hidden

by Tomas Mournian

  “‘Hey!’ Ming yells. ‘What you order!’ I assumed he yelled so I could hear him over the disco music. The song was—get this—‘I Will Survive.’

  “‘You no order,’ he barks. ‘Go!’ I turned to leave when I remembered the vouchers the shelter lady gave to me.

  “Oh, I left out that part. Before I ended up on the street, I went to this shelter. They told me I could sleep there, but after seventy-two hours, they had to call my parents. There was no way I was tipping them off. I knew bounty hunters were looking to capture me, and claim the reward. Twenty-five or fifty thousand dollars. For my ‘safe’ return. I’d vowed, ‘I’ll never go back.’

  “I had a way to pay. Now, I took my time. I studied the menu. I knew Ming wouldn’t say anything. My suburban girl attitude worked. I knew how to act like a paying customer.

  “Grrrrrr. My stomach growled—loud. Ming must have heard it. He said, ‘What’s that?’ His pen hovered over the green-and-white order pad. Ming was patient. He’d wait. All he cared about was money. And it didn’t matter if the cash was crumpled up ones, five hundred pennies or vouchers.

  “‘Double cheeseburger with fries, hold the onions. Chocolate milkshake. Small.’ If he didn’t want the vouchers, I bet he wouldn’t toss the food. I bet he’d soften up and give it to me.

  “Ming gave me a number. Seventy-two. I don’t know why. I was the only one in there. I took it and sat down on a plastic orange swivel chair. There was nothing relaxing about Ming’s. The air conditioner was turned on full blast. Icicles grew on my clothes and hair.

  “‘Seventy-two!’ Ming yells. The vouchers were still in my jeans. I walked to the counter, pulled them out and reached for the white bag. Food! Just in time, too. I was about to faint from hunger.

  “Ming snatched the white bag. ‘Cash!’ he shouted. ‘Five dolla fitty-two!’

  “‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But that’s all I have.’

  “‘You no pay, you go!’ he shouted. His hands made shoo-fly-shooh movements. There was no let’s-talk-about-it. I looked up and recognized a Christian calendar. It was tacked to the wall over the grill. This month was covered with grease.

  “I turned out my pockets. Showed him, ‘Empty? See?’ I hoped he’d take pity on me. He shook his head. No. Fucking. Way. He said, ‘Out.’ I would have grabbed the bag and ran, but Ming had stowed it under the counter.

  “I turned and walked to the door. The phone rang. Ming yelled, ‘Hey, you!’ I looked back. Maybe the call’s for me. He pulled out the white bag and set it on a red tray. I walked back to the counter. I planned to take it and leave. The front door swung open. A smiley dad type walked in. He grabbed the white bag. ‘Hey,’ I go. ‘That’s mine!’ He said, ‘C’mon.’

  “Ming was quiet. He wouldn’t look at me or the smiley dad guy. Clue Number One. But I was so hungry, I ignored it.

  “‘Like a lamb lost in the woods’—the song playing on the radio—I followed smiley dad guy and sat down. He pushed the white tray across the orange tabletop. ‘Eat.’ I didn’t eat the burger and fries fast, I inhaled it. It’d take a stomach pump to get it back.

  “I wasn’t really listening, but he was talking. Real casual. He knew how to talk to a kid without it seeming weird. Even though he was doing all the talking, I felt like we were having this normal conversation. Somehow, he made me forget he was a smiley dad type. Yeah, nothing strange about a thirteen-year-old girl sitting with a chatty middle-aged man on a rainy night. Clue Number Two. Coulda, woulda, I shoulda known. He was good at this because he had practiced.

  “Plus, I forgot or ignored that he’d didn’t just stumble in off the street. He’d called. But who thinks like that? When you’re starving and wet.

  “‘Hi, I’m Bob,’ he said. He asked me all these questions. ‘You just get into town?’ and ‘Are you a runaway?’ Fuckhead would not shut up. But he’d bought my burger, so I felt like I owed him something. Attention. I felt sorry for him. A guy his age, so lonely he buys thirteen-year-old girls burgers. ‘Are you gay?’

  “I almost choked. ‘Well, are you?’ I said, ‘Bi.’ Bob got this real ‘concerned’ look on his face. A real social worker, that Bob. Or a priest. Someone who wanted to save me. Missionary Man. G-D on his side. He shook his head and said, ‘Geez, you kids got it hard.’

