by H. M. Ward
“Mr. Gambino. Your son. His friends. Help me. Please.” I’m breathless, unable to string more than two words together at a time, but I need to tell him so he can stop them.
Mr. Gambino looks to the men behind me. “Boys. I’m disappointed in you. You involved Granz’s daughter in this? He's a friend of the family. This is sloppy.”
Sloppy? Involved? What the hell? I take in my surroundings and notice things I didn’t notice when I first stepped in. There are stacks of money on the desk, a small mirror with a fine line of white powder, a plastic bag with even more white powder, and that blonde-haired man, the one sitting with Mr. Gambino. He has an open briefcase in front of him with stacks of money and more clear plastic bags, some filled with powder, some filled with dried leaves.
No. Oh my god. I want to cry. I rushed into a drug deal.
“Ferro needed to learn his place, Dad.” Phil says from behind me. Mr. Gambino pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, shaking his head as if his son is giving him a headache.
The other man stands up and takes his hand out of his jacket, luckily, not holding anything. I was half expecting him to pull out a gun. The guys behind me are breathing down my neck, and I try to squirm away from them, but there’s no place to go.
“Mr. Gambino, please, let me go. I swear I won’t say anything to anyone. Please.” I hate feeling weak, but I’m caught. There’s no way out now.
Mr. Gambino starts to speak, but the other man talks over him in a raspy voice. “Of course, sweetheart. You!” The man singles out one of Philip’s friends who steps in closer. “Take her home.” The way he says it makes me want to puke. I’m not going home. No one is ever going to see me again.
“Yes, sir,” the young man says walking up behind me, pressing a hand to my back to make me walk.
Zeke starts to whoop and cheer, pointing at Philip.
Before he can speak, the dealer says, “No one is fucking her. She’s going home. Immediately.” He stands up and walks slowly to me. The man is tall. Under his jacket, he wears a deep v-neck tee, emphasizing his muscular frame. His gaze travels up and down my body, assessing me.
His mouth lifts to one side, making the jagged scar on his cheek more obvious. “You say she’s involved with one of the Ferro boys? You guys are fucking idiots. Get her out of here and come back when you're done. And I swear to God, if the cops find any of your DNA on her corpse, I’ll personally break into your jail cell and cut your dick off myself.”
There’s a pause, a breath of silence as I mutter the word. "Corpse? I thought you were taking me home?" My voice is way too high and trembles as I speak.
The man with the scar turns to me, his eyes sweeping over my body. “It’s a damn shame to waste a piece of ass like yours, but business is business. And in this field, home is your final resting place. Get her out of here.”
The world around me spins out of control as the air is sucked from my lungs. My knees buckle. The last thing I see before blackness consumes me is a faint golden glimmer coming from drug guy's mouth as he sneers.
NOT THIS AGAIN!
November 17th, 1:13am
Smoke.
I’m trapped in my nightmare once more. I try to wake up, but I can’t. I have to wait for the dream to run its course. The toxic fumes surround me, dancing around like a ghost, an intense heat wafts off of the flames, caressing my bare arms and face. I wait for the image to come into focus, expecting the flames to morph into people that try to pull me down.
The images never come. Awareness slowly settles in, lifting the dream. I feel myself waking up, regaining control of my body once more, but the nightmare goes on. The smell of burning plastic and wood is more prominent as the seconds slowly pass. I try to breathe through my nose, but it burns. I open my mouth to take in a breath, but I can’t. There’s something over my mouth, keeping it shut. I move my arms to reach up, to take it off, but my hands won’t move. They are bound behind my back, making my shoulders burn with every tug. I open my eyes, but my right eyelid won’t cooperate. It’s heavy and feels thick. My left eye sees perfectly, though, causing me to panic.
I see tall beams of ancient wood reach high into the air. They’re sided with old boards, weathered with age. The floor is a mixture of dirt, sawdust, and animal droppings. There are bails of hay stacked opposite me. There’s an old green tractor parked next to the door, a fuel container tipped to its side next to it. The flames are stronger in that spot, as if the fuel was used to get the fire started, creating a wall of fire across the door. I can’t escape.
