by Rick R. Reed
There’s got to be a way I can get enough for a bus ticket back to West Virginia.
Julie headed across the street, toward the el entrance, not even noticing the black Toyota pickup parked nearby, nor its driver, a man in a Cubs baseball cap. Julie had no idea she was being watched.
And judged.
*
She had seen a black guy downtown doing it the first day she got here, at one of the Loop stops. The technique seemed to get people’s attention.
“Someone stole my purse and I need to get to East Chicago.” Julie made a litany of the words, repeating them to anyone in earshot. Already, two commuters had stopped and given her a dollar each. Asking for more money (like bus fare to West Virginia) would have been too much.
Three bucks in an hour…and her stomach churned. She’d need a lot more than this to get home and she couldn’t bear the thought of another night holed up in some cardboard box, in a parking garage. Couldn’t bear the thought of opening her mouth or her legs for some man who wouldn’t really even know she was there.
A man approached her. Julie had seen the look in his brown eyes before. He was smiling. Early thirties, Julie thought, an older man. He was wearing a vinyl jacket. Underneath, Julie saw his name stitched on his gas station uniform shirt: Ray. His pants matched the navy of his shirt. Great: another grease monkey to mess me up. Just what I need. She turned and repeated to a middle-aged woman in a down parka: “Someone stole my purse and I need to get to East Chicago.”
“Honey, get a new line.” The woman brushed by her.
Julie turned around and found that Ray was still behind her. He brushed some of his stringy dishwater blond hair out of his eyes and grinned at her.
“What do you want?” Julie scowled at him.
His smile got bigger. “Just to take you to East Chicago. I’m goin’ down there.” He opened his coat to show off his mechanic’s clothes. “To work.”
“Thanks, anyway.” Julie began to walk away.
The man grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute.”
Julie pulled her arm free and looked at him. His forehead was covered with pimples and he had buck teeth. Years of grease under his nails. He wore a silver skull and crossbones earring in his left ear.
He stunk. B.O. and cigarettes.
“I thought I heard you say you needed to get to East Chicago. And I said I’m goin’ there. Why would you stand here like a fuckin’ beggar when you can have a ride?”
“I don’t have to answer that. Just leave me alone, okay?”
Again, she started away from him, and again, he grabbed her arm.
“Hey”—he displayed his buck teeth even more—“no need to be mad. I just wanna help.” Julie noticed as he said this he looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her breasts.
“And I said I don’t want it. Now let me go.” Julie tried to pull her arm free, but Ray’s soiled nails dug deeper into her arm. “Let me go,” she said. “That hurts.”
He came up closer and she could smell beer on his breath. “Please…just come with me. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” The grip on her arm got tighter…and more painful.
Julie whispered back, her voice intense. “You don’t want me to scream, do you?”
Before Ray could think of a reply, Julie heard a voice behind them. “Let the girl go.”
Startled, Ray removed his talons. Both turned to look.
Julie almost wanted to laugh. Where did these people come from? She couldn’t wait to get back to Chester, where the people were at least a little more predictable, more reliable. Here in front of her was a guy had to be at least forty-five years old, but he was dressed like some of the kids at her school…BK high tops, fatigue pants, a Levi’s jacket and T-shirt. He’d even put on a little makeup, she saw, to try to hide the lines on his face, his sagging jowls. Did he even realize how stupid he looked?
“Who the fuck are you?” Ray spat. “And what business is this of yours?”
“That girl’s my daughter and if you don’t leave her alone, I’m going to be forced to call the police. You’ve already caught the attention of the man in the booth over there.”
The three of them looked toward the admission booth, where a fat black man in glasses sat watching them.
“You gonna move along or do I have to find someone to move you along?”
“Tough ass motherfucker,” Ray said. “He really your father?”
Julie looked to the man, trying to discern why he’d be doing this for her, what he hoped to get out of the situation. But at least it was a chance. “Yeah…he really is. And he’s a tough ass, so get lost.”
