Save the Princess

   The video circulated briefly on the internet through local forums. Within less than four hours, it disappeared. The original person to find it came across it quite accidentally, hacking at the Grieves' business e-mail. When he opened it and saw what it was, he knew he had something very big. Very secret. Something that would cost him his life.

A movie.

It was the same video playing on the monitor that night, in a large and dark office. The glow illuminated little, blinded by the light of the moon shining through the large panel windows over looking the city.

Seated at the desk, a man was silence. Nothing seen of him but the tiny fire of his cigar, the smoke disappearing in the darkness above. On the screen, a gritty and unedited video played, flickering in motion before him. In it, a slender and pretty blond was tied to a bed, submitted to the will of multiple masked men. Her naked body struggled against them. Her makeup ran with tears down her cheeks, eyes shut against the sight of her torment.

These men, they took her freely, violating every part of her. Every exposed orifice. Every inch of her flesh. The camera moved, panned and zoomed on each degrading act. Sodomy. Oral. Vaginal. She bled from the damage to her loins. Bruises on her thighs. Semen on her lips. Her breasts scratched and swollen.

Through it all, the sound was distant. Canned. The grunts and words of her assailants, controlling and cold. Her moans and gasps. The choking sobs from her throat. And whenever her mouth was free, she screamed or cried.

“Daddy!”

The rape lasted forty seven minutes and twenty three seconds.

On the surface of the desk, a letter sat open. The letters were cut from newspapers and magazines. At the centre was a sum. Fifty million dollars. On the top, the message began formally.

“Dear Mr. Grieves,” it said.

Beside the note was a picture, taken from a distant camera. Unseen, perhaps from a car or a van. In it, the blond was looking back, as if aware she was being watched, frozen on the steps leading to the front door of her school. A public school she convinced her father to let her attend.

Daphne Grieves. His only child and daughter. She was sixteen.

When the video stopped, ending with a frozen still of her face moments after her kidnappers urinated on it, the man in the chair sat back in his chair.

With the cigar to his lips, Mr. Grieves inhaled and blew out a cloud of ashen smoke.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Peter said.

That was Jim's best friend. His only friend. The students in their class called him Pissing Pete. In the third grade, during a swimming lesson, he urinated in the community pool in front of his peers. It was a stigma he would never scrub clean.

Jim sat in his room, surrounded by posters of horror movies. His desk was located underneath the basement room window. Upstairs, his mother was cooking supper. Pete stood beside him, staring in disbelief at the computer screen.

The Rape of Daphne Grieves is what the legendary video would come to be known as.

“I'm telling you,” Jim muttered thoughtfully, watching the movie. The shot was close as one of the men entered Daphne rectally. “This is the hospital.”

Pete sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pacing back before returning. “How can you be so sure, Jim?” He asked, pointing at the screen. “That could be anywhere.”

“The bed.” Jim said. He paused the movie. Daphne's torture froze in time. Her body twisted to the side, mouth around one. Another inside her. Jim touched the monitor, to the bed. “That bed. That's the only bed left in the hospital. I know. I go there all the time.” He tapped it. “That blood? It's not hers. It's this stain on the sheet. This was taken at the hospital.”

“Jim,” Pete said, looking away from the blond, his classmate, “why would kidnappers take Daphne there? Anyone stupid enough to jack and rape Grieves own daughter would be smarter to leave the fucking city. When Grieves sees this, he'll have every fucking cop, hitman and mercenary hunting this bastards.”

“Exactly.” Jim replied, turning to his friend, “and what a better place to hide than the hospital Grieves shut down. If you're being hunted by a fucking wolf, where do you go? To his den. Because it's the last place he would look.”

Pete pondered Jim's point a moment. His eyes kept coming back to the video.

From above, Jim's mother called for supper.

“I know this is the hospital.” Jim said. “I know that place like the back of my hand. This is where they did it, Pete. It might very well be where she is right now.”

Pete shook his head. “You are crazy.” He said. “There's no way-”

“No way to do it?” Jim interrupted angrily. With a click, the film resumed. Daphne's grunts came silently from his speakers. Her mouth pulled forcefully around a man. “This, Pete. This is happening right now. At the hospital. Daphne is getting raped and we know where.”

His friend tried to avoid watching it. Watching the scene. He couldn't. “Call Grieves.”

“How?” Jim slammed a palm on his desk. “No one calls Grieves. He owns this fucking city. Everything. You don't call Grieves. The man is a fucking ghost.”

“Then what are we supposed to do, Jim?” Pete shouted back. “Stop it?”

Jim turned back to the monitor and cradled his chin in his hands. His mother called once more from above.

The movie reflected off his glasses.

“Exactly.”