  “The way he said it—OMG, I was such a sucker—I stopped. This was when I believed cops were public servants, not Nazis. ‘Bob,’ I said, ‘are you a cop?’

  “‘Cops,’ he says, ‘don’t go buy burgers and milkshakes for kids.’

  “Don’t take sugar—candy or milkshakes—from strangers. I had left my common sense outside. Clue Number Three. I ignored how he studied me. All I did, get this, was lean forward and suck on the straw. I ignored the bad feelings. I thought, ‘No way, this can’t make someone excited.’ I didn’t care. Milkshake tasted good. Slid down perfect, too. Landed, plop, right on top of the burger and fries.

  “His questions made me wonder, ‘Is Bob gay?’ One of those Good Gay Samaritans who drives around in the pouring rain on the lookout for gay runaways?

  “He looked so much like someone’s dad. A real dad. I didn’t think to ask, ‘Why is Bob alone? Where’s his family?’ Oh, yeah, maybe they’re buried in the basement.

  “I must have fallen into a hamburger, fries and milkshake coma. ’Cause here I was, talking to strangers, the big thing they warn you about in Girl Scouts. Did I remember? No, I was worried about dying from trans fat.

  “‘Saw you standing there,’ he goes. ‘And it just about broke my heart.’ His voice cracked. He sounded so sad, so … sincere. I swear, I thought he would break down and bawl. Little Miss Skeptical didn’t stop to question why he was driving around Polk Street, at night, right after Gay fucking Pride.

  “‘Try living my life,’ I said, all tough and streetwise. I was about to learn I was anything but tough. ‘That’s the heartbreak.’

  “He looked at me. His face was wrinkled with ‘concern.’ Looking back, Bob the Big Bad Wolf was a real actor. He’d studied Hallmark movies in his spare time. Coz, he had the whole ‘Kiss Daddy Good Night’ act down. Voice, face, touch. He says, ‘What are you running away from, little girl?’

  “‘Dunno,’ I said. I hadn’t totally lost my Jewish mind. There was no way I was telling him—or anyone—my real story.

  “‘Everybody’s running away from something,’ he said. It felt like he cared.

  “‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  “‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘Try me.’

  “‘Try me.’ I felt like I was the guest star on some reality TV show about runaway teens. And, ‘Don’t be sure’? He made me doubt myself.

  “It’s amazing I lived to tell. Bob wanted something from me. It wasn’t a secret. He laid it out. It was so planned. Down to the food. If I hadn’t ordered the burger, fries and milkshake, he would have. He knew the food would send me into a carb coma. I wouldn’t be capable of logical thought. I felt lucky he didn’t grab my hand and put it on Bob’s Hot Dog. Or jerk off under the table. I felt bad for him. Bob was so pathetic. This big, creepy dad type with sad, blue eyes. I’d totally fallen for his puppy-dog-in-the-window act. But he confused me. With all this stiff formal stuff. He put out his hand, like we were meeting for a business appointment. ‘Hello, my name is Bob. Or Dad. All the kids on Polk Street call me Dad.’

  “‘Lorraine,’ I said. Lie number whatever spilled out my mouth. Effortless. I acted so tough. I knew I’d survive on the street just fine, thank you very much. ‘Yeah, Bob, but one father was more than enough.’

  “His eyes. I couldn’t get over them. They were hypnotic. So blue. A good blue, too. Like blue eyes ‘meant’ something. I ordered myself, ‘Forget the eyes and sweet talk.’

  “First, he hadn’t laid a finger on me. He’d been honest. There wasn’t much to lie about. His name? Being worried about runaways? The food he bought, now that was something real and good. He’d fed me. That counted for something. And there was just some
thing about him. I trusted Bob. I wanted to trust him. Probably, I needed to trust him.

  “I thought, ‘Maybe Bob’s my … guardian angel.’ I’m Jewish. We invented angels. Or Bob’s a Prince! So what if he was old enough to be the prince’s grandfather? I’d watched The Little Mermaid and Sleeping Beauty so many times, I was a walking Disney casualty. My head was filled with rescue fantasies and unicorns.

  “‘If you want,’ he said, ‘we could just drive around till you dry out.’ No pressure, very casual. He gave me a choice: that got my attention. I studied him. I knew I could see what was wrong with him or bad, if I only looked hard enough. Problem was, I had nothing to compare him to. Except, maybe, pervs on the Internet.

  “So I said, ‘Sure,’ and he said, ‘My car’s parked by the curb.’ How convenient, right? Now, looking back on it, he wasn’t taking any chances.

