[Original Fic] Salvation is Created
Salvation is Created
Sydney Alexis
"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asked me, covering my shoulders with a blanket. It's a well rehearsed move. I'm sure that he has done it before. Probably several dozen times. It's programmed into them. Cover her up. Get her talking. Treat her kindly, but don't get emotionally involved. Sometimes they do try to get involved. They try to make me their latest case. Of course, this is all old hat for me. I've been down that road too many times and returned to this horrible place to even try running anymore. The memories of HIS punishments run deeper than just the scars on my body.
The first worker that tried to 'save' me actually made me cry. I was naïve enough to believe he could help. Of course, he was the first person that acted as though he genuinely cared. Some case worker he turned out to be; he returned me to the very people that sent me here. That was nearly what...six or seven years ago?
I feel someone touch my arm, suddenly it dawns on me that he is waiting for a response. I smile at him.
"May. My name is May."
"May..." he repeated, waiting for me to supply my last name. I allow my smile to widen. This time it is out of genuine humor. I know the game as well as he does. Processing all these girls will take hours. It will be morning before they get my loaded and brought to the station, and even longer before they fingerprint me and get a match back.
I look out amongst the gathered cars. Red and blue lights slicing through the night's darkness. The older girls are being herded onto a bus in handcuffs. A distance from them, Uniforms lean against their cars, watching the parade. Sick bastards are probably getting off on it. None of them stop to think why we're in this line of work.
I hear him clear his throat. Silently, I curse myself for letting my mind wonder. If I don't keep focused, I'll end up in more trouble than I already am.
"Just May," I finally say. I'm careful not to look at his face. I know the expression I will see in his eyes. It's always a mixture of concern and pity. Two emotions that I hate more than any other. Instead, I look down at my legs, marveling at how they still dangle above the street after all this time.
He uses the pause to gently take my arm out from beneath the blanket. "Well May, looks like this cut on your arm will need stitches."
I regard his face for a moment and look down at the forgotten wound. It's funny how you forget about the little things. Over the course of time, I suppose I've built up a certain tolerance to pain, or it's the adrenaline...
"I'm not going to the hospital. Just patch it up the best you can and I'll be on my way to the station house."
I'm playing the sympathy card heavily. He seems like the type that would fall for the damsel in distress. I do have to admit having some trouble reading him though. Might help if he did more than just nod his head.
He reached for a large container behind him. Same one I've seen a dozen times. Even without looking, I know what it looks like: red and white while a large handle. It has a gold latch on the front, and the case opens up like my father's fish and tackle box. With deft movements, he begins cleaning the blood from the gash on my arm. I vaguely feel a stinging sensation.
I look back at the building- my prison for the last ten years. They're bringing out Shannon's body down the front steps. Funny how small her body appears to be in that black bag. Of course, she never really weighed that much. Towards the end, she refused to eat. HE still had her with clients though. I wonder idly why they chose to make the coroner's van black. Out of respect for the dead? Or was their a discount on black paint that year.
"How old are you?" He asks finally. I look down at his progress. He's finishing up the last few wraps of gauze.
"Old enough," I reply, not trying to hide my disdain for his questions.
I see him nodding in peripheral vision. I can feel his eyes on me, studying my face. He's trying to guess my age. This one is a great deal more cunning than the last group that patched me up.
"Where are your parents?"
I've had enough of his questions. Gripping onto the blanket around my shoulders, I ease myself down off the back of his 'bus. Turning towards him, I give my reply.
"You want to hear a sob story? Go watch a soap opera. I'm not here to entertain you unless you plan on paying."
I hear my voice, the venom dripping from it, and, for a split second regret it. He was, after all, just doing his job. I turn from him, the 'accident' scene, and the colored lights and walk towards the street corner, hoping that I'll be able to slip into the night. No sooner do I reach the corner of the alley than of feel breath on my neck. My heart begins to beat faster of its own accord. Most uniforms announce themselves when they approach you. Girls that have been working too long get defense mechanisms built in. Assuming the worse, I turn to see a dark figure standing just far enough from the street lamp that I cannot make out a face.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I take a tentative step back. Distancing myself will lessen the sting of the blow I know is coming. "Look, Vinny, I had nothing to do with it. I tried to stop him, but I wasn't strong enough." I close my eyes and wait for the onslaught of pain.
I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I flinch involuntarily. "Who is Vinny?" I hear a deep voice whisper. I open my eyes in just enough time to see him step out into the light. The beams remove the shadow from his face. It's the medic, concern etched all over his face.
"I thought I'd lost you. Just leave me alone. Will ya?"
"Who is Vinny?" He asked again.
"Don't know who you're talking about."
"Look, don't play games with me. Just tell me who he is," he repeats, grabbing onto my arm.
