mk km (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} twiceuponatime) wrote,@ 2007-03-26 21:25:00 |
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Destiny's Children * Chapter Three
Word Count: 6697
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I was standing by the bars, enjoying the cool touch of them against my forehead. I concentrated on that and took my mind off everything else.
Yeah. Right.
Well, almost everything else. It didn't pay to reminisce much, but I did keep thinking of Jeremy, of his fingers touching his lips where I had kissed them. Of his voice that had changed since my memories, and yet hadn't, either.
I had tried not to miss him after he moved away. What kind of friend would I have been to wish him back to this terrible place? It was easy for a few days, those first days sitting on the empty little trailers steps in some sort of shock, all sensation numbed. It wasn't until I ventured home for something to eat that it hit with full force. I tried to sleep beside the back bedroom bed, curled in a corner on the floor, but I just kept waking, restless. So instead, I sought peace amongst the rock and sand and scrub, walking for desert miles and letting the sun and thirst be a distraction. Occasionally, there were lizards or snakes to watch, and birds who made their nests in the cactus holes. These little birds had to perch right on the points of the spikes to get inside their homes. That, for some reason, was the saddest thing I'd ever seen. At least, that's how it felt at the time. Maybe it was just the thought that pain was sometimes necessary for survival.
I was lost in these thoughts, not seeing anything as I stared, fixed, through the steel bars of the prison cell. I could almost feel the steady, dry desert winds sweep hair off my face...
Life, it had just become too lonely. Jeremy had gotten out, and had a family and a real home... well, no one was going to help me. If I wanted a way out I would have to make one; and that meant school again.
I remember that first day, that walk that I'd never taken alone before to school. How it was that day that I realized where I had gotten my strength. For Jeremy, I could be tough. You know, to protect him, for he was all I knew of that deserved protecting in the world. If that makes sense. Fuck. Alone that day, I'd felt like a powerless, needy, low-life little kid. I tried to look fierce, but I was trembling as I made my way past the throngs of students to get to the steps of the school. I didn't look at any of them, and from past experience, they left me alone.
I went straight to the office. I had missed quite a lot of days, and needed to make them up, somehow. This office, with its half blue and half white walls, and its cheesy posters depicting the evils of drugs and smoking and all that bullshit, it had always been a place I scorned. Fucking adult hypocrites. I spoke to as few of them for as few minutes as I possibly could.
Not this day. Oh, no. I was grieving, I was literally shaking as I stood there. I wanted their help. Hell, I probably wanted their fucking love or pity... something, anything. A connection had been lost, and I need to plug back in. In my soul, I guess I was begging. I felt like crying. And running. I was a loose cannon of emotions so strong that I was overwhelmed by it. Yet, this storm on the inside must not have shown on the outside. Either that, or they just didn't care.
The secretary was all but yawning as she hooked me up with the vice principal, who, with seeming disinterest to match, sent me to guidance therapy, where I was told to see each individual teacher for whatever chance I had to make up the work. That was it. No welcome back, no encouragement. Well, I had slapped previous offers of encouragement away, so I deserved the attitude. But it seemed a daunting task, at least to me at that time. I was not on the greatest terms with any of the teachers. I was the one who slouched at the back of class, hostile, and was never called on for anything. I had made certain of that with rude sarcasm that usually got the class laughing, but took several minutes for the teacher to gather back from.
I had royally, stupidly fucked myself.
So, I guess I couldn't blame any of them for not taking me serious that day. For not knowing that I needed them. Hell, I didn't want a fucking hug... just some semblance of concern and care would have been enough. What I got was disbelief that I cared to make up past work, sort of I'll-see-it-when-I-believe-it, and no help of any kind besides telling me the chapters of what books to read, the missed homework I had to do, and the tests I would need to take within the week.
Okay. I was on my own, and I had to prove something. Fine. I was still ready to spend all day in the library until it closed, working. I was determined to follow Jeremy. Graduate, decent job, maybe even college. Having a plan made life bearable again.
But vultures always know where dead things lie, don't they?
After school on that very first day, I had only gotten a block away when I noticed I was being followed. I stopped. I turned to face them. A couple of the jocks I'd insulted before, and a couple other of the richer kids who tagged with them. Perfect teeth and perfect smiles, and eyes that bore into me with power-lust glinting. It was not two against them anymore. It was only me, and they were going to put that half to the test. I was crazy, or so all of them thought, and that was why they had brought an army against me.
Usually, I went into these little skirmishes, knowing that I'd win, pulling out all the stops. I didn't care how much I hurt myself, as long as I hurt them more, right? That kept bullying to a minimum. Don't mess with crazy Dylan, and his trusty sidekick, Jeremy. He fought the same way I did. Dirty, and hard. We had little to lose, while they had everything. That was why we were left alone.
I took the beating of my life that day. No shit. I felt weak. I felt like I would lose, and so that's exactly what I went ahead and did. Hell, they were all twice my size, and looked like they ate regular meals. But my defeat wasn't enough after all the times I'd laughed at and threatened them in the past. When I was down, bleeding and unable to get up again, they dragged me out of sight in between two building. The plan was to humiliate me beyond any chance of coming back. One sat on my chest, while two others held my wrists to the pavement by standing on them with their expensive shoes. They informed me that I would have, one by one, all of their dicks crammed down my cocksucking throat, and I was going to beg for this to happen.
I informed them that anything crammed into my mouth would be summarily bitten off. They kicked, they stomped on my arms, the one on top of me, choked me nearly senseless, but I did not give in. I had nothing else to say on the subject. I held to that, and they beat me some more, this time unconscious. But none dared put anything into my mouth, either.
When I woke, there was not a spot on my body that didn't hurt. Jeremy and I, although never beaten this bad, had always nursed each other, even laughing at our injuries. We saw them as badges of honor, rites of passage, the good guys against the bad guys... you know what I mean. And it always brought us closer together as we limped our way home. Jeremy's mom, what can I say, she fretted and she hollered at us for fighting, even as she cleaned wounds and pressed cold cloth to our bruises, and kissed our foreheads with her eyes rolling and her voice full of affectionate concern. We always tried to squirm out from under her attentions, but the truth is, both of us enjoyed being fussed over. We always made a bird flies path right to her. It was one of the only times I ever allowed myself to be a child, to be in someone's arms, loved and nurtured and safe. What can I say? I loved her!
But on that day, I had to stagger home by myself, to no one. There was no comforting or concern. I slept for a couple days balled in my corner, and then attempted to go to school again. I had missed more time. The teachers just gave me that, we-knew-you'd-fuck-up look. And I found myself dodging blows in the hallways, and insults rained down from so many directions I was sure the entire school hated me now. Not just that, but I was in danger. I was weak now. I had proven to be vulnerable. I could only lose.
The next time I was followed, I didn't stand up to them, I ran like fucking hell all the way home. My dreams were dying. I went into the kitchen to find something to eat, and there I was set on by mom's latest boyfriend. I don't bother trying to keep track of their names. He declared me a disgrace as he stood there in his stained wife-beater that didn't cover his hairy belly, his face unshaven, his hair hanging in greasy strands. He pushed me against the refrigerator with that gleam in his unemployed eye I knew all too well, and he spat, "Get a fucking job, you little delinquent shithead, if you want to eat."