  “He opened the door. I got in and sat in the passenger’s seat. Bob drove a new Range Rover. Big. Warm. Hella warmer than Ming’s. I leaned toward the heater and tried to soak up the warmth and dry out. It felt so good in Bob’s car. I relaxed. I let down my guard.

  “I felt better now that there was a car window between me and the street. The car pulled away. The speakers surrounded me, wrapped me in classical music. Bach. I didn’t like it, but it was stuff my parents would listen to. It felt familiar. ‘Lorraine, if you need a place to crash, I have an extra room.’

  “His offer was so … generous. I relaxed. Now I knew I’d made a good choice. Only a good person would be willing to take in someone like me. Yeah, I felt a little pathetic. A little girl lost in the woods. Red Riding Hood stood outside, on the curb, jumping, trying to get my attention. Warn me about the Big, Bad Wolf. Stupidly, I ignored her….

  “My head rolled to the side. Gave Bob another look. Bob wore a blue Windbreaker. Khaki pants with a crease down the middle. His deep voice, gosh, he sounded just so sincere. And he was the only person in a city filled with queers celebrating Gay Pride who’d bothered to look at me or even say, ‘Hi.’ I’d walked around the city and the whole day, I felt totally invisible. Looking at him, I thought, ‘Really, Bob could be anyone’s dad.’

  “Bob turned the wheel. The car pulled into a dead-end alley. ‘Are you really one of those artist types who’s just fronting with that suburban dad outfit? Pretending you’re a cop?’ He’d smiled. ‘Yeah.’ I knew it! I’d worked it all out, his story. Based on nothing more than the fact that he’d parked his car in an alleyway. I told him, ‘I bet you’ve got some hella cool loft.’ He smiled. I said, ‘I knew it!’

  “He put one hand behind my head and the other on my left knee. I was ready for him to lean over and give me a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll let him,’ I thought. ‘Princesses are good, sweet and kind. They’re gracious. Even to old princes who should know better.’ He turned to me and said, ‘One question.’

  “‘Yeah?’ I said. Secretly, I was worried he’d fallen in love with me. He was a prince, but there was no getting around the thirty-year age difference. I didn’t want to break his heart.

  “‘Who’s your daddy?’

  “I ignored the question. Asked, ‘Aren’t you taking me upstairs to your loft? I’m really tired. I need to sleep.’

  “He smiled. The little voice said, ‘Get. Out.’ I reached for the door handle and pulled. It was locked.

  “I knew. He dropped the dad act. Revealed his creepiness. ‘You suck cock.’ Not, ‘Do you suck cock?’ But ‘You. Suck. Cock.’

  “‘Bob!’ I said. I was shocked. But my heart sank. I hoped he was kidding.

  “‘You said you’re bi,’ Bob said. His hand stroked my leg. ‘Bob, stop that!’ He ignored me. He leaned over, pulled my face to his hands and mashed his mouth against mine. I tried to scream, but his mouth was eating mine. Bob might have looked old, but he was strong. Bob pinned me down…. I tried to, but I couldn’t get away. Believe me, I tried. I kicked my feet and clawed his face. I bit him—he socked my jaw. I heard it crack. My clothes, Oh My G-D, he ripped them off! I gave up. I did.

  “I hit him with my fists, but I knew. I wasn’t getting out of that car until he did it to me. Held me down. Pushed my legs apart. Climbed on top. Stuck it in. I’d never done it before. I was a virgin. Down there, felt like someone was stabbing me with a dry knife. Felt like it was never going to end.

  “When it did, end—when he finished and the electric locks clicked, he said, ‘Get out, whore.’ He pushed me so hard I fell out and landed facedown on the asphalt.

  “The ground was wet. Puddles. My panties and jeans were down around my knees. I tried to pull them up.

  “‘Don’t move,’ he said. I looked up, into his eyes. Scary, Coz they’d gone from blue to red. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ he said. It went, ‘Click.’ A switchblade. He leaned over the seat and out the car and grabbed my hair and pulled me back and tried to cut my throat! I felt the metal blade on my skin. I closed my eyes. ‘Just get it over with, cut—’

  Chapter 60

  I press Pause. My arm’s wet. I look up. It’s sprinkling. The gray skies gone black. Rain’s on the way.

  Crack!

  Lightning. The sky blinks. The man’s face flashes on the clouds.

  Crack! Lightning. The switchblade catches the light.