It was close to midnight. The two boys, students of the same public school Daphne attended, walked their bikes along the sidewalk. The city pulsed with nightlife, like a hive that never sleeps. In the industrial they were in, things were quieter. The hookers ignored them. Dealers only glanced. Two teens walking in the worse part of the city meant they had bigger issues than them. Bigger goals.

In Jim's coat pocket, his father's handgun felt heavy.

“So do we even have a plan?” Pete asked.

Jim failed to respond.

“Jim.” Pete hissed. “I get it. You like her. You want to save her. But dude, this isn't going to win her father's favour. Grieves doesn't like anyone. He's the kingpin. The big bad. Grieves will take Daphne away from you, send her to a private school and make sure that you never speak of this incident ever again.”

“Why?” Jim simply asked. “If I can rescue Daphne without Grieves having to drag it out... Imagine if your daughter is kidnapped. Being raped. Ransom or something. Imagine that a stranger comes along. A hero. And he saves your little princess. Why wouldn't you thank him?”

His friend chuckled sardonically. “Because it's Mr. Fucking Grieves, Jimmy.”

He shook his head. “He's also a father. And right now his daughter is being held captive.”

“So let Grieves pay the ransom.” Jim said. “Then Daphne will be fine. And we can go home instead.”

They rounded a corner. The hospital awaited them four blocks ahead. Abandoned. Silent. No lights. A black blotch in the skyline. Stars surrounding it. The fence a distant goal.

“I do this,” Jim said resolutely, “and Grieves won't have to worry. And he'll thank us for it.”

“And Daphne, right?” Peter added. “That's what this is about, am I right? You do this and you're the hero. A knight rescuing his princess. A princess you've been moaning over since she came to our school. A princess who doesn't even know you exist.” He nudged his friend as they walked. “Am I right? You're doing this to get her attention.”

Jim stared silently towards the hospital. They were only a few blocks away. No one was out on the streets. That part of the city was dead.

He never answered Peter. His friend was right. Since she came to his school, Jim's been in love with her. Daphne Grieves. The most popular yet untouchable girl in his class. The heiress of the Grieves empire. The daughter of their modern king. A crime lord's only child.

She never had reason to notice Jim before.

Once he rescues her, Daphne will finally see.

They followed the chain link fence. Behind it rose the four story hospital.

The Grieves Industrial Hospital. Shut down for years. Around the west end and along the parking lot, to the back. The fence had a weakness. A hole. A secret Jim thought only he knew.

Reaching it, they left their bikes and together slipped beyond the barrier.

They stalked quietly through the hallways, climbing not up, but down the stairwell. They kept to shadows in the abandoned hospital. Old papers scattered about. A overturned tray. Darkness. The only came from windows, the moon bright outside.

Jim didn't need to follow the wall directions towards their destination. He'd been to the hospital often. To escape his mother. To think. To hide. He knew the room. In it was an old operating table. A sheet still on it. A blotch of blood, as old as the dust surrounding them.

The operating room where the video took place.

Stopping before it, they froze. Pete breathed nervously. Jim's palms were sweaty. The gun in his hand felt heavy.

From the room came voices. Four males. From the edge, Jim saw them. Nondescript. Wearing ski masks. Tank tops. Jeans. One black. The others Caucasian. Was it only a day since they'd raped Daphne Grieves?

The table was empty.

The last thing these men expected was two kids bursting in, one armed. A fat one. A skinny one. Teenagers. Kids.

“Where is she?” Jim shouted, weapon aimed at them. Pete stayed back, near the door.

One of the men rose from a decrepit chair, hands raised passively. “Relax kid. Calm down.”

“Where is she?” He demanded again.

Near the wall was a video camera on a tripod. Beside it was a hospital tray. A laptop on it.

“We don't know what you're talking about.” The man said.

“I don't like this.” Peter whispered. “Let's just go.”

Jim indicated the bed sharply. His eyes felt hot and he was perspiring heavily. “Daphne Grieves. Where is she? Where the fuck is Daphne Grieves?”

The men didn't respond. They stared back at him. Pete touched his shoulder and he shrugged it off. Oblivious to his friend. To the sudden choking sounds. To the grip on his arm.

“Jim!” Peter coughed. Something warm on the back of Jim's head. Wet.

When he turned around, Peter was standing, eyes wide. His body rigid. A thick gash across his large throat. Blood sprayed out of it, hitting Jim by surprise, before the teen finally slumped down to the floor.

He was disoriented, Distanced. Was this Pete on the floor? What had happened? Pissing Pete?

In the doorway she stood, the moonlight from beyond a room bright on her naked form. Curved and shapely. Her breasts round and firm. Her lips red. Hair curled. A knife in her hand.

She sneered at him. His arms were heavy. His blood cold. Jim lowered his gun, stunned. Shocked.

“Pete?” He gasped.

