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He was becoming totally FUBAR. His entire sense of well being was falling apart. He had chosen this life of solitude, but now it would never do. He had to possess her, to have her love him in return. He had once accepted the fact that she would never be his; she was unattainable by a writ of God. She was destined to one day become an angel, had to. Regardless how much he desired her, he must never touch her, he was unworthy. She had for a time belonged to two others, but they had been fools and allowed her to escape. He worshipped the WATER she walked on and knew in his heart that should he ever reach for her he would drown in that holy water.

 He was aware that he should be content to adore her from afar, fantasy being his only release. To gaze on such beauty from up close would surely cause blindness to the beholder. To actually hold her in one’s arms...would bring upon instant death, of this he was certain.

What he was going to do came to him before the night of her twenty-first birthday. Sinda was giving a concert on National television in honor of the event. It was to be a celebration like no other before.

Faden had always believed she had been born on the day of his mother’s death for a reason. Perhaps God was making amends for allowing the tragedy to happen. The next day he started a special addition to his cabin. When he was finished he had a padded cell with roughly twenty by twenty feet of living space. The bars between the cell and the rest of the cabin were made out of one inch round stock. The three remaining walls were constructed of concrete blocks. The room was virtually escape proof for a novice to prison life. He stocked the bathroom with all the womanly stuff he could imagine, an electric razor among other items. The rest of the boudoir contained a bed, television set, stereo, recliner, and a vanity table. He used polished stainless steel above the sink in the bathroom, and the vanity table. As far as he could discern, the room was also suicide proof.

He took a shovel from the utility shed, and walked about three miles down river from where he lived. He began to dig in the center of a copse of cottonwood trees. He dug a pit in the sand some ten by twenty feet, by eight feet deep. He returned the next day with some lumber that he rafted down the river. He boxed in the excavation, and built a wooden top, which he camouflaged with sand. The door leading down into the cellar was masked with a mortar made of sand and leaves. The location of the hidey-hole would be all but impossible to find unless someone knew exactly where to look. Each day he would return to the cellar with more supplies. He soon had it stocked with enough food and medicine to sustain a small army if he so desired. Drinking water, 12-gauge shotgun shells in a variety of shot sizes, case after case of .22 caliber ammunition, a 12-gauge pump shotgun, and a Winchester .22 caliber lever-action rifle were some of the last items to be brought in. He then undertook his most difficult task to date… mastering his claustrophobia. Thoughts of Sinda Rilla, and how he was going to help her, aided him in this most trying of ordeals.

He cached bank hooks all up and down the river for catching fish. He purchased a sterno oven of the type that was supposed to be virtually smoke free. It was while he was making his purchases in town that he let on that he would soon be leaving for an extended hunting trip in Colorado. He pulled the ruse so that no one would come out to the cabin to visit. It was after he was satisfied everything was in order that he initiated the task of stalking Sinda Rilla.

It took a hefty chunk out of his savings to accomplish all of this, but he didn't care. His life was now for a single purpose, and that was to save Sinda from herself. By pretending to be someone he wasn't, he gained vital information about her from her second ex-husband (who just happened to be the executive producer of her recording studio and her own SIN record label) who also detested her, and was more than happy to divulge secrets about her nasty drug habit.

She procured her drugs from a character known as the Candyman. He supplied drugs to many of the entertainment people, but Sinda was by far his best customer. So good in fact that while she was on the road touring, he or one of his lackeys was always hanging around. 

It was the last night of her 1985 tour, and the concert was billed as her "Homecoming". She was playing to a sold out audience at the Oklahoma City fairgrounds. A blow with a baseball bat to the forehead of the Candyman took him out of the action. Faden assumed the ridiculous costume of the street dealer, stole the Candyman's car, and set out for the hotel Sinda would be spending the night in before heading to the ranch the following morning.

She was a bit leery when she discovered Faden in the car instead of the Candyman, but her addiction to the drugs outweighed her caution. She drew lines on the mirror from the glove box, never doubting for a moment the contents of the packet he had given her. Instead of cocaine, she snorted a mild dose of horse tranquilizer. The results were better than Faden could have hoped for. She was in such a state of exhaustion from the concert that she fell asleep immediately.

He drove the Candyman's car to where he had left his '63 Chevy pick-up. He very carefully carried her to the vehicle, laying her head gently on the pillow against the locked door on the passenger side. Due to her weight, and having precisely measured the dosage, he figured her to be out for somewhere in the neighborhood of three hours. Barring any unforeseen incident it would be more than enough time to reach his destination.

He drove safely and arrived at his cabin, without mishap, two and one-half hours later. He carried her limp body into the cell he had built especially for her, and laid her on the bed.

Sinda slept peacefully through the remainder of the night. Faden even managed to catch a few winks himself, only to be awakened early the next morning by the awfullest caterwauling he had ever heard in his entire life. Sinda missed her morning snootful of cocaine, and the whole world was damn well going to know about it. She called him every name in the book when she realized she was being held captive. She couldn't recall any of the events that transpired following the concert, nor did she care to. She exhausted her extensive vocabulary of expletives, and ran for the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the stainless steel serving as a mirror above the sink, and believed she had never looked worse. The uncontrollable nosebleed certainly wasn't in her favor.

Faden thought otherwise. He believed her to be gorgeous. She could root with the hogs and roll her hair in cow dung, and she would still be beautiful to him. He was saddened by her anger, but understood the emotion. He hoped and prayed that she would someday find it in her heart to forgive him.

He asked her if she would like something to eat when she returned to the living portion of her room, but after thirty minutes of shouting obscenities at him she had lain down on the bed, sobbing pathetically. He strolled outside because it tore the heart out of him to see her like this. An hour or so later he returned to find her sleeping once again. It wasn't the peaceful drug induced slumber of before, but was instead a tossing, turning affair. Sweat drenched her body, even though the room was relatively cool, and her hair was a tangled matted mess. She looked so pitiful that he had to leave the cabin again. It was six o'clock in the evening when he returned for the second time. She was in the bathroom throwing up. He felt so sorry for her, but knew there wasn't anything he could do. She had to do it cold turkey, or he feared it would all be for naught.

She refused to speak to him until 11:00 P.M., when she asked, "How much do you want?"

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