Chapter 1

It had been a slow month at the newspaper where I worked as a reporter. The usual round of robberies, car wrecks and minor political scandals. Then on one Thursday afternoon, the editor came to my desk and told me that he had a story that he wanted me to look into.

Over the past six months, several gay men had disappeared, and the local community was worried where all this was leading – was it another case of ‘gay-bashing’, or was there another explanation?

He asked me to see if I could get some background information on those who had gone missing, and see if I could come up with a theory.

I logged on to the computer and did a search through back issues for any information that there was on the disappeared. It seemed as if at least ten men, all in their late twenties, had disappeared in the city.

I jotted down the list of names, and set out with my trusty notepad to see if I could get any further details from friends and neighbors.

Over the following days, several common threads became apparent. All those who had gone missing were unattached, all had no family members, and all had well-paid jobs with local realtors. It occurred to me that there may be a clue here, and, as I sat at my desk one night trying to think of any further leads that I might follow, an idea came into my mind. Mark, a friend of mine from high school days, was a successful realtor in town, and he owed me a bunch of favors. In the past, I have managed to keep some of his more dubious schemes off the front page, and, by extension, kept his business at the front of the pack.

I managed to talk my editor into letting me have a few weeks’ leave to pursue the story, and I called Mark at home, outlining my idea to him, and reminding him of my ‘good’ deeds in the past.

The next Monday morning, I arrived at his office to begin my new, and temporary, job as a member of his staff. We’d spent the weekend together, with me cramming as much knowledge of real estate into my brain, and I was confident that I could pull off the deception for the few weeks I hope I needed. I’d even rented a nice BMW in which to show my status.

I was introduced to the other staff as Mark’s friend Andy, who had just moved from the other side of the country, and sat down at my desk. The next couple of days, I showed several clients around some of the more expensive homes that Mark had for sale, but nothing unusual seemed to take place. By Thursday afternoon, I was getting rather frustrated – this had seemed like a good idea the previous week, but I was beginning to wonder whether I had missed something in my research.

Then another client came in, asking for me by name, and suggesting that he’d like to see a large house we had for sale over on Deer Hunt Drive. As I introduced myself, we shook hands, and Mr. Black, as he called himself, held on to my hand just a little longer than necessary. Was this the one I had been seeking?

I agreed to take him to the house. I collected the keys from Mark, who warned me to be careful, and then set off in my car, Mr. Black following in his Dodge Ram truck, colored to match his name.

When we arrived, I showed him around the house, and as we toured, we talked, firstly about the house itself. Then Mr. Black began to get a bit more personal. At first I didn’t really notice – it began in the master suite with him asking whether I liked sharing a Jacuzzi with my wife. Of course, I had to tell him that I wasn’t married. He reacted with surprise: “Someone as good-looking as you without a wife? I don’t believe it”, he said. I told him that I’d never really had time to get together with any women – my job was my life – and that at my age, 30, I had resigned myself to a single life.

As we walked around the house and the yard, where there was a nice swimming pool, he seemed to reminisce about skinny-dipping when he was a boy. I felt forced to tell him of my similar experiences and, before long, was telling him how I really enjoyed mooching around my apartment in the nude.

Then, suddenly, he changed the subject back to the house, asking about utility bills, the heating system, how good the view was, and so on, until after about ten minutes he told me that he would “think about it”, and that he had another appointment. We left and I returned to the office, wondering about the conversation we’d had, but not being convinced of any ulterior motive either way.

Friday was like the earlier part of the week, with very little to pique my curiosity, apart from a ‘phone call from Mr. Black to Mark telling him that he had found another property, and wouldn’t be coming back.

I returned home that evening rather rejected, wondering how the editor would respond to my news, and especially to the cost of the rented BMW.

I was getting ready to cook dinner when I realized that I had run out of milk, so I threw my jacket over my shoulders and walked down to the gas station a couple of blocks away. I bought some milk, and also a 12-pack of beer to keep me company over the weekend, and started back home.

I’d gone about half way back when a black panel van screeched to the halt beside me. The side door slid open, and two large men, dressed in black with their faces covered, jumped out and grabbed me. They roughly pushed me into the van, slammed the door closed, and the van quickly moved away.