On the floor, a puddle of blood had began to form away from his friend. He took a step back, shaking. He felt dizzy.

“Pete?”

A sharp sting. Darkness.

Jim's world slowly faded away.

Two years before. Jim was seated under a tree on school property. Students were walking packs towards the entrance. Fresh off the bus. From a parent's car. Their bikes. Pete, sitting alongside, bit into a Poptart.

“I've passed it about fifty times.” He said with a mouth full. “But I keep coming back to it. I think it's the story that really draws me in.”

Jim wasn't listening. Something had caught his eye. Pulling up from a distance down the road from the school was a black car. Tinted windows. A unique plate system. Polished and flawless. A man wearing a suit stepped out the driver side, walked around and opened the rear passenger door.

“Who is she?” Jim asked over his friend's meaningless banter.

Pete paused long enough to spot the blond walking proudly towards the school. “No way.” He gasped, coughing on the pastry.

All around the school yard, students stopped briefly, looking at the girl. Beautiful. Tall. Slender.

“Who is she?” Jim asked again in annoyance. He was sure he was the only one who was clueless.

Pete swallowed. “Only the richest and most powerful teen in the city, you dumbass.” He nudged Jim's shoulder tauntingly. “That's Grieves' daughter, Daphne.”

Jim was awed by her. “Daphne Grieves...”

“Talk about out-of-your-league, hey?” Peter said. He resumed his breakfast. Life resumed around them. “I would kill just to smell her panties.”

For Jim, time had frozen. There was no one. Only Daphne. Walking. Gorgeous.

And he was in love.

When he awoke, Jim was tied to a chair. Nude. The light in the room came from a halogen lamp. Brighter than the sun. His head ached horribly. Nausea hit him.

A shape stood before him. Curves he knew. Daphne.

“Fucking heroes.” Her voice seemed distant.

Shapes moved around him. Jim's throat was dry. “Pete?” He croaked.

“Your friend is dead, fucker.” Daphne said. “He's dead and you're next.”

Through the throbbing mist surrounding him, Jim saw the shadows move. Hands passing from one to another. Tools. He tried to move but couldn't. His wrists were bound behind the back of the chair. His legs restrained as well.

“I don't get it.” Daphne said. “They come here, like knights on white horses. What were they thinking?”

“Maybe they wanted a threesome with you.” Someone said. Another laughed.

A third spoke from behind him. “How they found us is the question. This fucker knew. He'd seen the video.”

“That was sent to my dad only.” Daphne snapped. “So if this little cunt found it...”

Fingers weaved into his hair and pulled his head up painfully. Jim could only grunt. Through the blur, he could see Daphne's face. She glared at him with the devil in her eyes.

“You fucking idiot. If you fuck this up...” She spat on him. “The plan was simple. A ransom note. A video to make it real. We could have been out of here. Daddy would have paid. Daddy would have sent the money.”

She let him go. His head dropped heavily. “You just had to come along and fuck it up.”

A sudden sting, hot as fire, pierced his chest. Jim gasped, eyes widened by the agony. The air escaped his lungs. He couldn't breath. In his throat was the metallic flavour of copper.

A second. A third. Jim realized that he was being stabbed. Stabbed repeatedly by Daphne Grieves.

Daphne, the girl of his dreams.

For a moment, her face was all he could see. Blond. Beautiful. Angry. And soon, nothing.

Only darkness.

Daphne sat on the bed, struggling with the blood on her hands. The cloth she was using failed horribly at cleaning it up.

One of the men pulled Jim off the chair and then drug him out of the room. The other two paced back and forth. On the desk, the laptop hummed softly.

“He hasn't called yet.” One of them said.

“He will.” Daphne snapped. “I'm his daughter. He'll contact us soon. If he doesn't...”

They looked at her.

“We cut off one of my fingers.”

The men exchanged glances briefly, completely missed as she struggled with cleanliness.

When the doorway darkened, she never looked up from her nails.

“Put that loser with his friend?” She asked.

When there was no response, she looked up. The other two men were staring at the doorway in fear, stepping back. As for Daphne herself, her face went sickly pale. She struggled to speak.

“No. No, he wouldn't. He's my father! I'm his daughter!”

Standing at the doorway was a man she knew little of but had seen often. A lanky man with a shaved head and piercings in his ear. A man she knew only as Bacca.

In his hand, he held her third partner's severed head by the hair.

“Allo love.” Bacca grinned. Behind him, a girl giggled.

Daphne could only shake her head in disbelief. “I'm his daughter.” She whispered. Tears came to her eyes.

“Aye, you are.” The man said. “And daddy sends a message.”

He stepped into the room and tossed the head aside. Following behind him were two more. A tall man. A girl.

They all carried handguns.

Bacca sneered. “He told us to tell you, love.”

“No deal.”

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