The man smelled of tobacco, beer and sweat, his black eyes were so cold they made me shiver. The threat in them was obvious, he was spoiling for some violence. One wrong word, and I was going to be beaten again. My mother, I knew from past experience, would not stop it, she would probably cheer him on. And so, I cowered away from the bastard, and I left.
I really left, as in ran away, and any ideas I'd had for a future dissolved right then and there. I grabbed the few clothes I owned, stuffed them into a green trash bag, and I went out the door with no intention of ever going back. Not home, not to school. So where? I was fourteen then. Unwanted. Alone. Fucked.
Of course, you know the first thought I had. I had gone to find Jeremy.
I was shivering, I could see the hair over my eyes vibrating finely. The cell bars were now frigid against my skin, and I gripped them tighter.
"I'll be getting that top bunk cleaned out for you," said my new roommate. I whirled around with the suddenness of reflexes used to violence.
"Easy, Dylan," Treye laughed. "Just want to be sure you know whose cell this is. Mine. And so is everything in it, which includes you. When we're locked in here, you will do nothing without my permission. And you'll do everything I tell you to. One slip up, one act of defiance, and you're back with your pet monster. That understood?"
I nodded, looking out through the bars again. Yeah, I know, I'm your whore, your property, I'm not stupid.
"Good boy," he purred. "No more getting up before I do. I need you on your knees, Dylan, and I will every morning. Starting today."
Obediently, without hesitation, I followed him back to his bunk.
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So, where to start?
I needed to find some of the people whose names had come up during the trial. I needed my father's help with that, I needed all the transcripts.
And I needed him to know the truth about me, and about me and Dylan.
It was at breakfast, that I started the conversation with, "Dad? Dylan is innocent. I have to try to get him out of prison. I just can't stand how unfair it is, and I'm not even sure he won't die there. He was beaten pretty badly."
My father cleared his throat. "The evidence, Jer, it was damning. I know he was your friend. I did all that I could."
"He's more than my friend," I said, gulping down some coffee. "I need your help, Dad. I need to read all the court records and trial transcripts. I am going to go over everything. There has to be some way to prove he didn't do it."
"Not if he did, son," my father looked over his paper at me, patiently. "Jeremy, he admitted it."
"But he took it back! Said he only confessed to protect someone, and that sounds just like him," I stated as calmly as I could.
"How far would he go to protect him, after all, he'd only known the guy a week or two," my father kept to his offense, and it was beginning to get gratingly on my nerves. "Setting yourself up for life in prison, or even death row is quite a lot of loyalty to a practical stranger."
"I need your help. You won't change my mind, and if I have to, I'll do this without you."
My stepfather looked up again, and there was a long silence. "All right. I'll arrange for you to go over whatever you wish. Might be good training, at that," he smiled.
"Dad?" I asked, softly. "How do you know when you're in love with someone?"
This time he didn't look up, just grunted. "Just don't do anything that you will regret. That's all I ask."
"Yes Sir," I answered. This was not the time, nor the mood to get any deeper. I had a feeling he knew what I meant, after all, he was practiced at putting two and two together. And my mother was just that quickly at my back, one hand on my shoulder for support. I patted her hand in a peace-shall-reign gesture.
"So, what was the name of the hooker? The one Dylan was arrested for? I should go try to find her, first," I said.
"Tracy Emerson. No address, no phone, good luck finding her," my father shook the paper and went back to reading.
I nodded. Despite what he said, I didn't think she'd be difficult to find, after all, she wanted to be found, that was her business.
I finished breakfast, to dress and head for the city.
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Forgotten children have no idea that they should be unhappy, when it's the only life they know.
I was unhappy, carrying my trash bag into the dying city of Yucca, well away from the government lands and the military testing grounds I had called home for almost fifteen years. I had lost the only family I'd ever really had, so I guess it's loss that brings it on.
The unemployment rate was very high here, and the wages were low. If not for the hunters and quaders, this city would have shriveled completely up in the heat. Just the citrus crops and military bases wouldn't have been enough. Diverse, it was, and not close knit in any way.
Misery really does love, or at least like with dumb gratitude, company. I walked for days, getting to know the place, and sleeping where ever I could find an unseen corner. Why did I stay in such a wretched place? Even I didn't admit to myself that I couldn't, just couldn't put any more distance from my heart.
By the third day, I was past plain old hunger, and salivating at the sight of small dogs. And that's when I met her. Collapsing onto the steps of the white-washed old church, I put my face in my hands, tired, hot and ever so lost.
"Want this?" a voice asked.
"Huh?" I squinted up, she was haloed by the overbearing sun, but I could see her face. Perk nose, big eyes, and missing some teeth. Age? I guessed late thirty-something, mom-age, but found out later she was only twenty-eight. The sun and the wind had taken its toll.
"I got a good tip last night, and bought too much. I thought, that kid over there looks hungry," she smiled and I looked at her hand that was held out to me. In it was a whole wrapped Whopper. "Are you?"
Like a stray dog, I took it from her hand, tossed off the paper and bit. Oh, man. I forgot about being annoyed by her sitting down beside me and watching me as I ate it. I thanked her, sincerely. I started to get up, thirsty.
"Where you going?" she asked.
"Water." I pointed to the church.
"Water? Good idea! Want to go swimming?" she asked just as lively as could be. I liked her already.
"Where?" I asked.
"The American Nile, where else?" she answered, standing up beside me and taking my hand. I let her. I was quite ready to be led for awhile. I was just that worn down.
The Colorado river was quite a distance away, at least twenty-five miles. That seemed daunting. But I didn't want her to go all of a sudden, and as we walked into the church to find a drink, I asked her if she had a car. She apologized, because she didn't, but hitchhiking wasn't too dangerous if we did it together, so she informed me.
I found out that Tracy was her name, she was as homeless as I was, and we never did make it swimming. No one had picked us up after an hour and it was getting late.
We talked, and we explored and she bought us tacos at dusk. Four of them. Three of them she handed to me in the little white bag, along with a cola, while she munched on one.
Shortly after we ate again, sitting under a shaggy tree by a car dealership, she sighed sadly and looked me in the eyes. "I have to head off for work, now. Maybe I'll see you again, Dylan."
"Can I go with you?" This practically burst out of me. I was clutching. "Sorry," I shook my head.
"It wouldn't be such a great idea," she told me. "I don't recommend it."
"That's okay. Thanks for the food and the talk and everything," I got to my feet, looking around, trying to decide which direction to go in to find somewhere to nap the night hours away.
"Dylan. Promise me something. Will you?" she brightened.
"Sure I will."
"Never to do what I do, if you promise, you can come."
I promised. I wanted to hug her, but didn't want to make her change her mind by acting like a clingy kid. I followed her south, past the city limits, and it was probably ten or so when we made it to our destination. The Paradise, it was called, an elegantly gaudy casino surrounded by a gadzillion cars. That was when I found out she didn't actually work there.
She made her living in the parking lot.
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Tracy Emerson. Thirty-one years old. Two arrests for prostitution. And one of the first witnesses my father had called on to testify on Dylan's behalf. Cleaned up, she hadn't looked half bad, and she had been literate with an interesting story to tell.