Philip. He and his friends did this. They were ordered to get rid of me. 'Corpse,' the blonde man had said. They want me dead and this time, there’s no saving me. I’m tied to a chair, my hands behind my back and my ankles bound together. I can’t breathe through my mouth because it’s been taped closed.
I can feel myself hyperventilating, the tape sucking into my mouth with every breath. I try to push it off with my tongue, but it doesn’t work. I thrash my head left and right with no success. I let out a muffled scream, hoping someone, anyone, will hear me. I jump, but my chair catches in the dirt and wobbles, almost toppling me over. If I fall over, there is no way I’ll be able to get back up.
There’s nothing left to do.
Five months ago, my biggest remorse was that I hadn’t claimed my life for my own, that I hadn’t done anything worthwhile. I cling to memories I'm proud of--swing dancing, making new friends, living on my own for a brief moment, skydiving, getting a tattoo, riding on the back of a motorcycle, and Peter.
Tears fill my eyes, thinking of him. He’s my only regret. I never got to tell him I love him. Right or wrong, he poured his heart out to me, and when he asked me to follow him, I turned away, too crippled by fear to act.
Now, he’ll never know he was loved, too.
Flames lick the boards behind me, climbing higher and higher. The heat is becoming unbearable, and it’s like trying to breathe tar through my nose. I can’t get enough air no matter how hard I try. The flames dance around me, merging into one another, caressing the walls. It’s only a matter of time before they reach the rafters above me, and cause the gables to come crashing down. I wonder what will kill me first, the smoke or the roof.
A sudden crash and the sound of breaking glass startles me. It’s so hot that any glass in here will explode. The noise comes from behind me. I can’t turn around to see what was decimated.
“Gina? Gina, are you in there? Please answer me. Gina?” Peter’s voice is coming from a window behind me. I scream through the tape. The resulting sound is weak and muffled. There's no way he can hear me. He'll think I’m not here, and he'll leave.
I hobble on the chair, trying to turn around, but the chair sticks to the floor. I come crashing down, slamming my left shoulder on the ground and hitting my head on the dirt floor. The air is much cooler down here and easier to get into my lungs. Fresher air is coming through the broken window. The breeze is welcoming except that the flames seem to be feeding off the new source of oxygen. They're spreading more rapidly than before.
Facing the window, I manage to see Peter peering inside. When our eyes meet, his face is horror-struck. He wraps his fist with his jacket and knocks out the remaining jagged pieces of glass clinging to the frame. He climbs inside through the opening and drops down to the floor, crouched down close to the ground.
Another voice calls out. “Is she there?” It’s Erin. She’s outside, just beyond the open window. Pete turns to the window and says, “Yeah, she’s here. Stay where you are. I'll get her out.”
Peter runs to me and kneels in the dirt, brushing hair away from my face. “What did they do to you? I need to get you out of here. You’re safe now.” I nod, turning my head to look up at the ceiling with my bad eye. Flames flicker at the corner of my limited line of sight. Peter’s forehead beads with sweat, but his hands work fast. They tear at the tape on my ankles. He moves to the back of the chair. “This is going to hurt. I’m so sorry.” He rips the tape off of my
wrists. I scream into my gag. If I have any skin left on my wrists, it’ll be a miracle.
I’m finally free of the chair, and Pete helps me up. The old barn creaks and cracks, making me jump. We both look up and then back at each other. I rip the tape off of my mouth myself and let out a mother of a scream. Pete grabs my arm and pulls me toward the window. It's too high for me to reach it on my own, so he lifts me up and pushes me through.
Erin is on the other side, waiting to help me out. When both my feet are safely on the ground, she takes me into a tight hug, yelling in my ear, “You stupid, idiotic, foolish, dimwitted, lying, irresponsible,--”
“I love you too, Erin.”
We wait for Pete to make his way out of the barn. I turn to look through the window. Pete takes a couple of steps back. He’s getting ready to run and jump out, but the sound of metal torquing followed by a huge crack shakes the ground as the ceiling falls. Pete vanishes from sight.
