truck. Her father had a work truck, and this was kinda like that. When he hit the brakes, she fell forward and onto the metal floor. The van turned, bumped along a little way farther, then stopped. It was quiet. Stacey could only hear her panicked breathing and pounding heart. Her mind was a blur. The man got out. She heard him walk around, open the side door. He grabbed her ankle; she kicked at him. He just grabbed her other ankle. He was strong. He pulled her roughly from the van, easily. Without a word, he just grabbed her up and dragged her along, up some steps and onto a porch maybe. A door opened; she was pushed through. Inside, he dragged her across an old room, then down a hallway and into another room. The man yanked her mask off; it was a bedroom. There was one big mattress in the room, one dresser. Nothing else. He clicked on a light, then dropped her onto the mattress. He pulled a big knife off the dresser, held it to her face. He was an average-sized guy. White shirt, black pants. Wore a ski-mask. Had short hair. It looked like some kind of big kitchen knife.