Compelled

By Andrew Lloyd Mullins

Tyler Hawke enjoys his life as a golf pro. His routines keep him focused, and his personal philosophies let him sleep at night. Until his best friend's daughter is abducted. 

Just what compels a person to do certain things? What justifications can there be? Ty finds he can't stop until the job is done.

There is nothing more dangerous than a man compelled.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zimbell House Publishing
• Release date: Jan 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643901220

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. All characters appearing in this work are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the written permission of the publisher.

For permission requests, write to the publisher

Attention: Permissions Coordinator

Zimbell House Publishing

PO Box 1172

Union Lake, Michigan 48387

mail to: [e-mail]

© 2020 Andrew Lloyd Mullins

Published in the United States by Zimbell House Publishing

All Rights Reserved

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-64390-121-3

Trade Paper ISBN: 978-1-64390-222-7

.mobi ISBN: 978-1-64390-223-4

ePub ISBN: 978-1-64390-122-0

Large Print ISBN: 978-1-64390-123-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019917453

First Edition: January 2020

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Zimbell House Publishing

Union Lake

Dedication

To my family. Father , mother, three brothers and a sister. We have stuck together pretty well so far, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon, or ever.

One

The doctor was unknowingly researched, and the final compilation made for some fine reading. He had lived an inspiring life. Outstanding high school marks granted him access to an Ivy League school where he failed to disappoint. Summa Cum Laude efforts led to the swift hiring and escalation of status within a reputable communications corporation, and to everyone he worked with, he was known as Dr. Sandhill. Nine years after his first day on the job, he had only one boss, and she was the CEO.

After a gratifying week of work, Dr. Thomas Sandhill allowed his technical assistant and clerical secretary to start the weekend early. It had been a long week for his subordinates, who knew what they were getting into when they accepted the job. Their boss was the authority and chief deterrent to cyber terrorism for over a dozen corporations, and working with him was a privilege in of itself. At seven o’clock, Dr. Sandhill locked the door to his office, set the electronic alarm, and assured everyone whom he saw from his office to his vehicle that he would see them Monday and wished them a happy weekend. He proceeded out of the parking garage and turned his usual left-hand turn toward home.

Followed.

He was looking forward to a hearty Friday night dinner and a two-day trip to the Grand Canyon with his two young children. He felt that his son and daughter had finally reached the age when they could appreciate the natural beauty that the famous wonder of the world had to offer. He was staring lazily at the familiar road ahead, and imagined the joy that he would feel when he saw the look on little Benjamin and Loretta’s face, when they looked upon the amazing phenomenon of natural history.

Unfortunately, he failed to notice anything suspicious about the vehicle following directly behind, even though it had been on his tail now for over five blocks. The doctor had reason not to notice, as he was a carefree man. He had a seven-figure bank account, a loving family, and he had not wronged a soul to get them. He had hardly committed a transgression of any kind since cheating on a graduate school exam over a decade ago. Since this scholastic infidelity, he had atoned by being an honest coworker, diligent husband and father, and supporter of several organizations in his greater community; providing everything from college scholarships to legal counsel for under-privileged youngsters. Awards and acknowledgments for his contributions were positively strewn upon the mantelpiece of his imported marble fireplace.

The doctor was a carefree man. Which explains why he did not notice anything until it was too late.

As Dr. Sandhill slowly approached a four-way stop, the gold Ford Taurus behind him sped around his car on his right and spun sharply to the left, screeching to a halt in front of his BMW. He watched as the driver stepped out of the car and walked toward his vehicle.

Dr. Sandhill thought for a moment, slightly confused that maybe he had done something wrong and wondering what it possibly could have been. The time that he stared and contemplated were precious seconds lost, as he could have used them to save his own life.

Instead, the man encountered the car.

Dr. Sandhill examined the stranger with a timid curiosity and was relieved by the mannerisms and facial appearance of the man walking toward him. Despite his aggressive driving, he did not appear to be angered or bothered in any way. In fact, he had a light-hearted half smirk as he approached, arms bent with both hands inside the pockets of his aged and worn tan leather jacket. As soon as the doctor began to wonder why the man was wearing such excessive clothing on such an evening in the hot desert, the half smirk faded away. It became a smug, piercing stare as he withdrew his right arm out of the pocket to reveal a shining grey handgun. The man raised the gun and pointed it between the eyes of Dr. Sandhill.

OPEN THE DOOR, SAID the man from the Taurus, with an implied warning against defiance.

Dr. Sandhill did as instructed, mindless with fright. All of his education and life experiences were useless, as he manically attempted to find a solution to his current predicament. In the end, he just shut off his engine and opened his door and did what he was told. Twenty seconds later, he was sitting in the passenger side of the man’s Taurus, staring at a picture of his family.

The photo, scotch-taped to the dashboard, was not the type he was used to seeing. His wife and two kids were not posing or smiling, or even aware that a photograph was being taken. It took him a brief moment to realize that the picture had been taken at a shopping mall of some sort, while his family was there without him. His fright turned quickly into a panicked terror as he stared at his family, wondering what was happening, but too scared to ask.