My heart is pounding in my ears. I see his lips moving. I know I've missed something. I feel the walls moving in on me. He's gripping my shoulders now loosely, speaking softer than before. His hand goes to my cheek, my eyes lock on it.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
I feel him pull me close. I feel his arms wrap around me. I vaguely feel tears streaming down my face. I can feel my chest heaving. He's stroking my back, trying to comfort me. A siren blares in the distance. Suddenly, I become all too aware of who he is and who I am. I back away slowly. Regret etched on my face.
"I...I'm sorry."
I fold my arms in front of me. It's a vain attempt to regain some control. We both know it, but it puts more distance between he and I. Trusting him will only get me into more trouble than I already am.
"Don't worry about it."
I take another step back. I'm only a few feet from freedom. At least from the police. Vinny will probably kill me this time. He nearly did last time. It wasn't my fault this time. It wasn't. He was just too strong.
"Are hungry?"
I hear him ask it, and look up, wondering to whom he is speaking.
"It's about time for breakfast," he said, looking down at his watch. "I know a great place a few blocks from here. They have some great pancakes. Care to join me?"
"Breaking protocol, aren't you, Doc?"
He smiles at me, and I wonder if it's genuine. "You seem to know the rules as well as I do. I could just tell me I took you to the hospital."
"They'll check."
"Half way there you refused treatment. There was a traffic jam. Come on. It isn't that hard to fudge the records a little."
I smile at him again, wondering what is behind his offer of good faith. "Trying to rack up brownie points?"
He laughs. "Wrong group. I was a boy scout. Only the girls had brownies."
"Ah. So you're working on your good Samaritan badge?"
"No. I have that one already. I'm working on that tall, dark, handsome hero routine now."
It was my turn to laugh. I finally acknowledge my empty stomach. How many days has it been since I had a meal? I don't think sitting through his unproductive, informal questioning and sermon would kill me. Hadn't before.
"Well, Doc, looks like you got yourself a date."
He motions towards his 'bus, being careful to walk beside me. I draw the blanket around my shoulders a bit tighter, hoping none of the uniforms will stop us. I climb into the back, watching detactedly as he slammed the door shut behind us. He nodded towards his partner and turned his attention back to me.
I was already feeling more like myself, recalling both our positions in the grand scheme of things. In essence, I was the prey, Vinny was the hunter, and he was their to clean me up and send me back.
I pulled my legs up onto the narrow bench beneath the blanket and leaned my head down on top of my knees.
"You want to tell me how you got that cut?"
I sighed as my mind ran through the possible answers that Vinny programmed all his girls with. Which one would he buy the easiest? "Customer I was with when Shannon was hurt was into kinky stuff. He was willing to pay me extra, but I refused. He got mad and cut me."
"No other injuries?" He asked. I couldn't help but notice the professional tone his voice had taken.
"No."
The 'bus came to a slow halt. I heard the breaks squeak lightly, the front door slam, and footsteps approaching the back door. He partner swung it open, and looked straight at the man beside me.
"I'm going to head on back to the station, get some sleep. We were officially off duty four hours ago."
"All right. See you day after tomorrow," he replied, helping down out of the ambulance and into the caf�.
His idea of a caf� looked more like a run of the mill diner. A countertop was directly in front of us as we entered, booths to the left and right lined the rest of the space. Each one was situated next to a window.
The lights were dimmer than usual. Understandably so as it was the wee hours of the morning. My eyes slowly drifted through the place, scanning for patrons and a waitress.
"I'll be back," I muttered as I headed towards the restroom. The door behind me had almost closed when I heard my captor being greeted.
After locking the door behind me, I walked straight for the mirror. I have to admit that I look like hell. My hair was a mess. I have splatters of blood all over my face and clothes. Presumably, it was Shannon's. I reach out and turn on the water faucet, splashing cold water on my face. Drying my wet skin with a paper towel I'd retrieved from the dispenser.
I open my purse and retrieve the small hairbrush Vinny insisted that we keep. 'To look like a respectable woman at all times.' For once, I was glad I obey him.
The bristles stopped short of each knot as I worked to untangle them. I had to clean the strawberry blonde clumps of hair from the brush several times. I pulled an elastic band from the handle and wrapped my hair up into a ponytail.
Hair fixed. I reapplied my make-up, taking care to cover the old scar on my left cheek. I'd made the mistake of letting the last social worker see that one. Ms. Lawerence if my memory serves. She wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. She was, however, a trouble maker. Had the nerve to ask Vinny where I had gotten it from. He beat me well that night.
I regard my improved reflection in the mirror. As I reach up to tuck the tiny baby hairs that had fallen behind my ears, I note how badly my hands are trembling. How long had it been?
Replacing my brush and compact to my purse, my hand came into contact with a cold metal cylinder. I reached in and pull it out, unscrewing the it's cap. I put the flask to my lips and felt the cool liquid burn its way down. I would lie and tell myself it is only to soothe my nerves, but I know better now. I used to use it to keep me in a state of euphoria where my life isn't as out of control and empty. Now I use it because I have to to keep going. My hands finally stop shaking.