Dylan had been arrested the first time at fifteen. Breaking and entering, grand larceny over a thousand dollars, and assault on a police officer. That last charge had been reduced to resisting arrest due to his extensive injuries comparing to the arresting officers none. Nevertheless, he had been advised to plead guilty, being his first offense, and that the judge would go easy.
Only, the judge hadn't gone easy at all.
Dylan had served six months locked up, and then he was dumped into foster care. Two months later he had run away again, and violated probation. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Ms. Emerson had not been involved in Dylan's first arrest, at least not on paper, but three years later, after the cop was shot and killed, she had gone to my father and told him that Dylan had only committed his early crime to save her, and her baby. She was begging for the truth to be known, so it wouldn't be held against him.
It wasn't much. But my father had taken what he could get, and probably her testimony had helped keep Dylan alive as much as anything had.
I knew I couldn't miss too many days of classes from UA. I had set up a punishing class load... but maybe one every two or three weeks would not harm my grades. And there were weekends and holidays coming up. For Dylan's sake, I was going to start today, and every free minute I could find. Before someone killed him.
I cruised around downtown, and I asked several homeless people if they knew her, but I ended up finding Tracy Emerson on my own.
Sitting on the curb across from a Seven-Eleven with a huge multicolored Slurpee in her hands, I recognized her, and pulled into the parking lot. Crossing over to her, she saw me with my eyes glued on her, and she stood up.
"Looking for me, hon?" she asked.
"You remember me?" I was a little surprised, after all we had never spoken.
"Oh, sure I do, I always remember my favorites," she smiled, licking her lips, trying to look seductive, but she tripped backwards over the curb and barely stayed upright. The Slurpee died a quick, messy death at our feet, splattering our shoes.
I grabbed her arm to steady her. She blushed, shrugged and smiled again. "Thanks."
"Do you lie much?" This was my next question.
She looked down, but her eyes were amused. "Yes, in fact I do. But I never get good at it, I get flustered and trip over curbs."
I thrust my hand that was not holding her arm out. "I'm Jeremy."
She took it, delicately, and somewhat slowly. "No one ever tells me their name. I'm sorry I don't remember you, I swear I must be getting senile to have forgotten a hottie like you."
"Tracy, before you start talking about money, or anatomy, I'm a friend of Dylan's. That's why I'm looking for you."
Her expression changed, sunlight fell into shadows upon her face, as she said, "Dylan? Dear Lord. That poor boy. He's in prison."
"I know. My father was his lawyer."
"Mr. Chase? He's a good man, to try to help Dylan," she said, and then her eyes widened. "Jeremy! You're... omigod, that Jeremy. The one Dylan always spoke about."
I nodded, and pointed with my head. "My car's over there. Can we go somewhere and talk?"
"You will help that boy?"
"I will try my damndest."
She sized me up, briefly. Her voice grew soft. "He doesn't admit it, but Dylan loves you. Trust me, I know."
Tracy and I headed for the car, and she went on, "Dylan, with his looks, they were always after him, the ladies and the men, both. But he has no eyes for any of them. You were the reason why."
"Tracy, I'm going to try to prove him innocent. Will you help me?"
"Oh yes. Gladly. He shouldn't be there. He didn't do it, he told me so, and he lies worse than I do," she said as I opened the car door for her.
I got into the Mercedes and twisted the ignition. I thought to head out of the city, it wasn't too hot a day, maybe eighty-five degrees or so. I was headed for a park or a campground, somewhere private. As we drove off, I said, "What I want to hear about is that breaking and entering, from three years ago."
Beside me, with her hands folded on her lap, Tracy nodded. "A very good place to start."
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The top bunk in Treye's cell had been cleared off, and I was resting on it, as I supposed to be, seen but not heard, unless my new owner needed something.
It had been an interesting morning.
First off, I was not allowed to sit with Treye during meals. He had friends who wouldn't speak in front of me. Not that I cared one way or another. So at breakfast, now you can call me stupid if you want, but I sat down almost right across from Monster, to torture the bastard.
"Are you nuts?" he hissed.
"Fuck, yeah."
"Someday, I'm gonna get my chance to tear you into little pieces."
"Not today," I shrugged.
He hated me and he would have almost sold his soul to get me alone, and he sputtered a few more things at me, but I kept cool and ignored him. I was relatively safe now. But I could never get back what he had taken.
I had kept that promise I'd made to Tracy. Well, sort of. I suppose I wouldn't have much longer, under the circumstances.
Tracy had never seemed to mind my increasing dependence on her. Maybe because we got along so well, despite our differences. I watched her go off into stranger's cars, most often just staying right there in the casino parking lot. Not always, though. Still, I didn't worry for her, to me she was like a parent, with some hidden knowledge that I didn't possess. I napped off in the shadows over the small incline, unseen, while she made money.
Sometimes, she didn't make much. But regardless, she headed first and foremost, to the bank every day to deposit all but what she needed for meals and clothes. She said it was for her new life. I suspect, that after that day of our meeting, not as much was saved, but she never said a word, not even a look to say she minded. She fed me, and clothed me and kept me company. I watched over her while she slept in all the hiding places she'd found around Yucca. Often, her hand or her head rested up against me, as if for comfort, as if she were the child and maybe that summed us up, we pathetic two. We needed each other, and it didn't take very long before we were inseparable.
I loved the way she grasped my arm and sidled up to me when she was startled, as if I might protect her, despite being a very slight fourteen and shorter than she was, and damn it, I would have, if ever I had to.
On those rare days that it rained, we huddled up, comfortable in each other's arm, and we napped and talked that way. The hole in my heart was filling in, and yet I was restless, too. I was living her life, without one of my own. She often voiced her dreams about the new life she saved for, and there was no place for me in it. And I was growing up. Just how long would I be comfortable being taken care of? I still had dreams of my own, but unlike Tracy's, they were fantasy. And they always included Jeremy, even though it was obvious he was through with the likes of me.
But, I knew some sort of end to my quiet, peaceful existence was coming. I just didn't know it would be so soon, or so brutal an awakening.
It was a hot night, one of those southern Arizona nights where the temperature doesn't bother to go much below a hundred, to spite the darkness. Tracy had gone off with an older man in his car. Sometimes they wanted a nice comfortable motel room, nothing unusual, only, she never came back. I waited there until past noon the next day, when I saw her limping towards me, and I jumped up with relief.
That relief was short-lived. Tracy barely had the strength to get to me, and she collapsed at my feet.
"Tracy! What happened?" I was on my knees beside her, brushing her hair from her bruised, bloodied face.
"Dylan. Dylan, sorry sweetie," she said with exhaustion. "I'll be all right. I just need to rest."
Nodding, I helped her up and half-carried her over the incline to where the fence was, and shade. I set her gently down.
"Hold on, Tracy, I'm going to go get some water or something."
"Slurpee, I wanna Slurpee, all four kinds in one. Will you get me one, love?" she asked in a pained, little girl voice, looking up at me.
It was a good hike away, but so what? I felt tears welling, seeing her like that. She dug into her bag, and she handed me money.
"Sure I will. Don't worry, Tracy, I'll take care of you," I kissed her forehead, and got up. "Be right back."
I ran all the way there and all the way back, some record I would say under the blazing noon day sun. But it was worth it, to see the look on her battered face when I handed her the still partially frozen drink. Panting, and dripping with sweat, I knelt there, overwhelmed with joy to see light come back to her eyes.
