Читать книгу Little Girl Lost: Volume 1 of the Little Girl Lost Trilogy - Cindy Hanna - Страница 10

CHAPTER 5

The remaining three months of Sally’s pregnancy pass by quickly. She suffers through withdrawals, but feels healthy and has a radiant glow by the end of winter. She continues to sell her body, attracting a whole new clientele who are only too eager to have sex with a pregnant whore.

On Sally’s twentieth birthday, one month prior to her baby’s due date, she poses a question to Angel, “How about we become family-of-choice.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, there’s family, which you can’t get rid of and then there’s family-of-choice—the ones you aren’t related to, but you adopt into your heart, as if they are.”

“Hmm, family-of-choice. I like the way it sounds. So, we’d be like, related?”

“Exactly!” Sally grows serious. “Of course, we have to say the sacred vow.”

Angel rolls her eyes and laughs, “I knew there was gonna be a catch.”

Sally shoots her a glare. “Oh, shut up! Listen, and if you agree at the end, say, ‘Yes.’”

Angel snickers, “Do we have to seal this with spit or blood or anything like that?”

Sally stares at her with subdued fury. “Do you want to do this or not?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sally continues. “All right, here goes. We promise to stand beside one another—always—as if the same blood ran through our veins.

We’ll be connected, as one, and fight for each other until the bitter end. We’re family now and will allow no one to stand between us.”

She looks expectantly at Angel.

“That was real pretty.”

“Well…?”

“Well, what?”

“Do you agree?”

“Yeah!”

The girls clasp hands and spin in a circle while laughing.

On St. Patrick’s Day, Sally’s labor pains begin with her friend by her side. Sally cries out, while seized by an intense contraction, “Jesus Christ, no one told me it was gong to hurt this much.”

Angel holds her hand in an attempt to comfort her. “It’ll be okay. Try to picture this. You’re on a gorgeous beach in a beautiful bikini instead of lying here in labor.”

Sally, momentarily taken aback, looks at her friend as if she has lost her mind. “What?! Fuck the beautiful bikini! This really hurts.

Besides, why the hell would I be wearing a bikini? Girl, have you seen me lately, I look like a damn whale. And last I checked, whales don’t wear bikinis!”

Angel tries another approach. “Okay, forget the beach—bad idea.

Try to concentrate on your breathing.”

Sally loses her patience. “My breathing? Why the fuck would I want to do that? I don’t have to concentrate on it. Just happens. Honestly, where do you come up with this shit?”

“I don’t know.” Angel replies, near tears. “On TV, they always tell the pregnant woman to concentrate on her breathing. I don’t know what I’m doing. Just trying to help.”

Sally softens as her contraction subsides. “I know.” She takes hold of her friend’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here.” Sally squeezes Angel’s hand as another powerful pain overtakes her body.

Nature runs its course. Sally’s contractions wrack her body and her instincts tell her what to do. She delivers her son, with Angel by her side, on one of the same beds where she has laid hundreds of johns. No doctors, nurses, or midwives. Just two sister prostitutes, alone in a grungy motel room, welcoming a new life into the world.

Angel hands the new mother her son. The minute she sees him, there is no question in Sally’s mind as to what his name will be. “Oh, look, Angel, he has his brilliant green eyes.”

“Whose eyes?”

Sally answers almost in a whisper, “My brother’s. He has Eric’s eyes.” She continues, her voice denoting her wonderment, “He looks just like him.”

Tears begin rolling down Sally’s cheeks as she clutches her son to her chest. She begins sobbing uncontrollably for all she has lost, all she has given up and how screwed up she has allowed her life to become. “Angel, why have I been given such a precious gift? I’m not worthy.”

Angel sits on the edge of the bed beside her friend and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Maybe you’re being given a second chance. Don’t question it, just accept it.”

Sally looks up, her eyes moist with tears. “A second chance?”

Angel nods.

Sally honors her brother and her best friend by naming her child, Eric Angel McFee. Her eyes solemnly fall upon her son as she promises, “Little man, as God is my witness, I promise to do right by you and always protect you. No harm will come to you while there’s a breath left in me.”

She looks at Angel and asks, “Will you be his godmother and swear to look after him should anything happen to me?”

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt him.”