Drawing in a deep breath, I turn the latch on the door and let myself out into the main restaurant again. I tuck my purse beneath my arm and draw the blanket around my shoulders again. The last thing I need is the waitress to see my dress. The tight blue fabric is covered with Shannon's dried blood.
The booth he was seated at was the furthest away from the door. Its back was covered in a pale blue vinyl. The table itself had a white countertop that was infused with gold flecks of paint. At the head of the table, next to the window, was a standard, upright napkin dispenser, and, on either side, was the salt and pepper shakers. The venetian blinds of the diner were drawn shut.
As I approached him, he smiled at me. "You look better already," he said.
I returned his smile as I slipped into the seat across from him. For the first time that night, I actually looked at him. He was rather handsome: dark hair, brown eyes, fair complexion, a well kept goatee, and side burns. The latter he wore well, unlike a large number of men.
His uniform shirt was a dark navy and was covered with patches. His left shoulder bore the standard red cross symbol and his right the symbol of the Las Vegas station house he worked for. Finally, I noticed his name tag.
"Steven..." I tried the name aloud.
"Yes?"
"You didn't tell me your name earlier."
"You didn't either."
"Yes, I did. My name's May."
"Last time I treated you, it was April. Time before that, it was Jane Doe."
I frowned. I could have sworn he hadn't treated me before...
"You don't remember me do you?" He asked.
"What are you doing, reading my thoughts?"
He nodded his head slowly. "No. Both times you were in such bad shape that I'm not surprised you didn't notice. First time, you'd been beaten and had your throat slit. The second time, I found you in Central Park. You'd been beaten, raped, shot, and left for dead."
"He nearly succeeded that time," I said, thinking aloud.
I was clutching the warm mug that had been placed on the table. Staring down at the marshmallows that floated through the hot chocolate. I knew what was coming.
"How long have you been living in that house?"
I sighed. At least he refrained from calling it what it was...calling me what I was.
"A while," I said. The cat and mouse game was in full swing. What Steven was really asking was how long I'd been working for Vinny. Vincent Carmichael...the great drug king of this area of town. His reputation of ruthlessness for those that betray him is legendary. A few years ago, he expanded into gambling and prostitution. He was on every most wanted list in the country, but he has this amazing ability to get off on all charges.
"And before that?"
"Lots of places. I like to keep moving," I shift in my seat. I've been unable to meet his eyes. His own have been staring at me.
"I did too when I was a kid. My mom used to keep us happy with video games. I remember when pong was the game," he said, chuckling.
"At least your mom gave a damn," I said bitterly. Another slip. I was being far too truthful tonight.
"Does your mother know what you do?" Steven asked me so casually it almost didn't register as a dangerous question. Time to give a little more information until the waitress comes. Play along with his game or go hungry.
"Like I said; she doesn't give a damn. If she did, she'd've saved me by now rather than sending me back."
"Sending you back?" He parroted. Smooth. I have to give him that much.
"Long story that I don't like telling. Everyone's got a sob story. Other people are worse off than I am."
"But other people aren't sitting across from me."
Damn. The waitress is usually here by now. My hands start shaking again. I reach beneath the table and clutch onto my purse. I move to get up, but he reaches across the table.
"Drinking will only make it worse," he whispered in a firm voice.
"How would you know," I reply, retrieving the bottle in front of him, daring him. I opened it and placed it to my lips. There was a sadness in his eyes.
"Please don't," he said. There was something in his voice that made me stop.
"Fine," I muttered, recovering it and placing it back in my purse.
A waitress finally approached the table carrying two large plates. She set one in front of each of us. "Anything else?" she asked.
"No thank you," he finally replied, flashing her a fake smile.
I picked up the fork on the plate, and began eating. The pancakes were light and fluffy. Each mouthful served to ease my rumbling stomach.
"My father used to make me pancakes on Sundays before church when I was a little girl," I said, breaking the silence.
Steven stopped eating and smiled. "Sounds like you miss him."
"He was always good to me in those days."
"So what changed things?"
"Las Vegas."
"I don't follow," he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"When I was four or five, we moved here. My mother got a job working in one of the casinos as an accountant. My father couldn't find a job here. Money was fairly tight to begin with. Then, my mom found out she was pregnant with my little sisters, Erin and Carly. After they were born, everything started to fall apart. Every bill came due. First we lost both the cars. Then the electricity. My father told us we were living like the pioneers. Even made it into a game. After the power, went the gas and water. We had to 'borrow' water from our next door neighbor's garden hose.
"Then, the mortgage payments came past due..."
I stopped, taking a long sip of the cocoa before me. He was looking at me with such pity again. At least he was the first person to get me to open up. No doubt this would be added to a file somewhere.
