4:00 A.M. read the clock on the nightstand. Franny had drifted in and out of a fitful sleep for hours. Now, an especially loud burst of snoring from Ted brought her back to consciousness. She looked around the darkened room to see that Brenda Joyce had dozed off on the bed, the magazine lying across her chest. Probably she had been supposed to wake Ted to take a turn watching the captives, and had slept right through. No matter the reason, this had to be Franny’s chance. Looking over at Madame Ulanova, she saw that luck was with her—the Russian was awake, so there would be no need to risk disturbing their captors to awaken her. Through the dim light of the room, Franny caught the woman’s attention, and indicated with her eyes that she was going to attempt to slip her arms from their bonds. Madame Ulanova looked despairingly at her own arms: the leather straps were too snug for her to even attempt to get out; it was up to Franny to free them both.
Franny’s pride in her body’s flexibility was well founded. With no gun-wielding kidnapper staring at her, she was able to exert all her effort in her attempt to slip free of the ropes. The rope on her right forearm seemed to have the most play in it, so she began there. Her movements a mixture of patience and panic, she worked her arm back and forth, up and down, gaining a millimeter here, a centimeter there, until she was able to raise her arm far enough that the movements began to pull on the bindings at her wrist. She repeated the laborious process, moving her arm in small circles which enlarged gradually. Finally, she held her breath, and pulled as hard as she could: with painful slowness, her wrist, then her arm, scraped themselves free from the rope! She exhaled through her nose as quietly as possible, and, not daring to pause, began working at the bindings on her left wrist. This was actually harder, as there was no time for the gradual loosening of the ropes; instead, she had to scrape at the knots with her fingernails. Sweaty fingers slipping maddeningly, Franny wanted to weep with her anxiety. No time for that, though; no time to do anything but focus on escape. After several tortuous minutes, she finally got her left wrist free. She leaned over, stiff from being tied for so long, and scrabbled her fingers to find the knots holding her ankles to the chair legs. Finally, both legs came free. Her exhilaration was tempered with the knowledge that she was still a long way from safety. For a fraction of a second, she even considered slipping out the door on her own—after all, they would certainly not kill their other, more valuable, captive just because Franny escaped. She couldn’t do that, though; the terrified woman didn’t deserve to spend another moment in the hands of these criminals, and there was no guarantee that Franny could bring help in time if she left her. Franny tiptoed slowly to where Madame Ulanova was bound in the chair. No time to worry about the gags—Franny unfastened the straps on the woman’s arms as quietly as she could, and untied the ropes from the woman’s ankles. Again, she hesitated momentarily: was there any chance she could get one of the guns and overpower their captors? No—Ted’s was under his pillow, and the nightstand drawer would make too much noise if she went after Joyce’s gun. She gestured to the door, and Madame Ulanova followed her on tiptoe out the door.
Once outside, Madame Ulanova reached behind her head to undo her gag, but, unable to see the buckles, had no success, and bent her head so that Franny might undo them. That done, Franny decided to follow Brenda Joyce's advice: bracing herself, she took hold of the strips of tape across her lips, and ripped them free at one pull. She bit her lip to hold back the gasp of pain, took a deep breath, and whispered to her companion: "We've got to get out of here and go to the police."
"NO! No police," Madame Ulanova hissed.
"What?!? We've just spent an entire day drugged, tied up, gagged, and generally treated like pieces of not-very-prized luggage. What do you imagine we're going to do?"
"You don't understand. My husband has allies and informants in many places. I am certain that it was one of them on the local police that helped them find me. No police."
"Well, that's just great. It's four A.M., we're stuck in some godforsaken part of town with nothing but the clothes on our backs, and we can't even go to the police?" The Russian dropped her eyes to the ground, but said nothing. Franny reflected that whatever they did would have to be done quickly. The kidnappers might wake up at any moment, and if they ran, in this part of town, two vulnerable-looking women would be more likely to attract molestation than assistance. "All right," she whispered, "no police, but we've got to get to a phone." Across the parking lot was a gas station, closed for the night, with a pay phone outside. As quickly and quietly as possible, the two women made their way there.
It seemed to Franny that there was only one thing she could do, so she punched in the number she knew best and charged it to her home phone. After a seeming eternity, a familiar voice came on the line.
"Hi, nobody’s home now…" Franny closed her eyes and raged inwardly. Where on earth could Erik be at this hour of the morning? Of course-- he's out looking for me! The police might wait until someone's been missing for two days to call them a "missing person", but Erik wouldn't wait. As the recording concluded, Franny desperately breathed into the phone: "Erik, I'm in big trouble. No time to explain, just PLEASE come get me. I'm--" she broke off. Just where were they? Somewhere outside of Portland, but-- oh, no, the recording would end in a second. "I--I can see the 405-- or is the 5? I don't know! Ohh, the name of the motel I'm at is Glen Ellen, I think-- let me look at the sign," Motel! What was he going to make of THAT? "Yes, it's called---HHHHhhmmmpppphhh!"