The driver slowly accelerated from the four-way stop with the gun pointed at his captive with his left hand. Then he spoke again. This is very simple, Tom. Do what I tell you, and I won’t hurt them. You don't, I’ll kill them. After I have a little fun with them first, of course. Your wife is a beautiful woman. And your daughter, my God. I’ve been enjoying this for a while now, the man reached into his jacket pocket with his steering hand and handed his captive a highly zoomed photograph. It was a picture of his daughter’s breasts, revealed nicely through a red bikini top.

Dr. Sandhill was completely speechless. He attempted to plead with the man pointing a gun at his chest and threatening his family, but could not. This is probably what an asthma attack feels like, he thought, combined with extreme panic. Saying a single word seemed impossible as the doctor attempted to simply continue his breathing.

Then it got worse.

You’re a smart man, Tom. I’m sure, albeit it is not your area of expertise, you could think of many different ways an adult male could defile and impair a thirteen-year-old girl. I can assure you, Tom, however many you could think of ... and how awful they might seem to be ... I can think of more. I’ve thought of them, I’ve done them, and I will do them again. The only question is, who will be next? Certainly, you wouldn’t like your pretty little daughter to reach the top of my to-do list. I have this new idea, which you might find to be of interest. It involves a young prickly pear cactus and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

He had to say something. The doctor choked up as much as he could and finally was able to say, Please, I don’t know what you—  

Crack.

Dr. Sandhill was interrupted by the butt of the pistol, as it was quickly exchanged to the driver’s right hand and smashed into his left eye socket. The pain was shattering. Dr. Sandhill groaned in agony as he cleared the tears streaming from his punctured eye socket.

I didn’t ask you to speak, and I guarantee you, I never will. I’m not interested in your verbal skills. Now, open the glove box, the driver said, and do not speak again.

Dr. Sandhill closed his eyes and sobbed quietly as he obeyed his abductor’s demands. After fumbling for the hatch, he noticed inside the glove compartment was one sole object.

Put them on, the man said, as he nodded toward the pair of sunglasses.

Through one tear moistened eye, Dr. Sandhill noticed they looked different. They had black electrical tape layered on the inside of the lenses.

Put them on and push them close to your face.

Dr. Sandhill obeyed and used his right index finger to push the metal bar between the lenses tight against the bridge of his nose. He could not see anything; blind as a bat. He could only hear, as his malicious chauffeur passed the time by telling him past stories of adolescent rapes, assaults, and subjugations. He rode blinded and in pain for thirty minutes, saying nothing, in a pitch-black nightmare. Then finally, the car made a few slow turns and came to a stop.

Wait here, the man said, as he got out and shut his door.

Dr. Sandhill could hear him walk around the back of the car and open his door. The man grabbed his right forearm and led him like a blind man. An innocent passerby would have commended him for catering to a disabled person. The captive was led inside the house and onto a chair.

Take off the glasses.

Dr. Sandhill did as he was told and finally began to understand why he had been abducted. He was staring at a computer. Clearly an expensive set up. The man told him where to go and what to do. Dr. Sandhill again obeyed. His abductor was watching him work and saw him go from nervous and bumbling to focused and determined. He did not notice that his captive saw something on the corner of the desk with the corner of his good eye; something useful.

Good, the captor said. You need to be focused, there's a lot riding on it. Your family, most of all.

Even with the use of one eye, Dr. Sandhill worked well and did everything he was told to do in twenty-two minutes, as well as something else that he was not told to do, which took him an extra four minutes. He was sweating and breathing heavily, nervous that his additional work might be observed.

He told his abductor everything that he wanted to know and was thanked for his unpaid overtime, then bludgeoned on top of the head with the gun used to abduct him. He was then dragged by the arms into a garage and laid carefully onto a prepared plastic platform. His attacker covered his chest with several old bath towels and grabbed a silencer extension to his handgun from a drawer inside a tool chest. He carefully applied the silencer to the gun and walked over to his captive.

He waited.

He did not need to. It was just what he preferred to do. He stood over Dr. Sandhill’s body for eleven minutes before he came to.

With a bleeding scalp and one useless eye, Dr. Sandhill struggled to get up but was grounded helplessly by the heavy boot of his captor pushing against his chest. In vain, he grabbed at the leg of the man towering over him. He reached and grabbed and squirmed with all of his strength before the man extended his gun and shot him in the chest.

The silencer did not completely conceal the sound of the gun. They never do. Anyone outside and close enough to the garage to be able to hear anything would convince themselves of a normal reason for the noise. No reason to assume that it was a gunshot; perhaps it was someone loudly beating a rug, or pounding a mallet. Maybe the nice man was building furniture for his blind friend.

The man stood over his victim and watched intently as Dr. Sandhill struggled to breath. Convulsing and choking, with specks of blood flying from his mouth, in dying pain, Dr. Sandhill slowly let out his last few gasps of air as his killer watched the life and light leave the eyes of another victim.

Afterward, the man covered his victim's body with more towels and rolled the body in plastic and completely mum-mified it with duct tape. He then set about disposing of it out of town, traveling north, then west, in the barren desert outside of Phoenix, Arizona.

