by Paige Dearth
Juju didn’t know how to respond. Then it came to her. “That means they still want you. Right?”
“No! Why would anyone want me? Look at me. Look at what I’ve become!” she yelled, gesturing to her short shorts and the low, plunging neckline of her shirt that revealed her boobs.
“You didn’t become a hooker, Maggie. They made you one. This isn’t your fault, and I’m sure if you called them, they would want you to come home.”
“Did you forget what they did to Cali because she was going to call my parents? They drowned her to death. They put her in a cage and drowned her. Rock would kill them or me. He would tell John William or Myles, and they would destroy my entire family,” she wailed.
Juju understood the evil Rock was capable of when someone stole a twenty-dollar bag of dope. She considered Maggie’s fear and realized that her friend was probably right. She’d watched Rock slice a man’s thumb off for stealing from him.
“I think you’re right, Maggie. I know you love your family, and Rock can be ruthless. For now, you need to go on living. But someday, I bet anything you’ll be home with your family again,” Juju offered.
“I wish I could believe you. I hope you’re right, Juju.”
As the girls parted, Maggie headed toward the center of Kensington in her Daisy Dukes and a padded bra. She looked down at the four-inch heals she was wearing. The faux leather was worn and chipped, the sides of the shoes were cracking, and all of it repulsed her.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Rob and Keith Clarke sat at the dinner table after the dishes were cleared. Finally, Lorraine walked over to them carrying a small cake with four candles, one candle for each year Maggie had been missing. Rob sighed heavily as he gave his thoughts over to the daughter he missed and loved so dearly.
Each year on Maggie’s birthday, Lorraine served a cake. They never sang happy birthday; it was a time for the three to remember what they’d lost.
“Happy birthday, baby,” Lorraine said, before cutting into the cake.
Keith, Maggie’s brother, now eight years old, looked to his father. Then he turned back to his mother, whose head was bowed as if she was in deep prayer.
“Mommy, why do we have a cake for Maggie when she isn’t here anymore?” Keith asked.
“Well, because it’s important that we never forget her, son. You two loved each other very much. She was a great sister to you,” Lorraine reminded him again.
“Yeah, you tell me that all the time. But I don’t remember her. Sometimes I wish she was never here ’cause you always talk about her and not me.” He sniffled, feeling overshadowed by a ghost he’d long forgotten.
“Don’t say that, Keith! I wish every day that she was here with us. And you know, just because we love Maggie doesn’t mean we love you any less. We love you both the same,” Lorraine reassured him.
“Keith,” Rob said somberly, “it’s just that Mom and I had two great kids. But one of them went away, and when you have kids, you love them like no one else in the world.”
As soon as the Clarkes finished eating their cake, Keith ran off to his bedroom. Lorraine and Rob sat together silently, each of them alone with haunting memories of Maggie.
“How is it possible that I can miss her more as time goes on?” Lorraine asked Rob.
“I know, sweetheart. I know exactly how you feel. For me, it’s because I think about the things she’d be doing as each year passes. High school, dances, parties…” He paused, dreaming of what could have been, what should have been. “We would be starting to think about college. It’s overwhelming, and it’s the worst burden any human being can carry through life.”
Lorraine broke down and cried. Rob stood slowly and pulled Lorraine to her feet. The Clarkes stood in the kitchen, holding onto each other, both wishing they could be hugging their child.
“I still think she’s alive,” Lorraine said, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know, Lorraine. Sometimes I let myself think so, too. But then I worry that if she is still alive, she is being tortured. I don’t know which is worse for me: the permanence of death or the prolonging of the agony. It slashes my heart to shreds to think about either,” Rob said with raw sadness.
“I know. Rae Harker told me that when he found out his daughter had been killed, relief and devastation overwhelmed him. He said they were the two hardest emotions he’s ever had to deal with at the same time. I think you’re right, Rob; it’s this internal conflict. I don’t want her to be alive and suffering, yet another part of me, a selfish part, wants her to come back no matter what has happened to her. It makes me feel like a horrible mother,” Lorraine cried.
“You’re not a horrible mother, Lorraine. You’re human, and you’re a great mother,” Rob said, rubbing her back.
At eight o’clock that evening, Rae Harker rang the Clarkes’ doorbell. Rae visited them at least two times a year, without fail: on Maggie’s birthday and on the date she disappeared.
“Hi, Rae,” Lorraine’s voice was sullen when she opened the door.
“Hey, Lorraine. Just wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing,” Rae said.