"Going somewhere, ladies?" The telephone receiver was ripped from Franny's grasp and slammed back on the hook. If she had thought Ted had been rough on her before, she could now see how wrong she was. One arm encircled her slim waist, with an irresistible strength, forcing the breath from her. An enormous hand covered the lower half of Franny's face, crushing her lips against her teeth. Franny desperately twisted and squirmed to free herself, but whether through inadvertence or malice, the man was covering not just her mouth with his hand, but her nose as well. He lifted her from her feet, and carried her as easily as though she were a toddler. His enormous hand pressed her head down against his shoulder, and breathing was impossible. Now, Franny's struggles grew weaker. She knew that the man was probably angry enough to kill her, but lack of oxygen was making it harder for her to remain conscious. Through a red haze, she could see Brenda Joyce holding her pistol on Madame Ulanova, marching the utterly subdued woman back to the room. Much as she dreaded what awaited her there, Franny found herself desperately praying that they would get there soon, before she suffocated.
Suddenly, they were in the room. Franny felt herself thrown roughly to the bed, and heard an enraged growl from the man: "There's just no point in trying to be nice to some people. OK, if you don't want to spend a quiet evening in this room, you can just relax in the trunk of the car for a while!" Franny tried to speak, to beg, to plead for her life, but she was still too weak to utter a sound. Her hands were roughly yanked behind her, and the familiar feeling came of rope encircling them. This time, Ted was not simply careless of her discomfort, he actively sought it. Instead of merely crossing her wrists, he twisted them until they met palm to palm, then knotted the cord brutally tight, holding them in the awkward position. He then tied her wrists to her back again, and the position of her hands put even more strain on her shoulders than having her elbows tied had. The man then sank his fingers into Franny's hair, and yanked her upright on the bed.
"Please---help--someone--" Franny's voice was so weak that she could never have been heard outside the room, but Ted scooped up the ballgag again with his free hand. Still holding her fast by the hair, he leered down into her face. "You're quite a troublemaker, ain't you? Well, let me give you just a little hint of what's in store for you." And, with that, he forced her face up to his, and pressed his lips savagely down on hers. Franny nearly gagged with revulsion as he forced his tongue into her mouth, drinking in her shame, raping her lips. Finally, he pulled her head away, and jammed the ballgag into her mouth. He was surprised that the girl still had any fight left in her, but Franny struggled desperately to keep the ball from being forced between her lips. It was no use. Even without the cruel grip in her hair, the man's strength would have been simply irresistible. The slimy ball was jammed between her teeth. Ted released his hold on her hair, grabbed the two straps, and pulled the gag as tight as he could. Agony shot through Franny's head and face as the gag straps bit into her cheeks and mouth, and he buckled the gag behind her head, underneath her hair; it felt as though he had somehow managed to fasten it at least one hole tighter than before. As she flopped on the bed, Franny could see that Brenda Joyce had similarly bound Madame Ulanova, and regagged her with the leather pad. Then, the room spun before her as the man casually dumped her on the floor and yanked her ankles up over her back again. This time, the hogtie was even more brutal than before: she felt him gather her hair into a long ponytail, and knot the rope from her ankles to it. When he released her, the strain on Franny’s neck exceeded anything she had experienced at the hands of this monster. With the huge ball in her mouth, she needed to keep her neck as straight as possible to ease her breathing, which just increased the aching in the muscles of her arms and legs. The pain in her scalp was intense, but almost incidental by comparison. Ted smiled cruelly at her. "Comfy? No?? Well, it’s just for a little while. After all, I can’t have much fun with you in that position." He laughed at Franny’s despairing expression as Brenda Joyce returned from the outside.
"The car’s loaded. We’d better go," Joyce said. "No telling how soon someone might pick up that message." Franny was then lifted in the man's arms and carried outside into the faint light of dawn. Brenda Joyce had already opened the trunk of the car, and Madame Ulanova was inside. Franny was thrown casually down beside her, and the trunk slammed shut. Franny couldn’t even kick the lid of the trunk to attract someone’s attention, with her ankles tied to her hair. Ted had finally succeeded in rendering her utterly helpless: the need to breathe, and to find relief for her aching muscles, took all her concentration, leaving her nothing with which to try to escape. Minutes later, Franny felt the car start and pull out from the motel. She had no idea where they were headed now, but had a dread feeling that the end of the line was approaching fast.