Instrument
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It all seemed easier that Manny had imagined. It certainly helped that he had a well-thought-out plan to follow. A plan that he would never have been able to formulate. Not in a million years.

Dorian’s car had broken down almost exactly where the Client had told him it would. In a place so isolated and dark that nobody would see his van pull up to offer assistance, then drug the unsuspecting trust fund prep boy, and bundle him into the back. And then a driving route from there that avoided all roadside cameras while putting serious distance between the abduction site and the cabin. And that cabin in such a perfect location – again isolated and private. The Client had thought of everything.

He knew from the moment that Dorian came to, he must be worth real money. Manny had no knowledge of available rich people. He was strictly muscle. The only problem was that, after the last hostage taking everybody knew that he was the muscle with a heart. His gentle kindness for that victim (teenage heiress Reba Halverson) had seen him arrested and convicted. Fortunately, Reba was happy to tell the Court that he was not a principal. Her coming before the judge and thanking him for his compassion during her ordeal, had won for him a lighter sentence, but lost him his friends in crime.

Still, any conviction and even a brief spell in lock-up, does not help in finding employment. And even the opportunity to re-engage in crime seemed lost. He was stuck with waiting in line for casual labor. Until he was contacted by the Client.

Even in contacts the Client was very careful. Initial contact was a package containing a phone. A phone and a fake driver’s license with his picture on, and a $10 note with “turn on the phone” written on the back in black marker. He switched it on and immediately there was a series of messages for him to read.

The first explained that this phone was did not have a call out function and could only receive messages from a concealed origin. Those messages were to give him the opportunity to make a lot of money. The second told him that if he wanted to accept the job, he would need to use $10 to open an account at a bank nearby using the name on the fake ID, and an address and phone number. As it turned out the address was an unoccupied apartment only a block away from the release hostel, and the number was of the phone he was holding.

It was not the first time that Manny was left to weigh the options. Should he risk his liberty yet again? If he had any other option it would have been easy to say no, but after a few months out of custody, things were not looking good. He had only a couple of weeks of physical reporting left and then it was just telephone calls to his probation officer, but nothing would change. He was tall, dark and handsome, but that does not pay the bills.

He went to the bank to open the account. It turns out they were expecting him. There were funds due for deposit. In fact, a weekly payment. A payment that he received had received every week since. Better than enough to live on, especially now he was living in the cabin. With his prisoner.

The following messages gave him instructions in precise detail. His target was identified – Dorian Hazlehurst, the son of some industrialist, whatever that is. There was background that Manny largely disregarded, the key information was the date and time of the abduction and knowing how to keep him for a good length of time, in the cabin.

Manny did not have to buy a vehicle. He was given the location the van he was to use. He was told that he could unlock it with his phone – he had no idea you could do such a thing. There were standard ignition keys inside, and in the back the drug and plastic zip ties he would be using, and a wooden “coffin” for the prone young man.

He took the van to visit the Cabin instructed, driving along the route where the abduction would take place, and following the shortest route to the Cabin. The gravel road surface was good, but there was low-hanging brush that should discourage other vehicles form entering. The Cabin was concealed but had a view over the valley, and the approach from the main road.

Inside the Client had equipped it well. There were gas cylinders for the stove and heating, the water tank was full, and so was the larder and the refrigerator, powered by an overhead line that disappeared over the ridge behind the Cabin. On either side of the fireplace were two bedrooms, one marked in chalk with the letter ‘M’ and the other with the letter ‘D’. The only difference was that the D Room had a barred window and direct access to the small bathroom.

The bedrooms were of no interest to Manny. As instructed, he spent time exploring the outside, looking for possible escape routes for a potential prisoner, and also for lines of approach by anybody who might attempt an assault on the Cabin. His conclusion? The Client had chosen well.

So when he pulled up to the Cabin that night a few days later, and carried the unconscious Dorian into his allocated room, he felt comfortable. All he had to do was wait. It was over to the Client to collect the ransom, and he would receive his payment. When the time came, he would drive the van to pick up spot, wipe it down, and get away quietly. There was no link to him. He just needed to come up with a plan to ensure that he got paid.

Manny was not the brightest intellect on the planet, but he knew enough that the Client might get away without him receiving his share. He would have said as much if he could speak with him. The problem was that he could only communicate by actions. He opened the bank account, he collected the car, and he visited the Cabin, and he somehow knew that all of these acts would be observed. But he had questions that could not be answered. The main one was: “How do I know that I will get paid?”.