"My father wasn't able to handle the stress. He disappeared. My mother was beside herself. She started drinking and beating me that was when she was sober enough to see me and stay standing. The rest of the time she was in bed and left me to take care of the twins. I think I was six at the time....Doesn't matter.
"The social workers came a few weeks later and put me into the custody of the state. My mother did well on her own. Cleaned up her act. They sent me to live with her again. That cycle happened on an off a dozen times before she fell into real trouble.
"I was ten or eleven at the time. She had incurred a rather large debt to Vincent Carmichael that she couldn't pay. Some of it was money she owed for drugs and some was just to keep the house because she'd lost her job.
"They came for her one night. They beat the hell out of her in front of me. She pleaded with them not to, but they did anyway. She was so damned weak...
"In the end, she traded my life for her own and a forgiveness of her debt. It seemed that Vinny was starting up a new section to his business, and, in a year or two, I would make a fine 'escourt.' He didn't wait a year or two."
I looked up at him for the first time during my whole story. He couldn't even meet my glance. I knew what was going through his mind. Same thing that they all had. Steven was struggling with disgust, horror, and shock all at the same time.
"I've been 'saved' a few times by men like you. They just give me back to my mother who promptly send me back to Vinny. He beats me when I get back. Each time is a little worse than the last. You've seen his handiwork first hand actually."
In the silence that follows, I finish the last of my meal and push the plate aside.
"So what are you going to do with me? Send me to the hospital so I can return to Vinny?"
"I don't know," he said, scrubbing his face.
"Or, you could look the other way while I slip out and back to the house. If I go back now, he won't beat me." I said, lying.
"What happened tonight? How did you really get that cut?"
"Dangerous questions, Steven. Do you really want the answer?"
"Yes," he said.
I didn't miss the thin glaze to his eyes. I have to give him credit; he was able to keep the tough guy act going well.
"Shannon and I were both picked to serve a customer tonight. Like I said, he was a little kinkier than the usual fair. Shannon got spooked when he started to tie her up. You see, Shannon's father used to tie her up and throw her into the basement with the rats... anyway, she got scared and tried to stop him. He got angry at her and pulled out a knife. Before I could get across the room, he was already on her, stabbing her, calling her a whore. Then he turned towards me. I ran towards the door, screaming, and pounding on it to be let out.
"Vinny...he keeps the door locked until the deed is done that way the customer has to pay in full for the services provided.
"The guy lunged at me and slit my arm just before the door came open. One of Vinny's thugs pulled the guy out back and drove him off the Littering Ground...that's where they hide all the bodies. I think it was Alex that called the cops."
I listened as the lie slipped out so easily, knowing he would expect me to repeat it to the cops. He also knew I'd never give up Vinny. I'd be dead before they finished typing up my statement.
He began rubbing his goatee again. I knew what the problem was; he had me in his care now- what was he going to do with me.
I pulled the blanket around my shoulders a little tighter. "Thanks for the meal. I've gotta get back."
"Wait."
"What?"
"Be straight with me. What will he do if you go back?"
I sighed. "When I was brought in, I was fresh meat. Worth $800 easy. The longer you work, the less you're worth. Shannon was newer than I was. I think she was only 12. Made her with more. I was supposed to protect her. I didn't. My life is forfeit. If I go back, he will, in all likelihood, kill me."
"Then you can't go back," he said, simply.
"If I don't, he'll have me hunted. As it is now, he probably has someone looking for all the girls."
Steven slipped out of the booth and stood beside me. I rose and smiled at him one last time.
"Thank you for breakfast," I said, moving towards the door. I was out on the street before he caught me.
"Where will you go?" He asked.
"Does it really matter?" I answered cryptically.
He let me go into the night, but he followed a distance behind. I walked out into the outskirts of town, clutching my purse to my side. I found a spot along the highway that was fairly dark, and sat down beside a cactus. I fumbled in my purse for the small vile I knew what there. I drank down the contents and laid down on the sand. For the first time in ages, I saw how truly beautiful the stars were.
I heard footsteps approach. "You don't give up do you, Steven?"
He sat down beside me, taking the bottle into his hands and smelling it. "I should get you to the hospital," he said.
"You could, but, when I was released, they would find me."
"You could have found another way. Hidden, changed your name..."
"They would have found me."
A pause as I found the constellations my father had taught me years before. I knew he was waiting to call in my death. One last act of kindness I suppose. He didn't want me to be left to the mercy of the animals.
"16," I said.
"What?"
"You asked me how old I was."
I heard him sigh.
"And my real name was Emily."
"It was nice to meet you Emily," he said, voice cracking a bit.
"Salvation is created, Steven. I'm ending my life before there is any more pain."
I saw him look over at me. "Promise me you won't call it in until I'm gone."
"I promise," I heard him say, just as the stars seemed to slip away.