I sat down and she leaned on me, drank, and told me the story of what that bastard had done to her. I was in shock hearing it, especially since she had never told me any details before, and I admit to my ignorance on the subject at that time.
"Tracy," I stroked her head and logically stated, "You can't do that anymore! Go off with strangers that way!"
She looked sad. "He wasn't exactly a stranger, besides, I have to," she simply replied. Pain was sometimes necessary for survival, she didn't say this, but I reasoned it as an unkind truth.
I took care of her while she mended, the black eye faded, and the welts on her healed. We lazed away the days together, talking and playing rummy and twenty-one with a slippery deck of cards. Oh, and drinking Slurpees, I was beginning to like them.
A couple weeks later, she began to get sick. She vomited almost everything she ate or drank. I worried for her, sure it had something to do with her injuries, and I tried to get her to go the hospital.
Instead, she went to the pharmacy. I didn't see what she bought, but that night when the parking lot had thinned out, and she joined me in my hiding place, she explained that she was pregnant. The man who had whipped and beaten her had been so drunk, he had tried to... 'go' for a second time with the same condom on, and it had come off.
"Pregnant?" I got scared. This was just too adult for me, too unfathomable. And yet, I knew I would have to take care of her. I couldn't allow her to sell herself anymore, she was just going to have to listen to me.
She touched my face, sensing my turmoil, and fear. "Ah, sweet Dylan, don't look at me like I kicked you. I've thought about it all day." She put her hands to her belly and I saw tears fall on them. "I want my baby, I can't stand the thought of her being unwanted. I need my new life, for her. I'm tired. But I don't have enough money saved yet."
I thought for a minute, wiping her tears tenderly. "The father should have to pay, too, shouldn't he? It seems only fair."
She laughed softly. "The high and mighty Gerald Sebastian pay for a whore's baby? Not very likely."
I hugged her close to me. "Don't call yourself that. And if you knew that asshole's name, you should have reported what he did to you to the police."
"So innocent," she said. "Dylan, no one would ever believe me over him. Why would a man like that, excuse my language, screw with a cheap little slut like me?"
"Tracy! Stop that!" I was irritated at her downed attitude. "He liked you well enough, didn't he, even if he was a mean bastard. But you're right about one thing, you shouldn't go near him. I'll go."
"Dylan."
I took a deep breath, let go of her and stood up, and waited for her to say something. She didn't, she just stared at me.
"Where does he live?" I asked.
"At the top of the Heights, where else? But Dylan?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful."
Nodding, I turned to go.
"Dylan? No one's ever tried to help me like you have. Thank you," Tracy told me, and I smiled once before heading off, more determined than ever.
The problem was that the man was even more of a bastard than I would have thought possible. Tracy had made light of what he'd done to her, saying he was just drunk and it wasn't uncommon for men to like 'rough stuff', only he got carried away. These men paid extra, a lot extra, she said, to tie her up, or to be tied up, and even whipped, and I may not have fully understood the concept, but I had believed her.
I realized now she had said much of it to allay my worries.
I was angry all over again, and I told this sadistic creep who answered the door to the fancy house, what I thought of him. Cooly, Mr. Sebastian offered to pay for an abortion. I informed him that Tracy didn't want one, and that was when he got totally nasty, and he surprised me with his threats against her if she didn't abort that low-life baby. God, I was mad, but scared, too. I was thinking I had made a terrible mistake. I had placed Tracy in danger, now.
So much I didn't understand. But I understood one thing after speaking with him, for he had no problems telling me how he felt. To him, creatures like Tracy were not worth spitting on. Not really people. He had women to date, and if necessary, he could afford to hire clean, beautiful lady escorts. A girl like Tracy was good for only his baser, darker needs, worthy of being beaten and raped, and if she died that was her problem, not like anyone would miss her, he had told me.
Well, I would miss her, I informed him, which led to him explaining to me about my worth in the world. Or should I say, lack of any.
He shut the double door in my face. I stayed there hidden on the edge of his property, forming a plan. I would make him pay. There had to be things in that expensive house of his I could sell and get Tracy and her unborn child somewhere safe. It wasn't enough to even the score, but I wasn't out for revenge, just some sense of fairness. I only cared about Tracy.
So much I didn't know. Like about silent alarms. My ignorance would be my downfall.
I snuck in by breaking a window with a rock wrapped in my sleeve, reached through and unlocked it. He had already told me he lived alone, so I thought this would be simple. I snuck into the upstairs rooms, listening carefully, and walking with absolute silence. I found a jewelry box in his room, and just scooped out everything into my pockets. Then, I emptied the cash from his wallet. I was feeling so fucking clever, handling everything with my sleeve and not leaving fingerprints. God, I was an idiot.
I left, the same way that I had come, only this time there were two police officers there. I saw their flashlights, too late, and made a run for it. They tackled me down easy enough, snapped handcuffs on behind my back, and with me quiet and panting between them, they rang the front doorbell.
Mr. Sebastian, after thanking them, asked them to hold my arms, and I felt their grip shore up so he could hit me. He held nothing back, his fist collided with my chin and all but knocked me out. When my vision returned from the blackness with its painfully shooting lights, he punched again, this time just below my ribs, and it hurt like hell.
Infuriated by this, I screamed out what he had done to Tracy, and the threat he had made. And that was when the police officers, who should have been protecting me, threw me down and proceeded to put me in my lowly place with their nightsticks. I was very mellow after this, as in I don't remember much, except how horribly bad moving felt.
It would be nine months before I would see Tracy again.
"Hey, kid," I heard, shaking me out of the past like a cat from a tree, and I glanced over at Treye. "You're so quiet it's spooky."
"I thought that's what you wanted, Treye."
"Sure, sure. Listen, right after lunch we have the yard for an hour or so. Long story short, kid, I promised someone a favor. Your sweet little mouth. There'll be two of them. Make me proud," said my owner as if stating the weather and I closed my eyes tight.
Just like a fucking weather report, it needed no answer.
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I listened to Tracy's story and saw her well up about the loss of her baby, and heard the anguish in her voice when she told me of Dylan's arrest, his six months in juvie, and the foster home.
"The first time I saw him," she said, shaking her head, "...after, you know. He looked different. He had gotten so thin, and so pale, and when he smiled it seemed to use more energy than he had. But it was just as warm as ever. I had missed him so much."
What she said reminded me of when he and I were little. Real little, five, six years old, and I wouldn't see him for a few days.
He would stay in that hot, tiny trailer, but eventually he always came back out. He would look different when this happened, like the life had gone out of him. Yet, he always smiled as best he could, and he never talked about it, only saying he got punished, or spanked. I found out from my mother, years later, that his poor maternal excuse for a parent and whatever brute she was currently sleeping with hurt little Dylan, sometimes very much so, over something like a spilled glass of milk.
I turned to the woman sitting quietly beside me. "Tracy, just so you know. I love him, too."
She let her breath out and her eyes got big. "You do? Seriously? Save him, Jeremy, and do what I never could. Love him, really love him. He needs it so badly."
I thought of my arms around him, his soft hair, the warm feel of his mouth, gentle on mine. Too choked up to speak, I cleared my throat and nodded. After a few minutes of silence, I asked,
"Do you know anyone else I could speak to about him?"