The whole anonymous client thing was a worry, but it made sense to Manny. He knew that in any criminal enterprise it is the accomplices that put you at risk. He presented no risk to the Client as long as he did not know him. Smart.

His job was to ensure that Dorian could never identify him – Manny. That meant no talking (and he had nobody to talk to, even over the phone) and Dorian never seeing his face. He had a ski-mask to use when the door was opened. Not talking might be a problem.

He had decided that he would dislike Dorian from the very beginning. It was obvious that the kid was a spoiled brat of the worst kind. He was 19 years old but could have been thirteen, with that boyish hairless face and longish mop of light brown hair. He refused to eat at first. He kept talking about how Manny would be in trouble, that his father would pay to hunt Manny down, and that he would suffer for taking Dorian Hazlehurst from his family.

But it had to be about money. It was just that as Manny explained to Dorian: “I’m not negotiating and neither are you. It’s between your father and my associate.” Although Manny really had no idea what was going on.

There was a TV in the Cabin, but mainly for playing Blue ray. The signal for broadcast news was poor but Manny picked up enough to know that he was in the middle of a shit storm. The son of wealthy Industrialist David Hazlehurst, had been kidnapped. Mr. Hazlehurst was denying that he had been approached with a ransom demand, but Manny knew that this might not be true.

Sure enough, the Client sent a message to say that there would need to be “proof of life” but as the Client said: “That will be accompanied by proof of our resolve.” But if Manny thought that he would now be meeting his client, he was about to be disappointed.

The instruction that followed, he followed. He left the Cabin and drove into the city for the day, visiting the Bank and also his probation officer. He told the officer that he was now employed and that details of his employment would be sent through. He was intent on staying clean this time, was the story.

It was darkness by the time he got back to the Cabin. On the table to piece of paper that he had left for the Client was still there. Over his words “How do I know that you will pay me when I release this guy?” his client had written in block letters: “YOU WILL BE PAID BEFOREHAND”.

There was sulking coming from Dorian’s room. Manny wondered if he had been fed. He pulled on his ski mask and opened the door.

It was dusk and the light was dim. On the bed sat a figure dressed in a frilly pink dress. As the head lifted Manny could see by the light of the living room behind him that it was Dorian, with streaks of tear drenched mascara running down his face, and red lipstick smudged by the hands that had been holding his face. Dorian howled: “He’s taken on of my balls!”

There were pale pink stockings too, pulled down below the knee, and in the crotch that Dorian was displaying to him, was a bulky bandage and just the tiniest spot of blood red visible.

“Sorry, Man,” said Manny. “This was not my call.”

“He took an image of me like this,” Dorian sniffed. “He says that I have to dress as a girl until my father pays, and if he doesn’t pay within a week, I will lose the other ball and my willie too.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Manny reassured him. Then he suddenly realized that by saying those words he was going down the same track as he had before. And where did that end up? He simply said: “Call out if you want something to eat” as he closed the door.

The sulking continued through the night. Manny could hear it through the wall between the two bedrooms. It seemed to Manny that the Client was a vicious man, but with some thought in this cruelty. He had seen this David Hazlehurst on TV. Yes, the thought of having his son un-manned might be the hammer needed to crack a nut like that. Yes, a picture of his son dressed as a sissy might be a trigger. Who can say?

In the morning he went into Dorian’s room to check on him. He was changing the dressing on his scrotum. Manny dared not look but he saw enough to confirm that story. The Client had apparently left a box with disinfectant, cleansing cotton swabs and fresh dressings.

Beside the bed was box of women’s clothes. The clothes that Dorian had been picked up in, and the overalls and sweaters that he had worn over the past days, were gone. The only shoes were women’s shoes, all with high heels.

“I guess you don’t have much choice,” said Manny. “But I guess with only shoes like that, you are not going to be able to run far, so come on out into the living room.” He felt that it was the least he could do. This guy had been mutilated. Was that really necessary? What sort of a person was this client of his?

Manny went over the kitchen to check the coffee he had brewed and look to cooking up some eggs and bacon. He was surprised to see than when Dorian emerged from his room, he was wearing shoes, even though walking in them looked difficult. Manny now saw that his hair had been arranged in some kind of feminine style from the night before. Even the morning after there were traces of hair lacquer which seemed to catch the morning sun coming in.

He could see that Dorian was enjoying the sun that had been denied him. He turned to Manny and said: “Thank you.” He was forcing a smile despite the pain.