  Crack! Lightning. Quick, Bob slices the boy’s throat.

  “No!” I shut my eyes, shake my head. Maybe that will erase the image from my mind’s eye. I wonder. Are Bathroom Bob and Burger Bob the same Bob?

  I press Play.

  Chapter 61

  “—My throat. It happened so fast, I don’t know. He’d got stuck in the seatbelt. Or his arms weren’t long enough to hold on. Whatever, I sensed an opening. A moment. It meant I had to move.

  “I jerked my head, and kicked. The knife dropped. I fell back. Tumbled out the car. Landed back on the ground.

  “I reached down, touched myself and felt something warm. I held up my hand.

  “Thunder, lightning, flash. Mother’s strobe light, the world went white. On the Blood. Red. Liquid. Click, off, back to black. I hoped the rain would wash it away. Bob’s car was gone. I sat, bare ass on the ground. I sat next to a Dumpster.

  “I didn’t bother to pull up my jeans. I crawled to the Dump-ster and scootched underneath. I ignored the maggots and the smell. I knew it would be dry there.

  “Hours—or days—later, I woke up. Anita had found me. She brought me back.”

  Chapter 62

  I remove the earbuds. Alice / Nadya’s story? I get the point. The “lesson.” Me listening to her story. It’s meant to help me reflect on my own. Substitute therapy. And that’s all fine but … whatever.

  I try to stand. Wobble. While I was listening and reflecting on our pain, my left leg fell asleep.

  A door slams.

  Click.

  Click.

  Smoke. The smell poisons the air.

  Click, click, click.

  Whoever’s down there is walking around the roof. I’m being stalked. Like Ripley in that movie, Alien. The monster knows I’m here but isn’t 100 percent certain where. Except their victim’s close.

  I’m trapped. Or, maybe not. The fire escape’s nearby. I could make a break for it and scramble down.

  I stand. My legs go bezerk. Cosmic pinpricks. I can’t walk without making shuffling sounds.

  Frantic, I search for a new hiding place. My only way out is up. I wiggle out my hiding place and climb up, onto the elevator roof. I lie on the tiny pitched roof, frozen with fear. I stare at the black sky. Drizzle flutters down like dark feathers.

  Click, click, click.

  Alien is on the move. But I can’t see him. I roll over. Gravel tumbles off and goes Ping! I might as well be banging giant Chinese gongs, those pebbles sound that loud. Fuck! I’m a goner, for sure.

  “Caw! Caw! Caw!”

  Overhead, a flock of crows flies by. Wicked Witches, they circle the roof, beady, black eyes peering down at me.

  “Caw! Caw! Caw!”

  The
dive down. Near my body. They plan to eat me. I probably look like a dead cat.

  “Caw! Caw! Caw!”

  I unfold my body. Stretch. Open my mouth, stick out my tongue and make scary faces. Maybe that will stop them from swooping down and pecking me to death.

  “Caw! Caw! Caw!”

  The gargoyle faces work. The beasts back off. If only the Alien was so easily shooed away. I’ve lost track of his whereabouts.

  Voices—

  They come close—

  Shadows on the solar panel—

  Somebody’s pissed.

  Chapter 63

  “Stop that!”

  I look over the edge. Marci jabs her index finger at Anita’s chest. “There’s other people!”

  Then … crickets.

  Blue-Eyed Bob either slit their throat(s) or Anita’s lost her voice.

  I peer over the roof. There! There he is! The rapist! The killer! He stands in the shadows! Bizarre, we’re both eavesdroppers. He steps back. I strain to see him without being seen. He pulls out a cigarette pack. He toys with the lid. His bald head moves. He glances up. Oh, shit! He’s seen me! No, he didn’t. Because he doesn’t jump up and grab me. I do, however, see his eyes. Blue. Blue-Eyed Bob.

  I’m tempted to warn them. But if I do, he might get me, too.

  “This afternoon—” Marci’s voice, broken up by the loud street traffic. “I follow—” … “—to a bar!” and “saw … I took you in for that?” she says, fully audible. “So you could turn tricks?”

  I remember Hammer’s two categories of tricks: hookups and sugar daddies.

  “I didn’t do that!” Anita squeals. She’s a bad liar, and I can’t even see her face.

  “Really? So those men don’t pay? I mean, come on. I know all about that place.”

  “You know what about that place?!? Don’t tell me you tricked it—there. All you said when I moved in was, no drugs. It’s my life. You’re always saying that. Now you spy on me?”