Ray giggled, finally walking away, casting looks back at them.
Julie turned to the man. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s hard out here, isn’t it?”
Julie looked around her, at all the people rushing by, wondering how the man was going to get around to propositioning her. She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“I know a priest in the neighborhood. I could get you to him and he’ll help you. He works with kids like you. Helps them get home. Or, if home isn’t too good, finds a place. He’s a good man. Let me take you to him.”
Julie bit her lower lip, not wanting to meet the stranger’s gaze. Was he for real?
The man leaned close. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t know the priest…not really. He probably wants to exploit me just like the creep we just got rid of. Am I right?”
Julie gave a reluctant smile and nodded.
“But, hey listen: if I were you, I’d be getting my butt home before you end up picking through garbage cans…like our friend over there.”
They both turned to look at the bag lady under the el tracks. She had pulled a turquoise scarf out of the trash and was holding it up to the light, examining it.
Even though he seemed nice enough and concerned for her, there was something about the man that still bothered Julie. He just didn’t seem normal. What kind of man dressed like he did? Didn’t he realize he just made himself look older? Oh, sure, maybe from a distance someone might think he was younger—not a kid, but younger—but close up, no way. if he would have just worn some normal clothes, she would have felt a lot more relaxed with this situation.
She thought it best to get away from him.
“I’d better be getting on my way,” Julie said, having no idea where she would go, but more determined than ever to get home, away from all these weird people.
“Honey, wait.”
Julie stopped to regard the guy. “Maybe I can help you. Do you really need to get to East Chicago?”
Julie paused, wondering if she should trust this weirdo, fighting down the urge to run, as instinct told her to. But still, maybe there was something the guy could do to help her?
“No,” Julie said, “I…I need to get to West Virginia.” She blurted out, “I ran away.”
“As I thought. I hate to see someone so young out on the streets like this. I could help you. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I could.”
“I don’t see how.” Julie started thinking maybe the guy had some money, even if he did dress weird. Maybe he just wanted to be a kid again and helping one would be just the thing to make him happy.
Everything he said sounded believable. Julie looked down at the three dollars in her hands and remembered how long it had taken her to amass that. What did she have to lose? “Okay,” Julie said. “Why not?”
*
The black pickup was just steps away. When Julie and Josh (as he told her his name was) got there, Julie pulled back, racked by feelings of doubt, not sure she should get in a truck with this guy.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
“I just thought we were going to walk.” Julie giggled, feeling maybe she wasn’t acting too grown-up. “You know, getting in cars with strangers and all that.”
Josh seemed to think for a moment, then said, “Why, honey, you
’re a smart one. And I can see you’re not cut out for the life of a runaway. Afraid to get in a car with a stranger? My, my.” Josh looked at her and the kindly, helpful demeanor suddenly vanished. “Who are you trying to kid?” As quickly as it vanished, the kindly demeanor returned, making Julie feel confused and uncertain. “Listen, you don’t need to be afraid. I work with Father Grebb. See, I help him find out when kids are in trouble.”
Julie backed away. Something was not right. Something was just not right. “You know. Josh, I don’t…um…I don’t think I’m ready for this, just yet. Why don’t you gimme that preacher’s address and I’ll go see him myself. A little later today.”
Josh suddenly stood very still. He pushed back the brim of his Cubs cap and Julie saw that his face was totally devoid of emotion, his eyes feral.
“My God,” Julie mumbled, stepping backward, stumbling, then righting herself and turning to run.
“Come back here!” Josh croaked. “Come back here, you ungrateful little bitch!”
All at once, Julie felt the force of powerful hands on the back of her coat, yanking her back. The hands dug into her shoulder blades, sending waves of white-hot pain through her. When she turned to look at him, she saw his eyes were full of hunger and want. For the moment she felt frozen. Even here on this busy street, Julie could do nothing, not even scream.
She did nothing as the monster opened the pickup door and pushed her inside. Did nothing but watch as the truck picked up speed and hurried west, to a fate Julie didn’t even want to imagine.