"Yup. In fact, I do," she answered.
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Back* * *Next
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-
I was standing by the bars, enjoying the cool touch of them against my forehead. I concentrated on that and took my mind off everything else.
Yeah. Right.
Well, almost everything else. It didn't pay to reminisce much, but I did keep thinking of Jeremy, of his fingers touching his lips where I had kissed them. Of his voice that had changed since my memories, and yet hadn't, either.
I had tried not to miss him after he moved away. What kind of friend would I have been to wish him back to this terrible place? It was easy for a few days, those first days sitting on the empty little trailers steps in some sort of shock, all sensation numbed. It wasn't until I ventured home for something to eat that it hit with full force. I tried to sleep beside the back bedroom bed, curled in a corner on the floor, but I just kept waking, restless. So instead, I sought peace amongst the rock and sand and scrub, walking for desert miles and letting the sun and thirst be a distraction. Occasionally, there were lizards or snakes to watch, and birds who made their nests in the cactus holes. These little birds had to perch right on the points of the spikes to get inside their homes. That, for some reason, was the saddest thing I'd ever seen. At least, that's how it felt at the time. Maybe it was just the thought that pain was sometimes necessary for survival.
I was lost in these thoughts, not seeing anything as I stared, fixed, through the steel bars of the prison cell. I could almost feel the steady, dry desert winds sweep hair off my face...
Life, it had just become too lonely. Jeremy had gotten out, and had a family and a real home... well, no one was going to help me. If I wanted a way out I would have to make one; and that meant school again.
I remember that first day, that walk that I'd never taken alone before to school. How it was that day that I realized where I had gotten my strength. For Jeremy, I could be tough. You know, to protect him, for he was all I knew of that deserved protecting in the world. If that makes sense. Fuck. Alone that day, I'd felt like a powerless, needy, low-life little kid. I tried to look fierce, but I was trembling as I made my way past the throngs of students to get to the steps of the school. I didn't look at any of them, and from past experience, they left me alone.
I went straight to the office. I had missed quite a lot of days, and needed to make them up, somehow. This office, with its half blue and half white walls, and its cheesy posters depicting the evils of drugs and smoking and all that bullshit, it had always been a place I scorned. Fucking adult hypocrites. I spoke to as few of them for as few minutes as I possibly could.
Not this day. Oh, no. I was grieving, I was literally shaking as I stood there. I wanted their help. Hell, I probably wanted their fucking love or pity... something, anything. A connection had been lost, and I need to plug back in. In my soul, I guess I was begging. I felt like crying. And running. I was a loose cannon of emotions so strong that I was overwhelmed by it. Yet, this storm on the inside must not have shown on the outside. Either that, or they just didn't care.
The secretary was all but yawning as she hooked me up with the vice principal, who, with seeming disinterest to match, sent me to guidance therapy, where I was told to see each individual teacher for whatever chance I had to make up the work. That was it. No welcome back, no encouragement. Well, I had slapped previous offers of encouragement away, so I deserved the attitude. But it seemed a daunting task, at least to me at that time. I was not on the greatest terms with any of the teachers. I was the one who slouched at the back of class, hostile, and was never called on for anything. I had made certain of that with rude sarcasm that usually got the class laughing, but took several minutes for the teacher to gather back from.
I had royally, stupidly fucked myself.
So, I guess I couldn't blame any of them for not taking me serious that day. For not knowing that I needed them. Hell, I didn't want a fucking hug... just some semblance of concern and care would have been enough. What I got was disbelief that I cared to make up past work, sort of I'll-see-it-when-I-believe-it, and no help of any kind besides telling me the chapters of what books to read, the missed homework I had to do, and the tests I would need to take within the week.
Okay. I was on my own, and I had to prove something. Fine. I was still ready to spend all day in the library until it closed, working. I was determined to follow Jeremy. Graduate, decent job, maybe even college. Having a plan made life bearable again.
But vultures always know where dead things lie, don't they?
After school on that very first day, I had only gotten a block away when I noticed I was being followed. I stopped. I turned to face them. A couple of the jocks I'd insulted before, and a couple other of the richer kids who tagged with them. Perfect teeth and perfect smiles, and eyes that bore into me with power-lust glinting. It was not two against them anymore. It was only me, and they were going to put that half to the test. I was crazy, or so all of them thought, and that was why they had brought an army against me.
Usually, I went into these little skirmishes, knowing that I'd win, pulling out all the stops. I didn't care how much I hurt myself, as long as I hurt them more, right? That kept bullying to a minimum. Don't mess with crazy Dylan, and his trusty sidekick, Jeremy. He fought the same way I did. Dirty, and hard. We had little to lose, while they had everything. That was why we were left alone.
I took the beating of my life that day. No shit. I felt weak. I felt like I would lose, and so that's exactly what I went ahead and did. Hell, they were all twice my size, and looked like they ate regular meals. But my defeat wasn't enough after all the times I'd laughed at and threatened them in the past. When I was down, bleeding and unable to get up again, they dragged me out of sight in between two building. The plan was to humiliate me beyond any chance of coming back. One sat on my chest, while two others held my wrists to the pavement by standing on them with their expensive shoes. They informed me that I would have, one by one, all of their dicks crammed down my cocksucking throat, and I was going to beg for this to happen.
I informed them that anything crammed into my mouth would be summarily bitten off. They kicked, they stomped on my arms, the one on top of me, choked me nearly senseless, but I did not give in. I had nothing else to say on the subject. I held to that, and they beat me some more, this time unconscious. But none dared put anything into my mouth, either.
When I woke, there was not a spot on my body that didn't hurt. Jeremy and I, although never beaten this bad, had always nursed each other, even laughing at our injuries. We saw them as badges of honor, rites of passage, the good guys against the bad guys... you know what I mean. And it always brought us closer together as we limped our way home. Jeremy's mom, what can I say, she fretted and she hollered at us for fighting, even as she cleaned wounds and pressed cold cloth to our bruises, and kissed our foreheads with her eyes rolling and her voice full of affectionate concern. We always tried to squirm out from under her attentions, but the truth is, both of us enjoyed being fussed over. We always made a bird flies path right to her. It was one of the only times I ever allowed myself to be a child, to be in someone's arms, loved and nurtured and safe. What can I say? I loved her!
But on that day, I had to stagger home by myself, to no one. There was no comforting or concern. I slept for a couple days balled in my corner, and then attempted to go to school again. I had missed more time. The teachers just gave me that, we-knew-you'd-fuck-up look. And I found myself dodging blows in the hallways, and insults rained down from so many directions I was sure the entire school hated me now. Not just that, but I was in danger. I was weak now. I had proven to be vulnerable. I could only lose.
The next time I was followed, I didn't stand up to them, I ran like fucking hell all the way home. My dreams were dying. I went into the kitchen to find something to eat, and there I was set on by mom's latest boyfriend. I don't bother trying to keep track of their names. He declared me a disgrace as he stood there in his stained wife-beater that didn't cover his hairy belly, his face unshaven, his hair hanging in greasy strands. He pushed me against the refrigerator with that gleam in his unemployed eye I knew all too well, and he spat, "Get a fucking job, you little delinquent shithead, if you want to eat."
