"Please take a seat," West Valley Academy headmaster Stephen Krutz said to the young woman standing in the doorway of his office. The tall brunette was dressed in her school uniform, a plaid skirt that landed mid-thigh and a white buttoned-down shirt, the top button undone. Her make up looked professionally done, as usual, and her short hair was perfectly straight. The young woman entered the office and sat in one of the chairs in front of the headmaster's desk, crossing her legs at her ankles.
"You wanted to see me," Brittany Daniels said coolly.
"Yes, I thought after the past several days, we should talk," Krutz replied.
"I don't think I have anything to say to you except 'go to hell'," said the young woman. Brittany had spent the last two days, along with her friends Kylie and Susan, being tortured by this man. She knew he was capable of inflicting much more pain on her, but she was in no mood to listen to anything he had to say.
Krutz frowned. "I am not sure how to get through to you, Miss Daniels. I thought there was an understanding you would not discuss what happened over winter break. I thought you understood the situation you and your friends are in. Yet you seem to be incapable of following directions and you are constantly inserting yourself in situations that are none of your business," the headmaster said.
"I disagree," Brittany replied. "First, Susan already knew about the boat trip. Second, I didn't tell her anything that I was told not to reveal. And Susan is my best friend and what you are doing to her is absolutely my business. I will do anything to help her."
"Hmm. You didn't do much to help her over the holidays. You seemed to enjoy drinking and sunning yourself on that private yacht," Krutz retorted. Brittany stared at the man but knew he was right. She had planned to tell her father everything that happened at West Valley since the school year had begun, but after being kidnapped and taken to the yacht by Marcus Torres, Susan's stepfather, Brittany knew she had chickened out. "I guess as long as you are having fun, Susan doesn't matter?"
Brittany took her time before replying, "I was wrong there. I should have gone to my dad over break. I should have told him everything, no matter what happened to me."
"And so we have our problem," the headmaster replied. Brittany looked at him and nodded affirmatively. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes staring at each other until Krutz spoke again. "I have a question for you, one perhaps your dear friend Susan can help you answer. How much do you think I could get for your friend Kylie? Or your other friends?"
Brittany had a puzzled look on her face. "Get? What do you mean by that?"
"Money. Cash. Dollars. Euros, whatever. I have certain friends who specialize in what you might call 'white slavery'," Krutz said. "Although the actual color of the slave is not really relevant. Cute, fit girls like you and your friends are quite valuable. I was speculating how much money your cheerleading team might fetch in those markets. Susan has seen a little of this kind of thing so that is why I said she might be able to help you in your answer."
Brittany stood up. "You'd never get away with that. Jennifer's father is a senator. Kylie's is a CEO. You think they could just disappear and no one would notice? You're an idiot if you think you could sell us and get away with it." Internally though, Brittany's resolve was weakening. Marcus Torres seemed to be type of guy who could get away with a lot, and if Krutz was in league with him, anything might be possible.
Krutz smiled. "You may be right, although not the part about me being an idiot. But maybe the cheerleaders get sent to compete in some foreign country. Brazil, China, Abu Dhabi, and well, you know sometimes girls get lost in those places." He continued, "Or we don't have to go that far. The next time you have a competition, the roads are a little icy, the driver makes that turn up on the hill a little too fast. It's a steep embankment." The headmaster did not finish the sentence, leaving Brittany to fill in the blanks.
He pulled an envelope out of his desk with three photographs in it. He sat the first in front of Brittany. It was a picture of a girl with her face badly burned. He laid the second in front of her. Another woman, hanging by her wrists, blood running down her arms as the rope dug into her skin. Then the third photo, which appeared to show a woman's decapitated body. Brittany turned away, trying not to vomit.
 
                             
                         
                         
                         
                         
                         
                                 
                                 
                                 
                                