Her days and nights were now different. They were filled with mystery and she took to the new job with relish, feeling as if she’d finally found her niche. She didn’t miss the job at the newspaper because, in all reality, she was still an investigative reporter. “I just make those reports to the police now and have more liberty and credibility,” she silently acknowledged. She liked it. She still used the skills she’d learned in college and had added a few new ones that were even more beneficial.
Today, she planned to interview Latisha Miller, a near-rape victim. The victim’s recorded statement was unusual. Latisha swore her assailant, armed with a knife, was jerked away from her and flung through the air before he could accomplish penetration. Miss Miller lived on Girod Street just off St. Charles, but Vivien had to park several blocks away on Magazine due to heavy traffic that day.
“Tell me what you remember, Latisha,” Vivien gently coaxed after they were seated in the living room.
She was getting better at interviewing adults. The success realized while talking to the youths about the priest was often the example that inspired her. She’d tossed aside the practical mock-interviews conducted while at Auburn and used the method again now. It took longer, but was worth it.
“I don’t understand why you want to know,” Latisha began. “They didn’t listen to me then. I was mocked and the entire ordeal was discounted.”
“I want to know because your testimony is very similar to others I’ve heard. I’m looking for a pattern, something common between each of the statements. The police may not care, but I do,” Vivien reassured her.
“What kind of pattern?”
“The cases that grab my interest are where witnesses state they were rescued by something they couldn’t explain. I’ve heard it described as an angel or simply an unseen presence, as in your case. Like you said earlier, the police don’t pay any attention to that part of their statements, but it happens too often for me to ignore,” Vivien explained as honestly as she could.
“And, you’ve already found others who said similar things…that something helped them get away or stopped an attack?”
“Yes, I have interviewed several so far and I’ve heard the same stories from each of them. Most didn’t get a good look at their rescuer, but they’re convinced that someone saved them,” Vivien said.
“If you find what you’re looking for in my statement, will you tell me?”
“Yes, I can do that,” Vivien replied.
“That’s good to know. If my account is similar to others, they must feel as crazy as I did after it happened. I work from home. I’d like to start an online support group with a website providing both information and privacy. Even if there are only a few people involved, they need to know they’re not alone. An anonymous website would provide a place to talk about it with others who’ve had similar experiences. It would help everyone. It would help me too.”
“That’s a really good idea. If you get it started, I’ll hand out the web address when I talk to others who can relate. Now, let’s get started. I truly want to hear what you have to say. Tell me what you remember,” Vivien began again.
“I was walking along Bourbon Street with two girlfriends late one evening when a man came up behind us. He put a knife just below my ear, here,” Latisha said as she pointed to the scar.
“That must have been very frightening,” Vivien commented softly and with true compassion.
“It was. He threatened to slit my throat if I gave him any trouble. I suppose the nick was to scare me and my friends…and it worked. He warned them not to turn around and to stay away or he’d kill me,” Latisha said and then paused, remembering the experience vividly.
“Was there anyone else around when that happened?” Vivien asked quietly.
“No, not at that moment. It was only the three of us. He pulled me into an alley and then a side-alley or lane that led to several homes and various living quarters. Places I never knew existed in New Orleans. It didn’t cut straight through to any of the other parallel streets, but wound and looped around in a maze. We were lost from sight almost immediately,” Latisha said as she stopped again, tearful and overcome with emotion.
“Take your time,” Vivien encouraged gently.
“My friends screamed and called for help, but they were afraid to follow, afraid he’d kill me. They stayed by the alley calling for help from any passersby and called 9-1-1. A crowd gathered, but since no one could see me, they were afraid to go in after me.”
“You must have felt abandoned,” Vivien continued to offer Latisha support.
“I felt guilty too. You see, we’d all been drinking and I couldn’t help but wonder if he chose us because we were tipsy and giddy. You know, we weren’t really paying attention to our surroundings. We were laughing and having a good time.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Latisha,” Vivien said softly while maintaining eye contact.
“Anyway, I got dizzy and sick from the constant turns and twists as he shoved me along, plus I was frightened nearly out of my mind. I feared that no one would ever find me in that maze, but I couldn’t call out for help. I knew he’d cut me again. I didn’t want to die.”
“What happened next?” Vivien asked quietly, keeping her tone melodic.
“I was so woozy and shaky, I threw up. That caused him to jump back a little, but not enough for me to get away. I guess he was afraid some of the puke would get on him. Then, he got angry and yelled at me. He called me a ‘bitchin’ cunt’ and a ‘no-good whore’ before he shoved me to the ground. I was face-down and never got a good look at him,” she stopped to cry and Vivien reached out to console the young woman, gently patting her hands, but allowing her the time needed to grieve once more.
“Who found you, Latisha…who saved you? Can you tell me any specific thing about him?” Vivien continued after the witness had regained composure. The ex-reporter kept her voice soft and low.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I was face down on the ground. I couldn’t see anything and didn’t get a good look at the attacker or the one who rescued me.”
“Can you tell me what happened next?” Vivien gently prodded.