Chapter 6
The room had this disinfectant smell. It was the first thing Jimmy noticed when he woke up. He looked around, taking in the neat pine dresser, the polished hardwood floors, the pine twin bed he lay in, and the heap of clothes on the ladderback chair next to the bed.
Sunlight, dulled by clouds, filtered in through white vinyl miniblinds. The room was sterile, almost too clean. It looked scrubbed, antiseptic. He felt groggy, knowing that the priest had brought him here the night before. He remembered being carried up the stairs, little else.
A garbage truck outside, kids’ voices. What was this? School holiday? Was it almost Christmas? Jimmy leaned back against the starched crispness of his pillowcase and closed his eyes.
When the door opened an hour or so later, Jimmy jerked awake with a cry, flattening himself against the headboard. “No,” he whimpered, “keep the fuck away.” Dream images dispersed: the man, his fist coated with fatty white above him, a candle glowing in a dark room. Insects scurrying over a table laden with all of his favorite foods.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” the priest said. “I’m Father Grebb. I won’t hurt you.”
Jimmy looked into the man’s grey eyes and tried to find something in them that would allow him to trust. The words “I won’t hurt you” didn’t hold much promise for security. But Jimmy, weakened as he was, wouldn’t let this fucker see through him, wouldn’t let him see his terror. They could get you if they saw how afraid you were. Jimmy sat up in bed, even though the action made him hurt, the pain telescoping from his rectum down his thighs, up into his chest, filling with nausea. He squinted at the priest. “Where’d you put my smokes, man?”
*
The boy cowered on the bed in front of Richard. The blond hair, stiff with grease, hung in strings, obscuring the view he’d like to have of the boy’s green eyes. He made himself look away as his gaze began to move downward to take in the boy’s smooth hairless chest, his silken, golden skin. He would not permit himself to look down farther to see what bulges the thin sheet covering Jimmy would reveal. Richard forced his gaze back up, to the picture above the bed, the Ascension of Mary, with the frond of palms placed behind it. “I didn’t find any cigarettes when I brought you in. I don’t think, anyway, that—”
“Maybe you can run out and get me some, man. Okay?” Jimmy sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
Richard still didn’t know what had happened to change this boy, once so full of macho adolescent bravado, into this terrified creature, jumping at the slightest sound, trying so desperately to seem tough, as if nothing bothered him. Last night, Richard remembered the boy clinging to him as they climbed the stairs, sobbing when Richard removed his clothes to put him into bed. He had yet to hear one word about what had happened from Jimmy.
Richard went to the boy slowly, talking all the while, thinking of wild animals and their panic and how their instincts served them. “Listen, Jimmy, it’s okay. What happened to you is all over. You’re safe now. You remember me, don’t you?” He repeated his name. “We’ve talked before. Over on Lawrence. You live over that way, right?”
Richard sat down on the bed. The boy drew his legs up tight underneath him and pulled the sheet and blanket up, so that only his nose and the top of his head stuck out. His green eyes seemed alive with light.
The boy didn’t answer and Richard tried to establish eye contact. “Listen, Jimmy, I can get you back to your parents, if you want. Just tell me the number. Or give me an address, Jimmy. I’ll go right over.”
“Just get me a pack of smokes, man. That’s all I need. I’ll be outta your hair this afternoon.”
“Okay. You need to rest, son. That much I can give you. I don’t have much money, but I can give you all the time you need.” Gesturing with his head, Richard said, “I got a tray out there. French toast, bacon, OJ. I’ll bring it in.”
He got up and moved toward the door.
“I’m not eatin’ that shit. Don’t bother.”
Richard turned and looked, but it was as if the boy hadn’t spoken. He was still drawn up close to the headboard, eyes ahead and vacant.
“Well, I’ll just bring it in and set it on the nightstand.” Richard went and got the food, brought it back. “You can eat or not, whenever you’re ready.” He reached down and squeezed the boy’s ankle under the covers. “Do what you need to to feel better. Maybe we can talk later.”