Erin and I both scream and run toward the window. Pete’s on his back on the ground, unconscious, a broken beam next to him.
IT’S NEVER TOO LATE
November 17th, 1:38 am
NO!
Rapidly, I climb onto the bale of hay under the window, giving me extra leverage. I have one leg in, one leg out when Erin pulls me back. “Gina, don’t go in there. You’ll die.”
I turn toward my friend and practically growl in her face, “So could Peter. I’m going in and you are NOT stopping me. I have to, Erin. I love him.”
Erin takes a second and nods. "Right. Okay, then. Let's save your sexy man-beast." She backs up a step and lets me go in. I land on the ground and assess the situation. The fire has continued to spread, and the heat is unbearable. Huge clouds of black smoke billow through the roof and reach into the sky.
I run to Pete’s side and put one of his arms around my shoulders. I attempt to lift him up, but he’s too heavy.
“You’re not THAT strong you dumb twit. Hey, nice tat by the way.” I look up. Erin is standing in front of me, hands on her hips, smiling. The ceiling above us creaks and her smile morphs into a frown. She runs to Pete’s other side, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders. We drag him toward the window.
"What now, Erin? How are we supposed to get him out there? The window is too high."
"Climb out first, Gee. Once you're outside, reach down for his hands and pull. I'll push him from the bottom. I promise not to grope his ass too much." She smiles crookedly at me.
I'm pulling, and Erin is inside, pushing. Our progress is slow, and I worry a piece of stray glass will dig into his belly, but that’s not our biggest problem. He’s too big and I’m too weak.
Erin grunts and yells, “Fuck he’s heavy! What’s he packing, anyway? A whale’s dick? And what’s in that nutsack of his, horse sperm? Damn! He should go on a diet or something.”
My arms are burning. I feel tiny muscle fibers snapping. Pete's hips clear the windowsill, and we finally manage to get Pete out of the building. His limp body rolls off of the bale of hay, onto the ground. I sit next to him, resting his head on my lap and gently stroking the wet hair from his brow. Erin follows shortly after, sitting next to us.
“Thanks.” It seems like an understatement, and there’s still an inferno at our backs. I look down at Peter and wonder if I’ll ever see those sparkling blue eyes again or hear that deep sexy voice.
“No prob.” She sucks in fresh air and then coughs up way too much phlegm. “Sexy.” She wipes her mouth on the back of her wrist.
I sit at Peter’s head, trying not to cry. “He’s hurt. He could have died in there.”
Erin stands upright again, and when she can speak, she replies, “Yes, he could have, but he didn’t. You’re not going to lose him. Not tonight. Not because of this. Now, let’s drag him farther out. This place could come crashing down at any moment, and we don't want to be anywhere near here when it does. It’ll be the world’s biggest fireball.”
She points to a clearing a couple feet away, and we drag Pete’s limp body away from the barn, setting him down gently on his back.
I bend at the waist, my hands propped on my knees, trying to catch my breath. "How did you guys know where to find me?" I’m panting so hard that I start coughing again.
Erin glances at me with a look I've never seen before on her, guilt and shame plastered across her flawless face. "When I came home to find you gone, I figured you'd gone to see Philip at the club, and I panicked. I didn't know what else to do, so I called Ferro. It frightened me to think of what you were potentially walking into. Philip was so angry when you left him. I knew what these guys were into, I just never thought they'd do anything like this."
"They wanted to gang rape me, beat me up and burn me. You knew that?" My shoulders square off as I’m ready to strangle her on the spot.
"Not exactly, but I had an idea of some of it.” She won’t look at me and wrings her hands behind a spattering of stars. Her face is illumined by dancing flames, defining the slender face I’ve trusted for years. “I tried to tell you to stay away from him, but you didn't listen. I didn’t want to tell you this part.”
“Why? Because you thought I wouldn’t believe you?”
“No.”
