Lisa listened, feeling disgusted with Mr. Smith. He looked, acted, and sounded like the stereotypical pervert. Middle-aged, balding, overweight, glasses, small beady eyes. It was easy to picture him sitting his girth on a director's chair, pulling his pants down, and telling the naive teenage giggleboxes who came to Hollywood with dreams in their eyes that, sure they could have a part in his film, but first they had to get down on their knees and show him how much they appreciated him.
"So how did you come to be a part of making snuff films?' Lisa asked, hiding her revulsion.
Mr. Smith was finished boarding up the window. "I don't do just snuff films. I do a lot of stuff on commission. Al and 1, we do a lot of extreme hardcore S&M shit. And I ain't talking your everyday, run-of- he-mill slap-andspanking shit that bored yuppies and trendy goths are into, either. All that rope bondage and whips and chains shit that people are into? Forget that. You can get crap like that at your neighborhood video store. The stuff I'm talking about that Al and I deal in is extreme, sick shit. Most of it is near-death stuff: mutilation, a lot of asphyxiation. Al's tapped into the extreme hardcore community real well. Some of the people he shoots for privately, they're into this kind of shit. Whenever we get a job, he comes to me and I… well, I sort of comb through the girls I know of that would fit perfectly."
"What kind are those?"
Mr. Smith looked at her. "Not like you, that's for sure."
"Why's that?"
"You're not like them, that's why. You got a life. A career. You're a lawyer, right?"
Lisa nodded.
"The chicks I usually get for extreme hardcore films and snuff films," Mr. Smith said, regarding her calmly, "they've got nowhere to go but down. Sometimes we get a request for a guy, and they're just as easy to get because they fall into the same shit. Most of them are hardcore druggies; runaways, hookers, people that aren't immune to turning some pretty sick tricks, you know what I mean? I find them, take them out, buy them clothes, show them some money, they fall all over me. Turn them on to a bit of blow or smack-most of them are already fucked up on drugs anyway-and they'll keep coming back for more. Once they get a taste for a shitload of money and free drugs, they'll do anything. They'll even come back for more. Shit, some of them are so fucked up when we use them for an extreme hardcore film, they actually like it! Can you imagine that? Getting off on somebody cutting your tits or burning you with cigarettes? Well, some of them get off on it, and those are the ones we use for the films. Like I said, they got nowhere to go but down, and they don't give a shit what happens to themselves anyway. Shit, most of them are too fucked up to care. And most of them have the same sob story to telclass="underline" Daddy abused them, or they ran away from a shitty home life or some other shit. It don't matter where they come from as long as they're on the way down. Long as they been on the street for a while and they got nowhere to go, no mommy and daddy to go to, no boyfriend or husband that will give a shit about them, they're the ones we use. Long as nobody misses them, that's all that matters.' '
Lisa was disgusted, but she tried not to let it show. "So why me?"
*1 told you. The guys that commissioned this film, they got tired of watching a bunch of junkie cunts being raped and sliced up. To tell you the truth, a lot of those chicks get so fucked-up-looking they look real skanky by the time we use them. The clients wanted something fresh. Shit, they woulda used a bitch like that Britney Spears chick or Heather Locklear if they could get away with it. They wanted somebody that was pretty and healthylooking, somebody that didn't look like they had been shooting dope for the past five years, or who had too many fucking scars on their bodies from S&M mutilation " or size-fourteen assholes from too many fisting sessions."
So in other words, I'm nothing to them and to you. Lisa thought, digesting the information slowly. If she had heard this yesterday, she would have gone into hysterics. Now she merely processed the information and shifted gears. "I'll be missed, though," she said. "My husband… my parents, our friends. I'm not just some nobody. People will want to know what happened to me."
Waybe." Mr. Smith shrugged and headed toward the entrance to the bedroom. "But who gives a shit? What matters is that nobody will know afterward. That cop that pulled you over yesterday? He's got nothing on me. And when this is all over, this here," he pointed to his scruffy beard, "gets shaved off and I wear my contact lenses for a while. Maybe lose a few pounds. Trust me, we had this planned for a while. The van I used last night is already in Mexico, the driver's license I used was fake. In short, the cops got nothing on me. And this place?" He swept his hands around the cabin. "It's so far off the beaten track nobody will know anything. Nearest neighbor is a mile away, and-"
"Nobody will hear me if I scream," Lisa finished.
if they do, they'll think it's just the coyotes howling at the moon." Mr. Smith grinned. And besides, you'll be too fucked up to do any screaming. The shit Al will shoot you up with… you'll be conscious, but you won't be able to scream."
Lisa was silent. Mr. Smith watched her for a moment, then bent down to pick up his toolbox., He started heading outside.
"What about the people who are into this?" she asked. Mr. Smith stopped at the doorway and looked back at her. "The people that… pay to watch. I mean…" She gestured vaguely. "What kind of people are into this? Why? Why do they do it?"
Mr. Smith appeared to ponder the question before he answered. "More than fifty percent of the people that watch snuff films are weak, inadequate, high-profile people with high-profile jobs, mostly people in the business community: corporate executives and CEOs, bankers, people like that. Some of them are high-priced lawyers. The others are participants in the extreme hardcore scene just looking for something they haven't seen or done. As to why they do it.. " He paused, stroking his chin. "It's a power trip," he said, looking directly at her. "It's a rush for them. It gets them off. Extreme hardcore and snuff isn't just about sex. It's about owning someone, making them beg for mercy, deciding whether or not they're going to give it. It is the ultimate power over someone. When the… people who are into this kind of stuff… when they watch a snuff film, they like to imagine what it's like… what the killer feels. They like to pretend they're him, doing the things he's doing. They get a tremendous sense of power, knowing they orchestrated the torture and death of another human being."
The thought terrified her, but she tried not to show it. "What about the guy that will be doing it… the Animal? — Why does he do it?*
Mr. Smith grinned. `1 guess you'll have to ask him." He turned and left the room.
Lisa sat on the bed, all hope draining away. She had no idea what time it was now. There was no clock in the bedroom, and the sun had been up for how long? Two hours? Three? All sense of time was a blur. She had barely slept last night, especially after being forced to pee on the mattress she slept on. She had started crying after soiling her mattress, and the next thing she remembered, the sun was coming up. She supposed it could be anywhere between eight and eleven o'clock in the morning by now.
Her bladder felt full again and she stood up, walked into the bathroom, lifted the toilet lid, and sat down. She peed, then flushed the toilet. The urge to wipe came, but then she thought, why should 1? Mr. Smith was bringing the Animal to rape and kill her anyway. Why clean up for him? She stood up and moved to the sink, sobbing quietly as she washed her hands. Even though she had just found out she was pregnant, she was already picturing what her and Brad's baby would look like. And now it was all going to be snuffed out. She took a deep breath and hung her head over the sink, trying to calm herself down. When her sobs trickled down, she looked in the mirror at her reflection. There were large, dark circles under her eyes, the whites red. Despite not sleeping much last night, and everything else she had gone through, she didn't look that bad.