Sydney Alexis
"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asked me, covering my shoulders with a blanket. It's a well rehearsed move. I'm sure that he has done it before. Probably several dozen times. It's programmed into them. Cover her up. Get her talking. Treat her kindly, but don't get emotionally involved. Sometimes they do try to get involved. They try to make me their latest case. Of course, this is all old hat for me. I've been down that road too many times and returned to this horrible place to even try running anymore. The memories of HIS punishments run deeper than just the scars on my body.
The first worker that tried to 'save' me actually made me cry. I was naïve enough to believe he could help. Of course, he was the first person that acted as though he genuinely cared. Some case worker he turned out to be; he returned me to the very people that sent me here. That was nearly what...six or seven years ago?
I feel someone touch my arm, suddenly it dawns on me that he is waiting for a response. I smile at him.
"May. My name is May."
"May..." he repeated, waiting for me to supply my last name. I allow my smile to widen. This time it is out of genuine humor. I know the game as well as he does. Processing all these girls will take hours. It will be morning before they get my loaded and brought to the station, and even longer before they fingerprint me and get a match back.
I look out amongst the gathered cars. Red and blue lights slicing through the night's darkness. The older girls are being herded onto a bus in handcuffs. A distance from them, Uniforms lean against their cars, watching the parade. Sick bastards are probably getting off on it. None of them stop to think why we're in this line of work.
I hear him clear his throat. Silently, I curse myself for letting my mind wonder. If I don't keep focused, I'll end up in more trouble than I already am.
"Just May," I finally say. I'm careful not to look at his face. I know the expression I will see in his eyes. It's always a mixture of concern and pity. Two emotions that I hate more than any other. Instead, I look down at my legs, marveling at how they still dangle above the street after all this time.
He uses the pause to gently take my arm out from beneath the blanket. "Well May, looks like this cut on your arm will need stitches."
I regard his face for a moment and look down at the forgotten wound. It's funny how you forget about the little things. Over the course of time, I suppose I've built up a certain tolerance to pain, or it's the adrenaline...
"I'm not going to the hospital. Just patch it up the best you can and I'll be on my way to the station house."
I'm playing the sympathy card heavily. He seems like the type that would fall for the damsel in distress. I do have to admit having some trouble reading him though. Might help if he did more than just nod his head.
He reached for a large container behind him. Same one I've seen a dozen times. Even without looking, I know what it looks like: red and white while a large handle. It has a gold latch on the front, and the case opens up like my father's fish and tackle box. With deft movements, he begins cleaning the blood from the gash on my arm. I vaguely feel a stinging sensation.
I look back at the building- my prison for the last ten years. They're bringing out Shannon's body down the front steps. Funny how small her body appears to be in that black bag. Of course, she never really weighed that much. Towards the end, she refused to eat. HE still had her with clients though. I wonder idly why they chose to make the coroner's van black. Out of respect for the dead? Or was their a discount on black paint that year.
"How old are you?" He asks finally. I look down at his progress. He's finishing up the last few wraps of gauze.
"Old enough," I reply, not trying to hide my disdain for his questions.
I see him nodding in peripheral vision. I can feel his eyes on me, studying my face. He's trying to guess my age. This one is a great deal more cunning than the last group that patched me up.
"Where are your parents?"
I've had enough of his questions. Gripping onto the blanket around my shoulders, I ease myself down off the back of his 'bus. Turning towards him, I give my reply.
"You want to hear a sob story? Go watch a soap opera. I'm not here to entertain you unless you plan on paying."
I hear my voice, the venom dripping from it, and, for a split second regret it. He was, after all, just doing his job. I turn from him, the 'accident' scene, and the colored lights and walk towards the street corner, hoping that I'll be able to slip into the night. No sooner do I reach the corner of the alley than of feel breath on my neck. My heart begins to beat faster of its own accord. Most uniforms announce themselves when they approach you. Girls that have been working too long get defense mechanisms built in. Assuming the worse, I turn to see a dark figure standing just far enough from the street lamp that I cannot make out a face.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I take a tentative step back. Distancing myself will lessen the sting of the blow I know is coming. "Look, Vinny, I had nothing to do with it. I tried to stop him, but I wasn't strong enough." I close my eyes and wait for the onslaught of pain.
I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I flinch involuntarily. "Who is Vinny?" I hear a deep voice whisper. I open my eyes in just enough time to see him step out into the light. The beams remove the shadow from his face. It's the medic, concern etched all over his face.
"I thought I'd lost you. Just leave me alone. Will ya?"
"Who is Vinny?" He asked again.
"Don't know who you're talking about."
"Look, don't play games with me. Just tell me who he is," he repeats, grabbing onto my arm.