“Then you must have thought that I’d be okay. Why else—”
“Gee! Shut up! I knew you wouldn’t be okay.” Her knuckles are turning white as she strangles her hands. “You don’t know all of it.”
“Then tell me! Why the hell did my best friend know I was walking into a gang rape and not say anything? Did you think it was funny? Did you—”
Erin is trembling as she screams. “NO! Gina, it was me. I was supposed to be their date for the evening. I was supposed to be there, not you.” Tears streak down her cheeks as she speaks.
“Erin?” I step toward her, shocked. I lift my hand to touch her arm, but she jerks away.
Erin doesn’t look up. She works her jaw as she wraps her arms around her middle and holds on tight. “I had to cancel with them, because I finally got a meeting with the art gallery. I'm guessing that's when Philip texted you.”
“How? Why? Erin, oh my God.” I want to cry. Mortification, shame, and fear all collide within me. How could she do this and me not see it? How did I not know?
“Philip and I have been friends forever. When I left my family, it wasn't easy. I struggled a lot, but I didn't want to admit it to you. I didn't want you to think less of me. Some months have been tougher than others. When Philip saw I was struggling, he hooked me up with some people his Dad knew. It was just paid sex with a bunch of his buddies, only a couple of times, and they were never violent."
I want to point out that it's not just paid sex. That it’s prostitution, but I don’t. I can’t hear those words come out of my mouth, so I swallow them back. “Why didn't you tell me?"
Erin points to Peter, who's still unconscious on the ground. "Because you were going to marry this idiot and I thought you were too much of a goody-two-shoes to consider doing anything with another man. It was innocent flirting, and it made you feel so good about yourself. I couldn't take that away from you, not after what Anthony had done to you. Philip really did care for you, and you needed to see that you were worthy of that kind of affection. I swear I didn't know they'd try to hurt anyone. That's not how they work. They just pay to have a good time with consenting girls. When Pete and I got to the club, it was too late, they were stuffing you into the trunk of a car and taking off. We followed them here. There were too many of them, so we hid and waited until they left."
My mouth is hanging open. I shake my head and ask carefully, "That’s not what I meant. Why didn't you tell me things were that bad? Why didn’t you ask me for help? I could have helped you. This could have been you tonight."
"None of them loved me, so I doubt it. Phil had it really bad for you. That'll drive any man to insanity. And besides, I would have been willing. I'm guessing you put up a bit of a fight to end up banged up like that? You look awful, but I'm proud of you, Gin
a."
I smile at her comment and look down to Pete. I sit down slowly on the ground next to him and stroke a strand of hair from his forehead with my finger. His chest is rising and falling slowly. My fingers trace the curves of his face, along his jaw and across his lips.
Erin's voice breaks my contemplation. I'd almost forgotten she was here. "You should have seen him tonight. Pete was a total wreck. I think he really cares for you, Gee."
“He told me he loves me."
"Did you say it back?"
"No, and now it’s too late."
Erin wipes the tears off her face, leaving streaks in the soot. Her hair looks like it got stuck in a vacuum cleaner, but she’s still grinning. "It's never too late, babe."
DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS
November 17th, 2:22am
Erin runs off into the darkness to get the car, leaving me alone with Peter. The light of the burning barn flickers around us, casting eerie shadows on the ground as it echoes the sound of the cracking wood.
I kneel next to him, my trembling hands shaking his shoulders gently. “Wake up, Peter. Please, it’s me. Gina. You have to wake up, please!” Shaking his shoulders doesn’t work. I slap his cheeks lightly, but Pete’s body remains motionless. He looks so peaceful.
It’s both beautiful and frightening at the same time. He’s usually so full of life, the fighter. He shouldn't be helpless like this. My fingers gently trace the curves of his face. I trace his eyebrows, imagining their usual mocking expression, to his cheeks, where his adorable dimple appears when he smiles, and across to the lips that have kissed me in ways I’ve never been kissed before.
Fear oozes through my body as I realize he might never wake up. That guy at the rave never woke up. I become frantic, shaking him more vigorously. "Wake up, Pete!"