Within weeks of Eric’s birth, Sally realizes the leverage she has handed her pimp. She begs to be allowed to stay with her son but Ax says, “Let me tell you how it’s gonna be. I’m gonna keep that motha fucka with me each and every day until you work off your debt to me.

You cost me plenty of dough, not working for the past six weeks.

Now it’s time to pay up or I’ll chop that fuck’n brat up and make you watch!”

Horrified and desperate to protect her son, Sally does as she is told.

Ax comes and goes daily from his favorite parking lot with Eric Angel in the backseat of his car. Sally often hears her son’s cries, which tear at her soul, as he is ignored by Ax.

She is only allowed to fulfill her son’s needs (food, change of diaper, bonding, etc.) after she has serviced several johns and hands over her payments to Ax. She is then allowed to take Eric Angel into one of the pre-paid motel rooms for a short time. Sally treasures this time. She snuggles him close as she feeds him and looks lovingly into his twinkling eyes. “Hey, there, precious, do you know how much mama loves you?”

Responding to his mother’s soft voice, Eric Angel locks eyes with Sally and coos.

Sally makes faces at and tickles her son, causing his face to erupt into a beaming grin. She revels in watching him track her every movement with his inquisitive eyes and often lays on her back holding him above her, gently rocking him from side to side. Occasionally he drools down onto her, causing her to laugh. She justifies, in her mind, how she works extra hard to bring in and service the johns.

It’s just a job…a means to an end…a way to be with my son.

Eric Angel learns to crawl, to say his first words and then begins running—everywhere. Sally continues to sell herself for Ax while her son is held hostage. The time she does get to spend with him is a precious gift they both embrace. She begins to teach him his numbers and the alphabet as he grows. They play, giggle and have in-depth conversations only a mother and small child can share. She teaches him about his world and he, like a sponge, soaks up all his mother has to offer.

Sally loves to watch her son sleep. She spends long hours, late into the night, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his tiny chest as he peacefully snuggles against her side. His laugh is as contagious as his uncle’s had been, and Sally cannot help but belly laugh along with him. These are the times that make her heart soar. These are the instances that make her mess-of-a-life worth living. She treasures every moment of Eric Angel’s existence.

At the end of each workday, Ax rounds up his girls and brings them to his home. There, he locks all five in a room, where they exist, as college girls might, in an overcrowded space with only two beds.

The prostitutes share everything, including their love of Eric Angel. He is their ray of sunshine, their glimmer of hope and a way for each of them to forget just how dire their existence is. Sally falls asleep every night with her son clutched tightly to her chest, just as a small child might cling to its teddy bear.

One prostitute, Misty, shares stories of her former life in Las Vegas. She tells them of the gentleman’s club where she worked as a stripper and of its house mom, Mama Pearl, who took care of the dancers. The three girls vow that if they ever get out of this mess with Ax, they will head straight to Las Vegas and Mama Pearl. Sadly, they never get the chance. Misty overdoses on cocaine while with a john, and dies. Her death serves as a chilling reminder of just how fleeting life is.

* * * * *

Sally awakes in a pool of sweat, attempting to breathe. Her hair, T-shirt and bedding are soaked through. Disoriented, she sits up and tries to remember where she is. She feels Eric Angel nuzzle closer to her as the fog begins to lift, his small body fitting neatly against her own. With a start, Sally remembers the dream—another one of her dreams.

Damn it! I have try to remember. What did I see? A bug? A bee?

A bumblebee coming straight at the windshield. bumblebee coming straight at the windshield.

She recalls the disjointed, nonsensical fragments.

It hit the windshield, but it didn’t splat. Why didn’t it splat? Bugs always splat. Yet this one broke through the glass, leaving a neat little hole as an entry point.

A veil of blackness drapes itself across her dream memory as her vision flees. Sally lies back down. Shutting her eyes, she feels the inevitable onset of a headache.

What the hell does it mean? Why am I dreaming about bumblebees and little black holes in windshields?

She knows that her dream is trying to tell her something and senses that a terrible event is going to transpire, but what, when, where—she cannot say. Instinctually, she wraps her arms around her sleeping child and pulls him closer.