The man smelled of tobacco, beer and sweat, his black eyes were so cold they made me shiver. The threat in them was obvious, he was spoiling for some violence. One wrong word, and I was going to be beaten again. My mother, I knew from past experience, would not stop it, she would probably cheer him on. And so, I cowered away from the bastard, and I left.
I really left, as in ran away, and any ideas I'd had for a future dissolved right then and there. I grabbed the few clothes I owned, stuffed them into a green trash bag, and I went out the door with no intention of ever going back. Not home, not to school. So where? I was fourteen then. Unwanted. Alone. Fucked.
Of course, you know the first thought I had. I had gone to find Jeremy.
I was shivering, I could see the hair over my eyes vibrating finely. The cell bars were now frigid against my skin, and I gripped them tighter.
"I'll be getting that top bunk cleaned out for you," said my new roommate. I whirled around with the suddenness of reflexes used to violence.
"Easy, Dylan," Treye laughed. "Just want to be sure you know whose cell this is. Mine. And so is everything in it, which includes you. When we're locked in here, you will do nothing without my permission. And you'll do everything I tell you to. One slip up, one act of defiance, and you're back with your pet monster. That understood?"
I nodded, looking out through the bars again. Yeah, I know, I'm your whore, your property, I'm not stupid.
"Good boy," he purred. "No more getting up before I do. I need you on your knees, Dylan, and I will every morning. Starting today."
Obediently, without hesitation, I followed him back to his bunk.
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So, where to start?
I needed to find some of the people whose names had come up during the trial. I needed my father's help with that, I needed all the transcripts.
And I needed him to know the truth about me, and about me and Dylan.
It was at breakfast, that I started the conversation with, "Dad? Dylan is innocent. I have to try to get him out of prison. I just can't stand how unfair it is, and I'm not even sure he won't die there. He was beaten pretty badly."
My father cleared his throat. "The evidence, Jer, it was damning. I know he was your friend. I did all that I could."
"He's more than my friend," I said, gulping down some coffee. "I need your help, Dad. I need to read all the court records and trial transcripts. I am going to go over everything. There has to be some way to prove he didn't do it."
"Not if he did, son," my father looked over his paper at me, patiently. "Jeremy, he admitted it."
"But he took it back! Said he only confessed to protect someone, and that sounds just like him," I stated as calmly as I could.
"How far would he go to protect him, after all, he'd only known the guy a week or two," my father kept to his offense, and it was beginning to get gratingly on my nerves. "Setting yourself up for life in prison, or even death row is quite a lot of loyalty to a practical stranger."
"I need your help. You won't change my mind, and if I have to, I'll do this without you."
My stepfather looked up again, and there was a long silence. "All right. I'll arrange for you to go over whatever you wish. Might be good training, at that," he smiled.
"Dad?" I asked, softly. "How do you know when you're in love with someone?"
This time he didn't look up, just grunted. "Just don't do anything that you will regret. That's all I ask."
"Yes Sir," I answered. This was not the time, nor the mood to get any deeper. I had a feeling he knew what I meant, after all, he was practiced at putting two and two together. And my mother was just that quickly at my back, one hand on my shoulder for support. I patted her hand in a peace-shall-reign gesture.
"So, what was the name of the hooker? The one Dylan was arrested for? I should go try to find her, first," I said.
"Tracy Emerson. No address, no phone, good luck finding her," my father shook the paper and went back to reading.
I nodded. Despite what he said, I didn't think she'd be difficult to find, after all, she wanted to be found, that was her business.
I finished breakfast, to dress and head for the city.
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Forgotten children have no idea that they should be unhappy, when it's the only life they know.
I was unhappy, carrying my trash bag into the dying city of Yucca, well away from the government lands and the military testing grounds I had called home for almost fifteen years. I had lost the only family I'd ever really had, so I guess it's loss that brings it on.
The unemployment rate was very high here, and the wages were low. If not for the hunters and quaders, this city would have shriveled completely up in the heat. Just the citrus crops and military bases wouldn't have been enough. Diverse, it was, and not close knit in any way.
Misery really does love, or at least like with dumb gratitude, company. I walked for days, getting to know the place, and sleeping where ever I could find an unseen corner. Why did I stay in such a wretched place? Even I didn't admit to myself that I couldn't, just couldn't put any more distance from my heart.
By the third day, I was past plain old hunger, and salivating at the sight of small dogs. And that's when I met her. Collapsing onto the steps of the white-washed old church, I put my face in my hands, tired, hot and ever so lost.
"Want this?" a voice asked.
"Huh?" I squinted up, she was haloed by the overbearing sun, but I could see her face. Perk nose, big eyes, and missing some teeth. Age? I guessed late thirty-something, mom-age, but found out later she was only twenty-eight. The sun and the wind had taken its toll.
"I got a good tip last night, and bought too much. I thought, that kid over there looks hungry," she smiled and I looked at her hand that was held out to me. In it was a whole wrapped Whopper. "Are you?"
Like a stray dog, I took it from her hand, tossed off the paper and bit. Oh, man. I forgot about being annoyed by her sitting down beside me and watching me as I ate it. I thanked her, sincerely. I started to get up, thirsty.
"Where you going?" she asked.
"Water." I pointed to the church.
"Water? Good idea! Want to go swimming?" she asked just as lively as could be. I liked her already.
"Where?" I asked.
"The American Nile, where else?" she answered, standing up beside me and taking my hand. I let her. I was quite ready to be led for awhile. I was just that worn down.
The Colorado river was quite a distance away, at least twenty-five miles. That seemed daunting. But I didn't want her to go all of a sudden, and as we walked into the church to find a drink, I asked her if she had a car. She apologized, because she didn't, but hitchhiking wasn't too dangerous if we did it together, so she informed me.
I found out that Tracy was her name, she was as homeless as I was, and we never did make it swimming. No one had picked us up after an hour and it was getting late.
We talked, and we explored and she bought us tacos at dusk. Four of them. Three of them she handed to me in the little white bag, along with a cola, while she munched on one.
Shortly after we ate again, sitting under a shaggy tree by a car dealership, she sighed sadly and looked me in the eyes. "I have to head off for work, now. Maybe I'll see you again, Dylan."
"Can I go with you?" This practically burst out of me. I was clutching. "Sorry," I shook my head.
"It wouldn't be such a great idea," she told me. "I don't recommend it."
"That's okay. Thanks for the food and the talk and everything," I got to my feet, looking around, trying to decide which direction to go in to find somewhere to nap the night hours away.
"Dylan. Promise me something. Will you?" she brightened.
"Sure I will."
"Never to do what I do, if you promise, you can come."
I promised. I wanted to hug her, but didn't want to make her change her mind by acting like a clingy kid. I followed her south, past the city limits, and it was probably ten or so when we made it to our destination. The Paradise, it was called, an elegantly gaudy casino surrounded by a gadzillion cars. That was when I found out she didn't actually work there.
She made her living in the parking lot.
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Tracy Emerson. Thirty-one years old. Two arrests for prostitution. And one of the first witnesses my father had called on to testify on Dylan's behalf. Cleaned up, she hadn't looked half bad, and she had been literate with an interesting story to tell.
Dylan had been arrested the first time at fifteen. Breaking and entering, grand larceny over a thousand dollars, and assault on a police officer. That last charge had been reduced to resisting arrest due to his extensive injuries comparing to the arresting officers none. Nevertheless, he had been advised to plead guilty, being his first offense, and that the judge would go easy.