Two

Tyler Hawke was finishing up with a regular Saturday on the job, competing in the third round of a professional golf tournament. According to his standards, he had played decently by shooting one stroke under par for the round, putting him at three strokes under par for the tournament. Currently, Ty was six strokes off the lead and tied for eighth place and looking at a respectable payday after he finished up on Sunday. He was a realistic man who knew that not every tournament could be won. He would never openly admit it, but over the past few years he had become lenient to the mentality that directed most workers around the world; the simple pattern of showing up to work on time, performing adequately, and collecting a paycheck. The natural ability that Ty was blessed with, combined with his previous hard work and dedication, was more than enough to make sure he made the money rounds each and every week in which he stepped onto a golf course.

He was not necessarily proud of the fact that he had placed his once insatiable drive to be dominant on the backburner and replaced that with the comfortable and predictable lifestyle to which he had become accustomed, but he was not exactly ashamed of it either. He knew that in order to arrive at the next level, he would need further practice and training. He ignored these impulses to remain in his pleasure seeking, female attracting, worry free way of life he so very much enjoyed. He knew something would jumpstart him once again, he just did not know what.

In the meantime, he was more than satisfied with being a twenty-seven-year-old man who played golf for a living, and not behind bars, which is where he would likely be if certain dark and hidden pieces of his past were to come to light.

He completed the walk from the 18th hole to the club-house. It was a regular summer day, by Phoenix standards, with low humidity and high temperatures. He was damp with sweat and had gone through at least five towels and four Gatorades to combat the elements, a battle that Ty considered he was winning. He had lived in Arizona most of his life and was more than acclimated to the desert conditions. Ty considered it an advantage over his competition. He pulled open the clubhouse door and felt the rush of cold air as he stepped onto the battered entry carpet, made so from countless confrontations with blunt metal spikes. He walked past the retail counter with a half-smile and a nod to the familiar faces looking in his direction.

This was the third time he saw the bright young men and women and weathered club professional in the past four hours and felt no need to strike further conversation. They knew Ty was a good man who enjoyed their company, but also knew that Ty was not in the running to win the tournament and probably did not want to talk about it.

He walked through the large clubhouse, weaving through the labyrinthine set-up of golf apparel racks and advertisements toward the corner offices, an intentional design by the club pro to conceal the fact that clerical duties were necessary at a place like a golf course. Ty said his second hello of the day to the events coordinator and signed his scorecard, finalizing his mediocre round.

Any eagles today? he was asked.

Missed one from twenty-three feet, he answered; then bragged, drove the green on twelve, though.

Ty smiled off the compliments gained by hitting the three hundred and seventy-yard drive required to reach the twelfth green from the black tee boxes and excused himself from the tiny office, making his way to the course bar and grill to allow himself a few cold beers and a prime rib sandwich after a long day of work in the heat.

Three

It was not a longstanding tradition, but it was becoming one, because he enjoyed it thoroughly. It was also quite lucrative. The seemingly peaceful man walked around his target area for over three hours, looking for the right one, watching and waiting. The waiting part was crucial. He had to make sure he chose correctly the first time. Second tries are not a luxury in his line of work. He found one separating from the pack. She was ideal in terms of age, height, weight, and proportions.

He would time it perfectly. He made the correct adjustments to his idle walking pattern and set up step-for-step beside her.

Oops he said, as he bumped into her. So sorry.

The girl felt a slight tick in her lower back, but she dismissed it immediately to acknowledge the pleasant looking man that had just accidentally collided with her.

That’s okay, she replied. The man looked at her for a few seconds with anticipation in his eyes.

Walk with me, he said, as he placed his hand gently on the center of her back, to guide her toward his destination.

The girl thought about the request. Then she thought about her friends she had been shopping with ... then a long pause ... then she could not think at all.

Let’s go, he said with a smile, and walked confidently as she followed a few inches behind his pace. After a few steps, he reached into the right pocket of his worn leather jacket.

Put these on, he said.

The young girl obeyed the request and grabbed the brand-new pair of dark shaded glasses from his grasp and put them on, barely breaking her stride. They looked great on the attractive young girl. They should, as they were selected for someone with her style and size.

They walked together out of the building and into the parking lot, toward the man's vehicle. Then, like a friend, a father, or a gentleman would, he opened the passenger side for her before he guided her into the seat. Then the pleasant look on the man’s face once again faded away and transformed to an ugly, twisted snarl. He locked the door from the outside and walked around to the back and opened the rear door and climbed in. The two back seats had been removed to make for plenty of room. Then, like a flesh hungry, demented fiend, he snatched her from her seat and dragged her into the back-cargo space and slammed her down onto her back. He struggled with her tight shorts until they were pulled down far enough to rape her. It was done without a struggle, which technically discounts the true meaning of what he was doing; but rape was exactly what it was, along with assault and battery. She was a thirteen-year-old girl.

Afterward, he crept up to the driver’s seat and drove out of the parking lot. Off toward his last stop and finishing his day’s work.

It was not a longstanding tradition,