My heart is pounding in my ears. I see his lips moving. I know I've missed something. I feel the walls moving in on me. He's gripping my shoulders now loosely, speaking softer than before. His hand goes to my cheek, my eyes lock on it.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
I feel him pull me close. I feel his arms wrap around me. I vaguely feel tears streaming down my face. I can feel my chest heaving. He's stroking my back, trying to comfort me. A siren blares in the distance. Suddenly, I become all too aware of who he is and who I am. I back away slowly. Regret etched on my face.
"I...I'm sorry."
I fold my arms in front of me. It's a vain attempt to regain some control. We both know it, but it puts more distance between he and I. Trusting him will only get me into more trouble than I already am.
"Don't worry about it."
I take another step back. I'm only a few feet from freedom. At least from the police. Vinny will probably kill me this time. He nearly did last time. It wasn't my fault this time. It wasn't. He was just too strong.
"Are hungry?"
I hear him ask it, and look up, wondering to whom he is speaking.
"It's about time for breakfast," he said, looking down at his watch. "I know a great place a few blocks from here. They have some great pancakes. Care to join me?"
"Breaking protocol, aren't you, Doc?"
He smiles at me, and I wonder if it's genuine. "You seem to know the rules as well as I do. I could just tell me I took you to the hospital."
"They'll check."
"Half way there you refused treatment. There was a traffic jam. Come on. It isn't that hard to fudge the records a little."
I smile at him again, wondering what is behind his offer of good faith. "Trying to rack up brownie points?"
He laughs. "Wrong group. I was a boy scout. Only the girls had brownies."
"Ah. So you're working on your good Samaritan badge?"
"No. I have that one already. I'm working on that tall, dark, handsome hero routine now."
It was my turn to laugh. I finally acknowledge my empty stomach. How many days has it been since I had a meal? I don't think sitting through his unproductive, informal questioning and sermon would kill me. Hadn't before.
"Well, Doc, looks like you got yourself a date."
He motions towards his 'bus, being careful to walk beside me. I draw the blanket around my shoulders a bit tighter, hoping none of the uniforms will stop us. I climb into the back, watching detactedly as he slammed the door shut behind us. He nodded towards his partner and turned his attention back to me.
I was already feeling more like myself, recalling both our positions in the grand scheme of things. In essence, I was the prey, Vinny was the hunter, and he was their to clean me up and send me back.
I pulled my legs up onto the narrow bench beneath the blanket and leaned my head down on top of my knees.
"You want to tell me how you got that cut?"
I sighed as my mind ran through the possible answers that Vinny programmed all his girls with. Which one would he buy the easiest? "Customer I was with when Shannon was hurt was into kinky stuff. He was willing to pay me extra, but I refused. He got mad and cut me."
"No other injuries?" He asked. I couldn't help but notice the professional tone his voice had taken.
"No."
The 'bus came to a slow halt. I heard the breaks squeak lightly, the front door slam, and footsteps approaching the back door. He partner swung it open, and looked straight at the man beside me.
"I'm going to head on back to the station, get some sleep. We were officially off duty four hours ago."
"All right. See you day after tomorrow," he replied, helping down out of the ambulance and into the caf�.
His idea of a caf� looked more like a run of the mill diner. A countertop was directly in front of us as we entered, booths to the left and right lined the rest of the space. Each one was situated next to a window.
The lights were dimmer than usual. Understandably so as it was the wee hours of the morning. My eyes slowly drifted through the place, scanning for patrons and a waitress.
"I'll be back," I muttered as I headed towards the restroom. The door behind me had almost closed when I heard my captor being greeted.
After locking the door behind me, I walked straight for the mirror. I have to admit that I look like hell. My hair was a mess. I have splatters of blood all over my face and clothes. Presumably, it was Shannon's. I reach out and turn on the water faucet, splashing cold water on my face. Drying my wet skin with a paper towel I'd retrieved from the dispenser.
I open my purse and retrieve the small hairbrush Vinny insisted that we keep. 'To look like a respectable woman at all times.' For once, I was glad I obey him.
The bristles stopped short of each knot as I worked to untangle them. I had to clean the strawberry blonde clumps of hair from the brush several times. I pulled an elastic band from the handle and wrapped my hair up into a ponytail.
Hair fixed. I reapplied my make-up, taking care to cover the old scar on my left cheek. I'd made the mistake of letting the last social worker see that one. Ms. Lawerence if my memory serves. She wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. She was, however, a trouble maker. Had the nerve to ask Vinny where I had gotten it from. He beat me well that night.
I regard my improved reflection in the mirror. As I reach up to tuck the tiny baby hairs that had fallen behind my ears, I note how badly my hands are trembling. How long had it been?
Replacing my brush and compact to my purse, my hand came into contact with a cold metal cylinder. I reached in and pull it out, unscrewing the it's cap. I put the flask to my lips and felt the cool liquid burn its way down. I would lie and tell myself it is only to soothe my nerves, but I know better now. I used to use it to keep me in a state of euphoria where my life isn't as out of control and empty. Now I use it because I have to to keep going. My hands finally stop shaking.