“The rapist used his knife to cut away my panties. The blade nicked me on the inner thigh and buttocks. He reached for the back crotch area and twisted it toward him so he could cut at the smallest section of material, but he still cut me. I got the impression he’d done that many times before and that he’d been in that maze before. It was just something about the way he handled me…he knew to grab the material and pull it to him away from me. Do you know what went through my mind at that moment—when I understood what he was doing to the panties? I was glad that I wasn’t wearing a thong!” She cried out in shame.
This time, Latisha burst into hot tears and sobbed for a long while. Vivien once again comforted her and stroked her hands soothingly, but she didn’t comment or speak. She only allowed Latisha to cry it out and resume when she was ready.
“I was terrified he’d rape me with the knife. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. After he made the slit, I felt his weight on me. He was pressing me down into the dirt. My boyfriend weighs about 165 pounds and it felt like he weighed twice that…he was heavy. I felt suffocated and almost passed out. Then, I felt his cock between my legs and that reality brought me around. I tensed my entire body, trying to make it as difficult for him as possible. He was already ejaculating…I felt it on my legs and butt. The next thing I knew, there was a spotlight shining around me and his weight was gone. He was just gone.”
“What do you mean?” Vivien asked in surprise. She hadn’t read anything about that in the report.
“He just wasn’t there anymore. He was lifted off me and thrown through the air by someone. I heard a loud crash as he landed on one of those large trash dumpsters…The ones used for more than one family or business. It’s where the police found his body when they finally arrived. The cops said he broke his neck in the fall, but I know I heard him cry out after
he hit the dumpster. Like I said, it made a large crashing sound when he landed. I’m certain he wasn’t dead right then even though the entire police force insisted that he was. Actually, the cries I heard were more like he screamed in fear and started begging.”
“And the light? What happened to the spotlight you mentioned?” Vivien asked gently, wanting to know if it was the same light seen by the others.
“It was gone too. It left after the body landed on the dumpster. I didn’t see it again. In fact, I had forgotten about it until now. I didn’t even think to tell the police about it. But, the light was there while the man was still straddling me on the ground,” Latisha added thoughtfully.
“That is the similarity I was hoping to find, Latisha—the light. Most of the other witnesses described seeing a bright light just before they were saved too. What else do you remember?” Vivien queried.
“That’s it. The cops dismissed the entire thing. After all, I wasn’t actually raped and they acted like it was no big deal. I felt like a fool, but I insisted that they file the report. I know enough to know that similarities are important to the police department as a rule. I wanted my statement in there in case this scenario had been reported before. You know, a man using a knife to cut away the crotch…being shoved into a maze…stuff like that.”
“I’m glad you did. Your report is what led me to you,” Vivien commented. “Is there anything else you can think of, anything else about that night that you’d like to tell me?”
“Look, Miss Simon, I know someone saved me that night…I know it. And, the dumb cops never ask or answer the important stuff…like, how did such a large man manage to jump through the air and land on top of a four foot tall dumpster several yards away? And, why would he jump away when he was trying to rape me? He’d already done all the hard work…all that was left was penetration. It doesn’t make any sense. Even a gymnast would have a difficult time doing that acrobatic maneuver.”
Vivien couldn’t have agreed more.
She’d already started a file of all the descriptions and incidents that simply didn’t make sense or add up. She was certain there would be a lot more of them too. The death of Petunia LaCroixeau’s husband was on that list already. The official police report had ruled it an accident, stating:
Jermanuel LaCroixeau had too much to drink, resulting in a drunk’s hallucination experience where he thought something was after him. When trying to flee that imaginary something, he broke through the porch railing and was skewered through the heart by a wooden slat. Already dead, he fell approximately five feet, breaking his neck and leg in the fall.
The officers had joked about his two hundred and fifty pound girth, stating that his neck couldn’t support the weight and had snapped like a toothpick. They’d joked about the condition that Bill Worth was in also when he was discovered. It seemed they laughed about these disturbing things more often than not. Vivien was beginning to wonder if it was a coping technique or simply callousness. At any rate, it was another open and shut case to the department that didn’t warrant any further consideration, but it certainly did to Vivien Simon.
Lieutenant Albright normally accepted his detective’s investigative reports unless it was obvious that they were lazy. He had a knack for knowing when any one of the five officers he supervised let their responsibilities slide. In the mysterious cases, he let them skate a bit. After all, he reported to a Captain who reported to the Chief of Police. No one wanted the Crescent City to get tagged with yet another supernatural nickname. ‘Vampire City’ was enough. Tourists still streamed into the metropolitan area on a daily basis looking for Tom Cruise as Lestat and Brad Pitt as Louis.
