Grizzly Season. S W Lauden

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      Two Months Later…

      September 2011—The van wasn’t moving any longer, but Mary’s head spun. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the dome light, willing it stop. Wherever they’d brought her, it was much quieter than anything she was used to. There were no police helicopters whirring overhead. No addicts threatening to kill each other all night long.

      Something in the back of her mind kept telling her to get up and run, to get as far away from there as she could. But where would she go? The streets of Hollywood didn’t care if she lived or died. And going back to her mom’s house would be a slow death of a different kind. It was sad, but true, that this might be the safest place she had woken up in months. Hell, she thought, at least I still have my clothes on.

      Mary put her hand on the back of the bench seat and pulled herself up. Her head felt thick and her mind was reeling. The view out the window didn’t offer many clues, except that she was in a garage. The cluttered workbench beside the van was filled with a random assortment of greasy tools, silhouetted in the darkness. She reached for the handle and slid the door open as quietly as she could.

      One foot out the door, she pause.

      “Hello?”

      She almost didn’t recognize the fear in her own voice. It sounded so soft, so vulnerable, like the little girl she never got to be. Mary groped her way to a door that led into a kitchen. She opened it and saw the driver standing there. He was about her stepdad’s age—maybe a little older—with the same hard eyes, but otherwise more polished. The man popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth and gave her the once-over.

      “Want some food?”

      She was hungry all the time these days but never felt like eating.

      “You got anything else?”

      He smiled and nodded. “Sure. Follow me.”

      Scoring drugs hadn’t been that easy since, well, forever. She knew they wouldn’t be free.

      Mary followed him through the small house. The walls were bare and there was almost no furniture. He walked fast, with a sense of purpose. She didn’t hear the moaning until they reached the bedroom door. Glaring lights flooded the hallway as he pushed into the room.

      Two young women were on the bed. One was blindfolded and handcuffed to the headboard. Mary recognized the second one from around Hollywood, but hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. She straddled the other woman with a riding crop in her hand.

      They wound through a forest of tripods and a couple of oblivious crewmembers. There was a small sofa pushed against one wall with a glass coffee table in front of it. Lines were already chalked up in neat little rows. He handed her a rolled-up dollar bill.

      “Have as much as you want. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

      Mary hesitated for a brief moment before sitting down and getting to work.

      She did two quick bumps, one right after the other. It was pure and strong. She felt the instant burn and rush as she leaned back. They sat side-by-side, watching the action on the bed. It all seemed so mechanical, like pistons and lube—a fake ecstasy compared to the narcotic euphoria that pumped through Mary’s bloodstream.

      “I’ve never done porn before…”

      “There’s no rush. Just join in when the urge strikes you.”

      It didn’t take long to make a decision. What was happening on the bed looked way better than what might happen on the sofa. He gave her a fatherly pat on the knee, but left his hand there. That made her choice even easier.

      She stood up and slithered out of her tank top. The girls on the bed waved her over as she unbuttoned her jeans. The driver looked her up and down, smiling in approval.

      “There are other ways you can help me, besides all of this.”

      “Oh yeah? How?”

      “You and I might have some friends in common, Mary. But we can talk about that later.”