Only, the judge hadn't gone easy at all.
Dylan had served six months locked up, and then he was dumped into foster care. Two months later he had run away again, and violated probation. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Ms. Emerson had not been involved in Dylan's first arrest, at least not on paper, but three years later, after the cop was shot and killed, she had gone to my father and told him that Dylan had only committed his early crime to save her, and her baby. She was begging for the truth to be known, so it wouldn't be held against him.
It wasn't much. But my father had taken what he could get, and probably her testimony had helped keep Dylan alive as much as anything had.
I knew I couldn't miss too many days of classes from UA. I had set up a punishing class load... but maybe one every two or three weeks would not harm my grades. And there were weekends and holidays coming up. For Dylan's sake, I was going to start today, and every free minute I could find. Before someone killed him.
I cruised around downtown, and I asked several homeless people if they knew her, but I ended up finding Tracy Emerson on my own.
Sitting on the curb across from a Seven-Eleven with a huge multicolored Slurpee in her hands, I recognized her, and pulled into the parking lot. Crossing over to her, she saw me with my eyes glued on her, and she stood up.
"Looking for me, hon?" she asked.
"You remember me?" I was a little surprised, after all we had never spoken.
"Oh, sure I do, I always remember my favorites," she smiled, licking her lips, trying to look seductive, but she tripped backwards over the curb and barely stayed upright. The Slurpee died a quick, messy death at our feet, splattering our shoes.
I grabbed her arm to steady her. She blushed, shrugged and smiled again. "Thanks."
"Do you lie much?" This was my next question.
She looked down, but her eyes were amused. "Yes, in fact I do. But I never get good at it, I get flustered and trip over curbs."
I thrust my hand that was not holding her arm out. "I'm Jeremy."
She took it, delicately, and somewhat slowly. "No one ever tells me their name. I'm sorry I don't remember you, I swear I must be getting senile to have forgotten a hottie like you."
"Tracy, before you start talking about money, or anatomy, I'm a friend of Dylan's. That's why I'm looking for you."
Her expression changed, sunlight fell into shadows upon her face, as she said, "Dylan? Dear Lord. That poor boy. He's in prison."
"I know. My father was his lawyer."
"Mr. Chase? He's a good man, to try to help Dylan," she said, and then her eyes widened. "Jeremy! You're... omigod, that Jeremy. The one Dylan always spoke about."
I nodded, and pointed with my head. "My car's over there. Can we go somewhere and talk?"
"You will help that boy?"
"I will try my damndest."
She sized me up, briefly. Her voice grew soft. "He doesn't admit it, but Dylan loves you. Trust me, I know."
Tracy and I headed for the car, and she went on, "Dylan, with his looks, they were always after him, the ladies and the men, both. But he has no eyes for any of them. You were the reason why."
"Tracy, I'm going to try to prove him innocent. Will you help me?"
"Oh yes. Gladly. He shouldn't be there. He didn't do it, he told me so, and he lies worse than I do," she said as I opened the car door for her.
I got into the Mercedes and twisted the ignition. I thought to head out of the city, it wasn't too hot a day, maybe eighty-five degrees or so. I was headed for a park or a campground, somewhere private. As we drove off, I said, "What I want to hear about is that breaking and entering, from three years ago."
Beside me, with her hands folded on her lap, Tracy nodded. "A very good place to start."
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The top bunk in Treye's cell had been cleared off, and I was resting on it, as I supposed to be, seen but not heard, unless my new owner needed something.
It had been an interesting morning.
First off, I was not allowed to sit with Treye during meals. He had friends who wouldn't speak in front of me. Not that I cared one way or another. So at breakfast, now you can call me stupid if you want, but I sat down almost right across from Monster, to torture the bastard.
"Are you nuts?" he hissed.
"Fuck, yeah."
"Someday, I'm gonna get my chance to tear you into little pieces."
"Not today," I shrugged.
He hated me and he would have almost sold his soul to get me alone, and he sputtered a few more things at me, but I kept cool and ignored him. I was relatively safe now. But I could never get back what he had taken.
I had kept that promise I'd made to Tracy. Well, sort of. I suppose I wouldn't have much longer, under the circumstances.
Tracy had never seemed to mind my increasing dependence on her. Maybe because we got along so well, despite our differences. I watched her go off into stranger's cars, most often just staying right there in the casino parking lot. Not always, though. Still, I didn't worry for her, to me she was like a parent, with some hidden knowledge that I didn't possess. I napped off in the shadows over the small incline, unseen, while she made money.
Sometimes, she didn't make much. But regardless, she headed first and foremost, to the bank every day to deposit all but what she needed for meals and clothes. She said it was for her new life. I suspect, that after that day of our meeting, not as much was saved, but she never said a word, not even a look to say she minded. She fed me, and clothed me and kept me company. I watched over her while she slept in all the hiding places she'd found around Yucca. Often, her hand or her head rested up against me, as if for comfort, as if she were the child and maybe that summed us up, we pathetic two. We needed each other, and it didn't take very long before we were inseparable.
I loved the way she grasped my arm and sidled up to me when she was startled, as if I might protect her, despite being a very slight fourteen and shorter than she was, and damn it, I would have, if ever I had to.
On those rare days that it rained, we huddled up, comfortable in each other's arm, and we napped and talked that way. The hole in my heart was filling in, and yet I was restless, too. I was living her life, without one of my own. She often voiced her dreams about the new life she saved for, and there was no place for me in it. And I was growing up. Just how long would I be comfortable being taken care of? I still had dreams of my own, but unlike Tracy's, they were fantasy. And they always included Jeremy, even though it was obvious he was through with the likes of me.
But, I knew some sort of end to my quiet, peaceful existence was coming. I just didn't know it would be so soon, or so brutal an awakening.
It was a hot night, one of those southern Arizona nights where the temperature doesn't bother to go much below a hundred, to spite the darkness. Tracy had gone off with an older man in his car. Sometimes they wanted a nice comfortable motel room, nothing unusual, only, she never came back. I waited there until past noon the next day, when I saw her limping towards me, and I jumped up with relief.
That relief was short-lived. Tracy barely had the strength to get to me, and she collapsed at my feet.
"Tracy! What happened?" I was on my knees beside her, brushing her hair from her bruised, bloodied face.
"Dylan. Dylan, sorry sweetie," she said with exhaustion. "I'll be all right. I just need to rest."
Nodding, I helped her up and half-carried her over the incline to where the fence was, and shade. I set her gently down.
"Hold on, Tracy, I'm going to go get some water or something."
"Slurpee, I wanna Slurpee, all four kinds in one. Will you get me one, love?" she asked in a pained, little girl voice, looking up at me.
It was a good hike away, but so what? I felt tears welling, seeing her like that. She dug into her bag, and she handed me money.
"Sure I will. Don't worry, Tracy, I'll take care of you," I kissed her forehead, and got up. "Be right back."
I ran all the way there and all the way back, some record I would say under the blazing noon day sun. But it was worth it, to see the look on her battered face when I handed her the still partially frozen drink. Panting, and dripping with sweat, I knelt there, overwhelmed with joy to see light come back to her eyes.