Richard’s hand lingered above the ankle. “I’ll leave you alone,” he whispered.
*
Jimmy watched the priest close the door. He seemed like a nice guy, but Little T and War Zone had both told him they’d turned tricks with him. Jimmy had never been sure whether he should believe them. War Zone especially, that crazy motherfucker would say anything if it made an interesting story.
He looked over at the tray. The French toast was yellow/brown, still steaming. There was a side of bacon, a little white pitcher of syrup.
No bugs. No come. Everything was fresh.
Jimmy stared at the food for a long time, then turned away from it.
*
Later, Richard Grebb sat alone in his study on the first floor. Afternoon sunlight, fading into dusk, was the only illumination on the rows and rows of theology books, the old mahogany desk, the straight-backed chairs.
Upstairs, a young boy lay. Richard let himself think for a moment of the smooth symmetry of that young body, the pale limbs crowned with golden, downy hair. Skin so smooth he imagined water sluicing off it, sweat trickling in rivulets down a silken expanse of stomach.
Stop. Richard picked up the purple handbook, Hope & Recovery, and stared at its cover, letting his eyes scan the words below the title, “A Twelve-Step Guide for Healing from Compulsive Sexual Behavior.” Moving over the words again and again without thought, trying so hard to block the images of Jimmy Fels’s young body, lying so close. Lying naked.
Richard lowered the book to his desk; the words had become a blur. The images marched on, seemingly without any help from Richard’s conscious thought. He imagined pulling back the sheet and exposing the boy’s body. The horizontal slants of light coming through the window to show his nakedness in golden detail.
Richard remembered how Jimmy’s cock had looked when he’d undressed him the night before, remembered how he tore his eyes away from it. Now, he felt his own rise in response to the memory. He imagined touching it gently at first and the boy’s
breath, becoming just a bit heavier as his body reacted to Richard’s gentle, stroking touch.
He placed his mouth over Jimmy’s and kissed him. All at once, the two were locked in an embrace, stretched out on the bed, their exposed flesh merging: boy and man. Richard felt, saw the contrasts in their bodies.
He closed his eyes, his hand almost involuntarily snaking down to his crotch to touch himself, relieve himself, his semen the only escape from this fantasy that had suddenly become awful, filling him with guilt and shame. As his come pumped out, staining his pants, Richard felt sick, the bile churning in his stomach.
“No,” he whispered. The guilt washed over him, a black wave, covering him completely.
He picked up his book and squeezed it until his fingertips went bloodless. And then he heard the scream.
*
The man’s face hovers so close Jimmy can feel the fine spray of his spittle as he hisses, “Now, you little slut, get on your back. I’m gonna make you hurt so good.”
The scene shifts. The man, now totally engulfed in flame and screaming, rises above him. Through the flames, Jimmy sees the man grinning. His skin is a mass of blood, layers upon layers of skin burned away, the flesh hanging torn and charred. The man, the pillar of flame, moves closer…
*
Jimmy was thrashing on the bed when Richard opened the door. Jimmy’s eyes were shut tight and his mouth was open in a moan of terror.
“God, please give me the strength.”
Jimmy had kicked off the sheets and blankets and writhed naked on the bed. His thin body was bathed in sweat.
Richard hurried to the bed. “Wake up, Jimmy! Wake up!” The priest sat on the bed and took the boy in his arms.
“No, no, no, nooo,” Jimmy repeated over and over and Richard found it hard to get his arms around the boy.
“Jimmy, please, you’re having a bad dream. That’s all. Jimmy. Jimmy. Wake up.”
Suddenly the boy’s writhing stopped, and he looked up into the priest’s eyes. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
Richard felt his face flush red, red with self-hatred and shame. “No, oh, no, Jimmy, I want to help you. I want only,” he said, moving away from the boy and placing the sheet back over him, “to help you.”