* * * * *

Sally is cursed with her dreams. Most people dismiss their night visions as fantasy—not meant to become reality. Not Sally, she knows better. For her, dreams are warnings, premonitions. Although they often lack important details such as where and when certain events will occur, she has come to realize that they always become reality. Her dreams, like a good mystery, keep her guessing and searching for more clues. Sometimes the puzzle pieces come quickly. Sometimes they take weeks, months and even years to reveal themselves to her.

Sally lies, hugging Eric Angel close, remembering her very first premonition dream. It had been several months prior to her brother’s fatal accident. She recalls how she had awoken in a pool of sweat, feeling disoriented and trying to make sense of her bizarre nightmare. The pieces of that dream had been so fractured: wetness—darkness— sun—eternal bonding—a smile—her brother’s face. She had no concept, at the time, of what the dream foretold. Its only lasting impression was how unsettled it made her feel.

Not until after the fateful day at the beach did the full meaning of her vision become clear. The dream snapped into crystal-clear focus as she sat alone in the emergency room, beside her brother’s dead body, waiting for her mother to arrive. A cold chill had worked its way down her spine as the realization of the dream’s powerful message had sunk in, causing her to shiver. It was then and there that she had vowed to never ignore another one of her visions.

* * * * *

Sally lies there, pulling Eric Angel closer to her, as a chill creeps its way down her spine—her body convulsing and shivering. A long time passes before she finally drifts into a restless sleep.

Along with the dawn comes another day for Sally to sell herself in order to spend time with her son. The johns, seeming to be more abundant this day, allow the girls to bring in extra money for Ax. Pleased, and in a rare act of kindness, he allows his bitches to call it an early day.

Sally is delighted. This means extra time she can spend with Eric Angel. They giggle, bond and play one of their favorite games. Angel even gets in on the fun. They turn on the radio to a rock-and-roll station and begin to silly dance.

* * * * *

One day, when they were quite young, Sally and Eric had been dancing to some music in her room when their father appeared in the doorway, watching them. Afraid that they had somehow angered him, the children immediately stopped. He had smiled, not unkindly, but encouragingly. “No. No. Keep going. You look like you were having fun.”

Seeing his reassuring grin, the siblings resumed their dancing. In a rare and cherished moment, their father joined in. A few minutes later, their mother, drawn by their laughter, came into the room. She stood and watched for a moment, a wide grin upon her face, as she looked from her children to her husband. She, too, joined them.

Both parents winked at one another as they mimicked their children. Seeing their parents dance so silly made Sally and Eric dissolve into uncontrolled belly guffaws. Soon they were all trying to catch their breath. Thus the game of silly dance was created. This memory always brought a smile to Sally’s face and warmed her heart, for, to her, it represented the best of spending quality time together as a family.

* * * * *

Angel, Sally and Eric Angel silly dance until they fall to the ground with belly laughter. The three play late into the night, until Eric Angel falls asleep. Sally bears a content look.

Wish time would freeze. Those whom I love most surround me. Can’t ever remember feeling happier.

Most five-year-olds are not content to sit silently in the backseat of a car day after day for long hours, yet this was normal for Eric Angel. Oh, sure, he had protested once or twice and received vicious beatings from Ax. Even at this tender age, he had learned—just as his mother had—to do exactly as instructed, without having to be told twice. He had discerned that it was better to be bored than to meet the wrath of Ax.

On a cold afternoon, not long after Eric Angel’s fifth birthday, mayhem breaks out at the motel. Another pimp tries to move his girls into Ax’s territory. Ax rises to the occasion to defend his turf. “Ain’t no motha fucka gonna mess with my turf!”

Needing someplace to secure Eric Angel, Ax locks the boy in his car, located in the parking lot, before bolting across the street to the rear of the motel to confront the would-be squatter pimp. An angry argument erupts. Their voices rise and they begin to throw blows. Ax dominates the other man in size and strength.

The other man manages to break free of Ax’s vise-like grip and runs towards Ax’s car across the street. Ax nonchalantly follows suit, an evil grin curling the edges of his mouth. “Not so fast, motha fucka.”

The other pimp has a good fifty-foot lead. Ax pursues him into the street, fetches his revolver from his waistband, aims and repeatedly fires at the man, emptying his gun. There is no large bang like in the movies, just a series of little pops. The man pauses for a moment, then slumps and falls to the ground.