My first crazy thought was “But the beer is all over the sidewalk”. This was quickly followed by “Fuck!” Then one of the men punched me in the stomach and I doubled over in pain. This was immediately followed by a damp cloth which was pushed against my face. As I gasped for breath, I realized that the cloth was covered in chloroform just before I stopped realizing anything at all.

I awoke in the dark and in considerable pain. My head was pounding, and as I tried to raise my hands to my temple, it became quickly apparent that I couldn’t move my arms. Soon I grasped the fact that I couldn’t move anything at all. As the throbbing in my head slowly subsided, I noticed dull pains in other parts of my body, but I couldn’t understand what it all meant, other than the fact that I was trapped.

After lying in the darkness, exploring the pain, for what seemed like hours, a door slammed and a bright light came on. I was lying on a padded table in a room that had plain brick walls, and in front of me was Mr. Black. He was almost naked, but it was obvious that he hadn’t been skinny-dipping recently. Over his body was a series of leather straps, held together with metal rings centered on the middle of his chest and around the base of his dick.

“Well, Andy, or should I call you Drew?” he said. “I know that you don’t actually work at the realtors, I’m afraid. I also know that you are a reporter for ‘The Standard’ who is investigating missing young men. Well, I thought I’d give you a scoop. Pity you won’t get the chance to file your report.”

I was speechless with rage, mostly at myself for my stupidity, and just sputtered at him, eventually managing to shout a few expletives in his direction. With that, he went to a metal cabinet at the side of the room, and pulled out a gag which he proceeded to put in my mouth, after squeezing the sides of my jaw to get me to open up. “You need to learn to keep quiet”, he said, “and a few more things too”. His laugh was the most evil thing I’d heard.

“But first, let me explain a few things,” he continued, “and let you know why you are hurting in a few places.” With that, he moved a television into my line of sight, and turned it on. “I’ll show you what’s happened in the past few weeks”.

My mind raced as he said weeks. How long had I been here? What had been going on?

I watched the screen as ‘my’ home video started. The first scene was of me being carried in by the two men who had snatched me. I was obviously unconscious and my feet dragged on the floor as they brought me in to this room, and then proceeded to lay me on the table, which was like an operating table. They then cut off all my clothes with rather vicious looking knives, and threw the remains into a bag. With growing horror I watched as they then proceeded to wash me down, soap me up and then shave me from head to toe, including eyebrows. Straps were then buckled around my legs, torso, arms, neck and head, fixing me firmly to the table. They then injected me with something, which must have been to keep me unconscious.

The screen went dark for a few moments, and then it was back. Another masked man was standing over my body with some sort of instrument in his hand. Then the video speeded up, and I watched him tattoo me with various tribal designs on the arms, legs, chest, and even on my shaved head. As he moved from place to place, the straps were loosened and then retightened so he could get access.

There was another fade, and then he was back. This time, I watched as he began to pierce me. First the ears, multiple times, then the nipples, then in the end of my dick, and lastly one big ring through my nose. I was horrified – how would I be able to explain any of this when, or if, I ever got out of here?

A further fade ended with the man back again. This time, I watched as he fixed thick steel bands around my ankles and wrists, which were welded closed – thank God he protected my skin with something as the heat must have been tremendous.

The video ended, and I felt drained. No wonder I was in so much discomfort! My body had been attacked in so many places!

Then Mr. Black was leaning over me. “You look much better now. I think things are going to turn out just fine. But there’s a few finishing touches we need to take care of”. The door opened and the masked man came in again. He was carrying a few of the instruments I had seen him using on me in the video.

Without saying a word, he removed the strap from around my neck, and proceeded to put a thick steel collar in its place. Once again, my skin was protected as he welded the collar closed. Nevertheless, I almost fainted from the heat and the terror.

After he had finished this, he took out his tattooing equipment. “Which number?” he asked Mr. Black. “Forty Seven” was the reply, and he proceeded to tattoo the number above my left nipple. When he’d finished, he left the room without another word.

“Well, Drew, or should I call you ‘47’?” Mr. Black said. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon get used to your new number – all our recruits do. Eventually.”

With another evil chuckle, he left the room. The lights went out, and I lay there wondering what was next.