Drawing in a deep breath, I turn the latch on the door and let myself out into the main restaurant again. I tuck my purse beneath my arm and draw the blanket around my shoulders again. The last thing I need is the waitress to see my dress. The tight blue fabric is covered with Shannon's dried blood.
The booth he was seated at was the furthest away from the door. Its back was covered in a pale blue vinyl. The table itself had a white countertop that was infused with gold flecks of paint. At the head of the table, next to the window, was a standard, upright napkin dispenser, and, on either side, was the salt and pepper shakers. The venetian blinds of the diner were drawn shut.
As I approached him, he smiled at me. "You look better already," he said.
I returned his smile as I slipped into the seat across from him. For the first time that night, I actually looked at him. He was rather handsome: dark hair, brown eyes, fair complexion, a well kept goatee, and side burns. The latter he wore well, unlike a large number of men.
His uniform shirt was a dark navy and was covered with patches. His left shoulder bore the standard red cross symbol and his right the symbol of the Las Vegas station house he worked for. Finally, I noticed his name tag.
"Steven..." I tried the name aloud.
"Yes?"
"You didn't tell me your name earlier."
"You didn't either."
"Yes, I did. My name's May."
"Last time I treated you, it was April. Time before that, it was Jane Doe."
I frowned. I could have sworn he hadn't treated me before...
"You don't remember me do you?" He asked.
"What are you doing, reading my thoughts?"
He nodded his head slowly. "No. Both times you were in such bad shape that I'm not surprised you didn't notice. First time, you'd been beaten and had your throat slit. The second time, I found you in Central Park. You'd been beaten, raped, shot, and left for dead."
"He nearly succeeded that time," I said, thinking aloud.
I was clutching the warm mug that had been placed on the table. Staring down at the marshmallows that floated through the hot chocolate. I knew what was coming.
"How long have you been living in that house?"
I sighed. At least he refrained from calling it what it was...calling me what I was.
"A while," I said. The cat and mouse game was in full swing. What Steven was really asking was how long I'd been working for Vinny. Vincent Carmichael...the great drug king of this area of town. His reputation of ruthlessness for those that betray him is legendary. A few years ago, he expanded into gambling and prostitution. He was on every most wanted list in the country, but he has this amazing ability to get off on all charges.
"And before that?"
"Lots of places. I like to keep moving," I shift in my seat. I've been unable to meet his eyes. His own have been staring at me.
"I did too when I was a kid. My mom used to keep us happy with video games. I remember when pong was the game," he said, chuckling.
"At least your mom gave a damn," I said bitterly. Another slip. I was being far too truthful tonight.
"Does your mother know what you do?" Steven asked me so casually it almost didn't register as a dangerous question. Time to give a little more information until the waitress comes. Play along with his game or go hungry.
"Like I said; she doesn't give a damn. If she did, she'd've saved me by now rather than sending me back."
"Sending you back?" He parroted. Smooth. I have to give him that much.
"Long story that I don't like telling. Everyone's got a sob story. Other people are worse off than I am."
"But other people aren't sitting across from me."
Damn. The waitress is usually here by now. My hands start shaking again. I reach beneath the table and clutch onto my purse. I move to get up, but he reaches across the table.
"Drinking will only make it worse," he whispered in a firm voice.
"How would you know," I reply, retrieving the bottle in front of him, daring him. I opened it and placed it to my lips. There was a sadness in his eyes.
"Please don't," he said. There was something in his voice that made me stop.
"Fine," I muttered, recovering it and placing it back in my purse.
A waitress finally approached the table carrying two large plates. She set one in front of each of us. "Anything else?" she asked.
"No thank you," he finally replied, flashing her a fake smile.
I picked up the fork on the plate, and began eating. The pancakes were light and fluffy. Each mouthful served to ease my rumbling stomach.
"My father used to make me pancakes on Sundays before church when I was a little girl," I said, breaking the silence.
Steven stopped eating and smiled. "Sounds like you miss him."
"He was always good to me in those days."
"So what changed things?"
"Las Vegas."
"I don't follow," he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"When I was four or five, we moved here. My mother got a job working in one of the casinos as an accountant. My father couldn't find a job here. Money was fairly tight to begin with. Then, my mom found out she was pregnant with my little sisters, Erin and Carly. After they were born, everything started to fall apart. Every bill came due. First we lost both the cars. Then the electricity. My father told us we were living like the pioneers. Even made it into a game. After the power, went the gas and water. We had to 'borrow' water from our next door neighbor's garden hose.
"Then, the mortgage payments came past due..."
I stopped, taking a long sip of the cocoa before me. He was looking at me with such pity again. At least he was the first person to get me to open up. No doubt this would be added to a file somewhere.