Ax slows his pace, knowing the police will soon arrive, and continues towards the downed man. Stepping over him as one might step over a piece of garbage, Ax walks to his car, gets in and calmly drives away. He does not bother to check the man’s pulse, certain that his prey is dead.

Ax notices an eerie silence from the rear seat after driving a few blocks. Looking back, he sees Eric Angel’s tiny, limp body, with a bullet hole neatly in the middle of his forehead. The boy, who had been peeking over the front seat of the car to view the fight, had been struck in the head by one of Ax’s bullets and killed instantly. His small form lies crumpled, in a pool of his own blood, on the floor. His head is upturned, as if questioning, “Why.” His once-brilliant green eyes remain open, the light having gone out of them.

“Ah, fuck!” Ax growls aloud. “Now how the hell I gonna control that bitch?”

The cops descend upon the murder scene like locusts on a Kansas farmland. They scour every inch of the place, interviewing everyone, not surprised that no one seems to have seen anything. They spend long hours gathering their hollow details.

The police have their suspicions of what went down—one pimp crowding another’s turf. Blah. Blah. Blah. They know the dead man to be a scum-ball pimp, yet they must treat the investigation into his death with the same respect and thoroughness as any other. Of course, nowhere is it written that they have to solve the case. What was one more dead pimp to them, but a service to society? As the detectives know, street vigilantism does serve a purpose.

The police run their investigation while Ax disposes of Eric Angel’s body, cleaning every speck of blood out of his vehicle. The deed done, Ax cruises by the motel several times, careful not to draw attention to himself, to see if the officers have left.

After the officers leave, Ax pulls into the motel’s carport and summons his bitches to come with him. Sally sits in the rear seat, where just hours before, her son had been shot. She finds it odd that Eric Angel is not in the car. Sensing Ax’s ire, however, she decides not to question where her son is, choosing instead to look straight ahead and keep her mouth shut. That is when she sees it—the neat little black hole in the windshield directly in front of her.

Suddenly, the meaning of her dream becomes clear and she begins screaming, “No! It can’t be. No. Not my baby!”

Ax roars, “Somebody shut that fucking bitch up before I do!”

Sally realizes that the bumblebee she had seen in her dream had been the bullet as it approached her son. She had witnessed it in her vision the same as her son watched it approach him. Sally hears the mournful wailings of a wounded animal—herself—moments before she blacks out.

With no mention of a murdered little boy or a body, Eric Angel’s death goes undetected by the authorities, affording Sally the opportunity to avoid getting caught up in the investigation surrounding the pimp’s death. Ax, on the other hand, is not as fortunate. In his efforts to stay just outside the questioning reach of the investigating officers, Ax becomes a scarce sighting at the motel, which lessens the scrutiny with which his whores are accustomed to living under.

Sally goes on a massive three-day cocaine binge following the death of her son with a cleverly “squirreled away” emergency supply of coke Ax’s other prostitutes have stolen from Ax’s supply. Wanting to provide her with instant relief, they opt to have her smoke crack instead of snorting cocaine. One of the girls offers her some, coaxing, “Here, Sally, this will help ease your pain.”

Sally smokes the crack and is instantly rewarded with a euphoric feeling, shorter-lived than with coke, but releasing. She does not eat or sleep while on her binge, is talkative about everything, feels energetic and self-confident and is able to continue performing her sexual services with the johns.

Following her binge, Sally slips into a state of deep depression and tries to come to terms with her son’s death. When that proves too overwhelming, she tries to block it just as she does with what johns routinely do to her body. She continues to smoke crack as a means of escape, but does not binge again. She knows she has to break free of Ax, that this may be her only opportunity to escape, and that she will need to be thinking clearly in order to make a getaway. She minimizes her drug use and manages to compartmentalize her grief over Eric Angel’s death while she waits patiently for her opening.

A window of opportunity presents itself, and she flees, taking Angel with her, while Ax is preoccupied with avoiding the police.

The girls realize that they cannot stay in California without Ax finding them. They had heard of it happening before. One of Ax’s prostitutes would run, he would track her down, drag her back and execute her— right in front of the others—by chopping her up with his ax.

While talking with Angel, Sally’s voice drips with foreboding. “Ax won’t ever stop looking for us. You know he doesn’t like losing his possessions—especially the ones who can rat him out.”

“Yeah.”

Both girls shiver.