Chapter 22
After the interview with Latisha Miller concluded, Vivien walked back to her car. She’d spent a lot of time with the witness, coaxing the story from her. It was now dark outside with very few street lights showing the way. None of them illuminated her little Honda. She’d parked it under the shade of a large oak tree when arriving, but now, that didn’t seem like such a bright idea. Most of the residents had already gone inside for the dinner hour and businesses were closed, leaving the normally busy streets empty. With no one around at this moment, she felt uncomfortable and a little frightened. The hair on the back of her neck suddenly rose as if someone was watching her. She tried to pass it off as simply nerves, but the feeling refused to go away and became more intense. It seemed to take forever to reach her car. She hurriedly unlocked the driver’s door, tossing her purse and a slender briefcase on the passenger seat. She was grabbed from behind before she could get behind the wheel. An icicle of terror streaked down the length of her spine.
“You need to keep your mouth shut and your nose out of church business, little lady. Your articles are causing a lot of trouble for the diocese.”
Vivien, struggled to get away, but the man was strong. Her mind raced from the words spoken. “Is the Roman Catholic Church after me?” she silently screamed, realizing the implications immediately—she was in real danger. “Is this man a fanatic? Has he come to silence me?”
Completely and utterly terrified now, she used the only self-defense technique that had stuck with her since a freshman phys-ed class. She stomped down on the foot beside hers with all her might, digging the three inch heel into the attacker’s instep. It hurt the man badly, resulting in a loud string of profanity. In the process, he released his grip. Even though the bold move had broken his hold on her, it didn’t do a lot of good. He still blocked the driver’s seat. She screamed out for help and perhaps two of twenty porch lights came on in the long row of shotgun houses. Disturbingly, they turned off again just as quickly. No one wanted to get involved, fearing that they would become a victim too. In true panic now, she ran away from the attacker and the safety of her car.
“Whoa…hold up, bitch. You can’t run away from this. Where do you think you’re going, huh?”
The man mocked and laughed raucously as Vivien ran blindly in the opposite direction, while looking over her shoulder at him. Unwittingly, she ran right into the arms of the assailant’s accomplice. He spun her around and clamped a hand over her mouth as she screamed again. The sound echoed pitifully into the night along with that of barking dogs. Then, with his arms locked around her shoulders, he dragged her backwards down a side street and into more darkness. The dimly lit street wasn’t much more than an alley. She was pulled further away from her car and cell phone, away from help. Digging her heels into the pavement only slowed the progress, but didn’t halt it.
Hot tears stung her eyes at the reality she faced, that her life could end this way…that she would die in this dark place, another helpless victim in the Crescent City. Her assailant kept a tight grip across her chest, firmly grasping her right shoulder, while the other hand moved behind her. She felt a sharp object pressed firmly against her back, just beneath her shoulder blade before it pierced her skin. At that moment, she was too frightened and numb to feel the pain of the puncture wound.
“Be still bitch or I’ll gut you like a hog!”
“No, don’t gut her, Randy. Slide the blade into her liver so she bleeds out slowly and painfully. Let her have a little time to think about this,” the first man suggested, having caught up with them in spite of a limp Vivien had inflicted.
“I know we’re supposed to kill her, Jake, but let’s have a little fun with her first.”
He used the knife to slit the back of her blouse from hem to neck and then ripped it from her body before shoving her into a corner. She had on a cami and bra, along with the slacks and pumps she wore to look professional, but Vivien Simon had never felt so naked and exposed. The men faced her, gawking lasciviously, leering and making gestures with their hands, backing her further into the corner. Their eyes glinted with malicious evil and she could tell that, unless a miracle happened, she would die a slow and terrible death at their hands. Now, she really didn’t have an escape route. The corner was formed by a large, L-shaped brick building and her assailants blocked
any path out of the alley.
“It was my idea, damn it! I get her first!” Randy protested angrily, as Jake moved toward her unzipping his pants.
“I’m the one that chased her to you, Randy. I get dibs. I get to poke her first.”
“You’re too late for that. I already poked her a little with my knife.”
Vivien backed away while they argued, but she couldn’t see a way out of this. She didn’t know what to do. The only thing she could think of was to stay in the shadows and sneak along the side of the building. She’d only moved a few inches when they stopped arguing and turned on her again.
“You ain’t going nowhere, bitch,” Jake snarled. “I got a bone to pick with you and its right here.” He pulled out his stiff cock and rubbed it to emphasize the meaning while Randy grabbed her again, putting one hand between her legs. Vivien screamed again until the knife was at her throat as a warning.
“Shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch. Ain’t no one going to help you! This city don’t see nothing! It don’t want to see because no one wants to get involved. No one cares,” Randy hissed in her ear as he jerked her buttocks back toward his erect cock and began to pump and hunch against her backside.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried out in overwhelming anxiety, while fighting the hands that groped and raked her body.
She tried desperately to get away. The knife, ready to cut away the rest of her clothes, clipped the thin camisole and bra straps at her shoulders. In spite of the dire situation, she furiously racked her brain, trying to think of something to halt their plans. She tried to use her head and push the fear aside. Normally, a quick thinker, being rational at this time was very difficult. If she could only get them talking, maybe she had a chance. Maybe one of the neighbors had called the police by now. She only needed to buy some time.
Crescent City (An Alec Winters Series Book 1) Page 12