"My father wasn't able to handle the stress. He disappeared. My mother was beside herself. She started drinking and beating me that was when she was sober enough to see me and stay standing. The rest of the time she was in bed and left me to take care of the twins. I think I was six at the time....Doesn't matter.
"The social workers came a few weeks later and put me into the custody of the state. My mother did well on her own. Cleaned up her act. They sent me to live with her again. That cycle happened on an off a dozen times before she fell into real trouble.
"I was ten or eleven at the time. She had incurred a rather large debt to Vincent Carmichael that she couldn't pay. Some of it was money she owed for drugs and some was just to keep the house because she'd lost her job.
"They came for her one night. They beat the hell out of her in front of me. She pleaded with them not to, but they did anyway. She was so damned weak...
"In the end, she traded my life for her own and a forgiveness of her debt. It seemed that Vinny was starting up a new section to his business, and, in a year or two, I would make a fine 'escourt.' He didn't wait a year or two."
I looked up at him for the first time during my whole story. He couldn't even meet my glance. I knew what was going through his mind. Same thing that they all had. Steven was struggling with disgust, horror, and shock all at the same time.
"I've been 'saved' a few times by men like you. They just give me back to my mother who promptly send me back to Vinny. He beats me when I get back. Each time is a little worse than the last. You've seen his handiwork first hand actually."
In the silence that follows, I finish the last of my meal and push the plate aside.
"So what are you going to do with me? Send me to the hospital so I can return to Vinny?"
"I don't know," he said, scrubbing his face.
"Or, you could look the other way while I slip out and back to the house. If I go back now, he won't beat me." I said, lying.
"What happened tonight? How did you really get that cut?"
"Dangerous questions, Steven. Do you really want the answer?"
"Yes," he said.
I didn't miss the thin glaze to his eyes. I have to give him credit; he was able to keep the tough guy act going well.
"Shannon and I were both picked to serve a customer tonight. Like I said, he was a little kinkier than the usual fair. Shannon got spooked when he started to tie her up. You see, Shannon's father used to tie her up and throw her into the basement with the rats... anyway, she got scared and tried to stop him. He got angry at her and pulled out a knife. Before I could get across the room, he was already on her, stabbing her, calling her a whore. Then he turned towards me. I ran towards the door, screaming, and pounding on it to be let out.
"Vinny...he keeps the door locked until the deed is done that way the customer has to pay in full for the services provided.
"The guy lunged at me and slit my arm just before the door came open. One of Vinny's thugs pulled the guy out back and drove him off the Littering Ground...that's where they hide all the bodies. I think it was Alex that called the cops."
I listened as the lie slipped out so easily, knowing he would expect me to repeat it to the cops. He also knew I'd never give up Vinny. I'd be dead before they finished typing up my statement.
He began rubbing his goatee again. I knew what the problem was; he had me in his care now- what was he going to do with me.
I pulled the blanket around my shoulders a little tighter. "Thanks for the meal. I've gotta get back."
"Wait."
"What?"
"Be straight with me. What will he do if you go back?"
I sighed. "When I was brought in, I was fresh meat. Worth $800 easy. The longer you work, the less you're worth. Shannon was newer than I was. I think she was only 12. Made her with more. I was supposed to protect her. I didn't. My life is forfeit. If I go back, he will, in all likelihood, kill me."
"Then you can't go back," he said, simply.
"If I don't, he'll have me hunted. As it is now, he probably has someone looking for all the girls."
Steven slipped out of the booth and stood beside me. I rose and smiled at him one last time.
"Thank you for breakfast," I said, moving towards the door. I was out on the street before he caught me.
"Where will you go?" He asked.
"Does it really matter?" I answered cryptically.
He let me go into the night, but he followed a distance behind. I walked out into the outskirts of town, clutching my purse to my side. I found a spot along the highway that was fairly dark, and sat down beside a cactus. I fumbled in my purse for the small vile I knew what there. I drank down the contents and laid down on the sand. For the first time in ages, I saw how truly beautiful the stars were.
I heard footsteps approach. "You don't give up do you, Steven?"
He sat down beside me, taking the bottle into his hands and smelling it. "I should get you to the hospital," he said.
"You could, but, when I was released, they would find me."
"You could have found another way. Hidden, changed your name..."
"They would have found me."
A pause as I found the constellations my father had taught me years before. I knew he was waiting to call in my death. One last act of kindness I suppose. He didn't want me to be left to the mercy of the animals.
"16," I said.
"What?"
"You asked me how old I was."
I heard him sigh.
"And my real name was Emily."
"It was nice to meet you Emily," he said, voice cracking a bit.
"Salvation is created, Steven. I'm ending my life before there is any more pain."
I saw him look over at me. "Promise me you won't call it in until I'm gone."
"I promise," I heard him say, just as the stars seemed to slip away.