Manny smiled back, but nothing was visible through the ski mask. Despite his discomfort Dorian found himself amused by the sight, this tall man, physically powerful in jeans and a tee-shirt, holding a coffee pot in one hand and a frying pan in the other, and wearing a ski mask.

“How do you like your eggs?”

He ate with her. She could not help but smile when she saw him roll up the mask to eat his food. She saw the strong jaw, a few days unshaven.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Dorian.

“I want you to know that I had nothing to do with that,” Manny said. “I am like, just guarding you. Just stopping you from getting away. That’s what I do. If they ask me to hurt you, I am not going to do it. If you try to get away you might get hurt, but that’s not what I want. Don’t try, OK?”

“OK,” said Dorian.

“I’m not doing the negotiation either, so don’t ask me about that. I’m not skinning this cat, I’m just holding the tail, OK? Do you understand?”

“I understand,” said Dorian.

“What they get for you is not my concern. There’s no use in talking to me about money. I have done my deal. Don’t try to bribe me to let you go. I am a man of my word. I always have been. I won’t be bought off. I am sorry, but I won’t. OK?”

“OK,” said Dorian.

“You can walk outside, but only on the veranda, OK? We are miles from anywhere here. You can’t run. I have put traps all around this place. Bear traps. You step in one of those and you are going to be badly hurt. I don’t want that. Christ, you’ve been hurt bad already.”

“Yes, I have,” said Dorian, looking down at his bandaged groin.

He did not feel like going outside then, but within a few days, he did.

He decided that he quite liked the sound of Manny talking. And Manny did like to talk. He wondered just how this person could be the hard man, the hired ruffian he was, when he was so clearly kind-hearted and talkative. They must be the very opposite of what a hardened criminal should be.

It was another ten days before Manny heard from the Client again. The message read: “Severed testicles as proof of life were not enough, so the next step must be more drastic. Lock him in tonight and leave the cabin tomorrow before dawn. Return next week before dawn on Friday. Additional funds have been paid. Enjoy a week off.”

Drastic did not sound good to Manny. What more could they do to this guy? Take his arms or his eyes?

But he followed instructions. That is what he did. that followed, he followed. He left the Cabin and drove into the city. He went to the Bank again, and his probation officer again. And then he went down to the little port he knew on the coast and spent a few days fishing.

He arrived back at the cabin in the middle of the night. He went to the door marked D and listened. The kid was in there. Sleeping maybe, but fitful. More pain perhaps. He felt sad for the boy.

He told himself that it would be morning soon, but he fell asleep in the armchair.

It was well into the morning when he pulled on his ski-mask and opened the locked door. Dorian was sitting on the bed. He was in bandages again, he could see. Fresh bandages in the groin and more bandages on the chest. And a taped dressing across the nose, and the forehead, and swollen lips. This kid had been slashed and beaten to a pulp.

“Are you OK?” said Manny. “Do you want some breakfast?”

The boy is bandages held up a pre-written sign on a shoebox lid: “FOR NOW, I CANNOT TALK”. Still he rose and shuffled into the living room.

It took a few days before he heard the voice. It surprised him. It was not the voice of this young man anymore. It was a woman’s voice – almost a little girl’s voice. Whispering at first, while the vocal cords recovered. And the first words that the voice said were: “I have been told that you must call me Diana.”

“What have they done to you?” he asked.

“By now they must have sent my penis with the current demand for the ransom money”.

Dorian’s parents had indeed received the ransom demands – three of them by that point. The second two demands had contained pieces of Dorian’s anatomy. The money was not a problem for Dorian’s parents, just the means of making payment. The method was confusing – perhaps over-complicated. David Hazlehurst and his wife were becoming increasingly desperate, but they had no choice but to wait for directions from the kidnappers.

And as they waited, so too did Manny, and with him, the person he now called Diana.

He helped her to attend to the surgical wounds. The forehead heeled quickly. The surgery had reduced the bone of the brow and pulled the scalp forward to meet further flesh pulled up from the sides. The effect was to give the hairline, with the hair itself now shoulder length, soft and shiny after washing.

The nose had been reduced in size, as had the chin, but the latter with surgery through the inside of the mouth.

Manny unwound the bandage on the chest which concealed surgical cups holding in place modest sized breast implants. He helped re-dress the incisions hidden by the fall of the breasts and to put on what Diana called “my first bra”.