I sat down and she leaned on me, drank, and told me the story of what that bastard had done to her. I was in shock hearing it, especially since she had never told me any details before, and I admit to my ignorance on the subject at that time.
"Tracy," I stroked her head and logically stated, "You can't do that anymore! Go off with strangers that way!"
She looked sad. "He wasn't exactly a stranger, besides, I have to," she simply replied. Pain was sometimes necessary for survival, she didn't say this, but I reasoned it as an unkind truth.
I took care of her while she mended, the black eye faded, and the welts on her healed. We lazed away the days together, talking and playing rummy and twenty-one with a slippery deck of cards. Oh, and drinking Slurpees, I was beginning to like them.
A couple weeks later, she began to get sick. She vomited almost everything she ate or drank. I worried for her, sure it had something to do with her injuries, and I tried to get her to go the hospital.
Instead, she went to the pharmacy. I didn't see what she bought, but that night when the parking lot had thinned out, and she joined me in my hiding place, she explained that she was pregnant. The man who had whipped and beaten her had been so drunk, he had tried to... 'go' for a second time with the same condom on, and it had come off.
"Pregnant?" I got scared. This was just too adult for me, too unfathomable. And yet, I knew I would have to take care of her. I couldn't allow her to sell herself anymore, she was just going to have to listen to me.
She touched my face, sensing my turmoil, and fear. "Ah, sweet Dylan, don't look at me like I kicked you. I've thought about it all day." She put her hands to her belly and I saw tears fall on them. "I want my baby, I can't stand the thought of her being unwanted. I need my new life, for her. I'm tired. But I don't have enough money saved yet."
I thought for a minute, wiping her tears tenderly. "The father should have to pay, too, shouldn't he? It seems only fair."
She laughed softly. "The high and mighty Gerald Sebastian pay for a whore's baby? Not very likely."
I hugged her close to me. "Don't call yourself that. And if you knew that asshole's name, you should have reported what he did to you to the police."
"So innocent," she said. "Dylan, no one would ever believe me over him. Why would a man like that, excuse my language, screw with a cheap little slut like me?"
"Tracy! Stop that!" I was irritated at her downed attitude. "He liked you well enough, didn't he, even if he was a mean bastard. But you're right about one thing, you shouldn't go near him. I'll go."
"Dylan."
I took a deep breath, let go of her and stood up, and waited for her to say something. She didn't, she just stared at me.
"Where does he live?" I asked.
"At the top of the Heights, where else? But Dylan?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful."
Nodding, I turned to go.
"Dylan? No one's ever tried to help me like you have. Thank you," Tracy told me, and I smiled once before heading off, more determined than ever.
The problem was that the man was even more of a bastard than I would have thought possible. Tracy had made light of what he'd done to her, saying he was just drunk and it wasn't uncommon for men to like 'rough stuff', only he got carried away. These men paid extra, a lot extra, she said, to tie her up, or to be tied up, and even whipped, and I may not have fully understood the concept, but I had believed her.
I realized now she had said much of it to allay my worries.
I was angry all over again, and I told this sadistic creep who answered the door to the fancy house, what I thought of him. Cooly, Mr. Sebastian offered to pay for an abortion. I informed him that Tracy didn't want one, and that was when he got totally nasty, and he surprised me with his threats against her if she didn't abort that low-life baby. God, I was mad, but scared, too. I was thinking I had made a terrible mistake. I had placed Tracy in danger, now.
So much I didn't understand. But I understood one thing after speaking with him, for he had no problems telling me how he felt. To him, creatures like Tracy were not worth spitting on. Not really people. He had women to date, and if necessary, he could afford to hire clean, beautiful lady escorts. A girl like Tracy was good for only his baser, darker needs, worthy of being beaten and raped, and if she died that was her problem, not like anyone would miss her, he had told me.
Well, I would miss her, I informed him, which led to him explaining to me about my worth in the world. Or should I say, lack of any.
He shut the double door in my face. I stayed there hidden on the edge of his property, forming a plan. I would make him pay. There had to be things in that expensive house of his I could sell and get Tracy and her unborn child somewhere safe. It wasn't enough to even the score, but I wasn't out for revenge, just some sense of fairness. I only cared about Tracy.
So much I didn't know. Like about silent alarms. My ignorance would be my downfall.
I snuck in by breaking a window with a rock wrapped in my sleeve, reached through and unlocked it. He had already told me he lived alone, so I thought this would be simple. I snuck into the upstairs rooms, listening carefully, and walking with absolute silence. I found a jewelry box in his room, and just scooped out everything into my pockets. Then, I emptied the cash from his wallet. I was feeling so fucking clever, handling everything with my sleeve and not leaving fingerprints. God, I was an idiot.
I left, the same way that I had come, only this time there were two police officers there. I saw their flashlights, too late, and made a run for it. They tackled me down easy enough, snapped handcuffs on behind my back, and with me quiet and panting between them, they rang the front doorbell.
Mr. Sebastian, after thanking them, asked them to hold my arms, and I felt their grip shore up so he could hit me. He held nothing back, his fist collided with my chin and all but knocked me out. When my vision returned from the blackness with its painfully shooting lights, he punched again, this time just below my ribs, and it hurt like hell.
Infuriated by this, I screamed out what he had done to Tracy, and the threat he had made. And that was when the police officers, who should have been protecting me, threw me down and proceeded to put me in my lowly place with their nightsticks. I was very mellow after this, as in I don't remember much, except how horribly bad moving felt.
It would be nine months before I would see Tracy again.
"Hey, kid," I heard, shaking me out of the past like a cat from a tree, and I glanced over at Treye. "You're so quiet it's spooky."
"I thought that's what you wanted, Treye."
"Sure, sure. Listen, right after lunch we have the yard for an hour or so. Long story short, kid, I promised someone a favor. Your sweet little mouth. There'll be two of them. Make me proud," said my owner as if stating the weather and I closed my eyes tight.
Just like a fucking weather report, it needed no answer.
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I listened to Tracy's story and saw her well up about the loss of her baby, and heard the anguish in her voice when she told me of Dylan's arrest, his six months in juvie, and the foster home.
"The first time I saw him," she said, shaking her head, "...after, you know. He looked different. He had gotten so thin, and so pale, and when he smiled it seemed to use more energy than he had. But it was just as warm as ever. I had missed him so much."
What she said reminded me of when he and I were little. Real little, five, six years old, and I wouldn't see him for a few days.
He would stay in that hot, tiny trailer, but eventually he always came back out. He would look different when this happened, like the life had gone out of him. Yet, he always smiled as best he could, and he never talked about it, only saying he got punished, or spanked. I found out from my mother, years later, that his poor maternal excuse for a parent and whatever brute she was currently sleeping with hurt little Dylan, sometimes very much so, over something like a spilled glass of milk.
I turned to the woman sitting quietly beside me. "Tracy, just so you know. I love him, too."
She let her breath out and her eyes got big. "You do? Seriously? Save him, Jeremy, and do what I never could. Love him, really love him. He needs it so badly."
I thought of my arms around him, his soft hair, the warm feel of his mouth, gentle on mine. Too choked up to speak, I cleared my throat and nodded. After a few minutes of silence, I asked,
"Do you know anyone else I could speak to about him?"
"Yup. In fact, I do," she answered.
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