But it was the groin that was the hardest thing to help with. There was nothing left. They pulled out yards of blood-soaked packing bandage. There was a box penis shaped objects with instructions marked “SMALLEST TO LARGEST” and details of what needed to be done. Manny let Diana do it.

One thing was clear to Manny: Diana was no longer male. He could never refer to her as “he” again.

He admired the way that Diana forced herself to smile through this ordeal. It was every man’s nightmare, but she was coping. He called her attitude “heroic”. She thanked him. She could see his eyes through the ski-mask and could see that he cared.

He suggested that she try to sing, although she said she could not.

“They have played around with your pipes,” he said. “Maybe you will be able to sing now.”

It was not a great success. They both laughed. So much that Diana felt pain in her groin, She winced. “I’m OK she said. I rather have a little pain and be laughing.”

He pulled off the ski-mask and said: “To hell with this, I’m going to kiss you.” And he did.

Of course, that changed everything, and they both knew it. She had now seen him. She could identify him, or at least describe him so that he could be identified. Manny’s mugshot would undoubtedly be in the first 20 put before her. The Halverson kidnapping. The same thing. He would go to jail, that was certain. And all for a kiss. How could he let a person in her position go free? How could he let her live?

But it was not just removing the ski-mask that caused the change in their relationship. It was the kiss as well. Because it was not just a passing kiss, or an affectionate kiss. It was a passionate kiss. It was the kiss that a man gives a woman. Because Manny was a man, and Diana was, now, a woman.

But of course, the obvious answer was that he could not let her go, because in his arms she has realized that is not what she wanted. She was not his prisoner. Maybe she had been once, but not recently. They shared a home together. A cabin in the woods. Living there at the request of the mysterious person who was the source of all the evil.

And where was the Client anyway? Or so Manny wondered. No contact for weeks. No news on TV. The kidnapping story was no longer news. Still no word that a ransom demand had been made. Just some old appeals for help to find “young prep-boy Dorian Hazlehurst” posted on the web. Was the client dead? Had there been a showdown with police when he tried to collect a ransom.

Manny told her everything. It seemed now that he might never get paid. But one thing was for sure, after all the pain that had been inflicted by the Client upon the person he had come to care more than anyone else in the World, he was not going to release her to him, ever. She was his now, if she wanted to be.

He said to her: “You are free now. Anytime you choose you can walk away. I am the prisoner now. I will never be free of you. You have captured me completely.”

The words were so beautiful from such an unsophisticated man, that she knew they must be true. She had come to know him. He was a talker but not gifted in his language. So, when words like that came out of his mouth she knew what it was. It was love. It was something she had dreamed about.

She let him make love to her. She let him enter her newly constructed passage after the final dilation had been done. It was a moment of pure joy for both of them.

Manny said that they needed to go. He had what money he had received, which was not much pending the final big payoff. He had spent little. A poor man such as he could be thrifty. They could go west. The could assume another identity. He could arrange that. They could live together. He could work. She could too, if she wanted. They could make love every night. They could be happy.

The Client would never find them.

But for Diana, things were a little more complicated. She had invested so much time and money in this plan. It was not about the money. It was about explaining to her father how Dorian was now irreversibly female, but not of his own making, and that David Hazlehurst would just have to accept it. His son was not a tranny, he was a victim, now irreversibly altered through no fault of his own.

The story would be that it was no weakness on Dorian’s part, no perversion or abnormality or something to shame his father – it had been forced upon him by this criminal – this big Latin bully, who may claim the involvement of an unidentified cohort. I was anticipated that this would be the story that Manny would tell, when he was caught – that he was following orders from this mysterious un-named “Client”.

But there was no client, and Dorian could not afford loose ends. That meant that he would have to say that there was nobody else. He could not have any suspicion raised that something else was going on. He would have to say that it was just Manny. He was the one who took his genitals and forcibly feminized him. Manny, the known kidnapper and extortionist. The sole villain.

But that was no longer an option. Because just like Manny, Diana had fallen in love. Something she had always dreamed of in secret – a woman’s love for a man.

Sure, her man was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but sometimes you cannot choose who you might fall in love with. She knew him. He was fundamentally a good person, and he was devoted to her. Those things mattered. Maybe they could live together as Manny wanted? Maybe they could disappear into the big country of ours and be happy out there somewhere?

One thing was sure. There would be no sending the man that she had come to love, back to prison. He belonged with her. Their fate was to be together. From then on.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2019