“We’re doing the best we can, as usual. Any word? Any new developments?” Lorraine asked with hope.
“No, sorry to say, there aren’t. I’m sure you read about the twelve-year-old girl that has been missing for three days. The one who they think was taken from Love Park in Center City,” Rae said.
“Yes, I’ve been watching it on the news. What the hell, Rae? What’s wrong with people in this world?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
“I wish I knew. But, you know, I was thinking about you and Rob. Maybe you two should think about contacting the missing girl’s parents. I mean, unless you’ve been through it, it’s hard to imagine what they’re going through. I can hook you up with a couple of cop buddies down on the Philadelphia force, if you’re willing to talk to the parents,” he said.
Rob had overheard Harker from the living room and walked up behind his wife. “I think it’s something we should try to do, Lorraine. It won’t bring Maggie back, but maybe we can help someone else while we’re living this nightmare. Remember how hard it was in those first months? Breathing, eating, sleeping—even blinking—was an effort. Maybe we can make a difference. Something to make Maggie proud that we’re her parents,” Rob offered.
Lorraine hesitated, looking from Detective Harker to her husband. “OK. We’ll give it try. Reach out to your cop friends. Tell them if the girl’s mom and dad need to talk, we’re here for them.”
Detective Harker stayed for a short visit. When he left, Rob went up to bed, but Lorraine sat on the sofa. In the silence of her home, for the first time, she accepted the idea that she could help others through their tragedy. If she were lucky, maybe by helping others, she’d actually begin to heal. Not forget Maggie, but begin to heal.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Juju was standing only five feet away when she heard Maggie tell a man sitting in his car that she wouldn’t get in. “I don’t get into cars. If you want something from me, we have to go back into the field behind these buildings,” Maggie stated, pointing off to her right.
Juju couldn’t hear what the man said; his words were jumbled. But she watched Maggie take a step backward as he sped off.
“What was that about?” Juju asked Maggie.
“Remind me to tell you later. I have to keep moving. It’s been a slow night, and at the rate I’m going, I’ll be out here until tomorrow morning trying to make my quota. My feet are killing me, and I’m just tired. Why do men like these stinking high heels? Why can’t they be turned on by slippers?” Maggie joked.
“I don’t know why. Because they’ve all been trained to like chicks in fuck-me pumps. Anyway, when are you comin’ over?” Juju asked.
Maggie rubbed her temple. “In the morning. That’s when I’m always over, Juju,” she said, jabbing Juju in the belly.
The next morning, as soon as Juju set a cup of coffee in front of Maggi
e, she asked, “So what is it you were going to tell me about the guy in the car last night? You looked scared out of your mind.”
“Ugh! That’s because I was scared out of my mind. I have this thing about getting into cars with men I don’t know. I get this intense fear that seizes my entire body. I read about stuff like this. I think I have post-traumatic stress disorder,” Maggie explained simply.
“Huh? Post what?” Juju asked, her face scrunched in confusion.
“Post-traumatic stress, it’s what happens to people when they have been through something really bad. I think it comes from John William forcing me into his van. So now, every time a john wants me to get into his car, I freak. I can almost always convince them to go into the field, but every once in a while, like that guy last night, they get pissed off,” Maggie rambled.
“Aren’t you afraid Armando will find out about this?” Juju asked, concerned for Maggie’s safety.
“Yeah, I am. But I’m more afraid to get into a car with a john than I am of being caught by Armando. It’s everything I can do not to run in the other direction. I can feel myself start to panic. I break into a cold sweat. It’s a horrible feeling, and it gives me the creeps. Don’t tell anyone; I don’t need it getting around,” Maggie stated, suddenly feeling vulnerable even talking to Juju about it.
Maggie was petrified to do anything wrong, worried that Armando would put her back in the box in the upstairs closet or something even worse. The thought of getting into a car with a stranger terrified her. She was afraid every time she walked off with a john that he was going to hurt her. She was frightened that the other girls would do something to get her in trouble. But the worse fear of all was her constant worry that Thelma would do something to harm Seth.
The months passed quickly, and before Maggie knew it, it was Thanksgiving. She tended to think about her family more during the holidays than at any other time of the year. On the morning before Thanksgiving, Maggie, Seth, and Juju were sitting on the curb in front of Seth’s elementary school. The girls still met him every morning; it had become a ritual. When Seth finished his doughnut, Maggie stood. “OK, Seth. You have to get into school now. I won’t see you tomorrow or Friday because it’s Thanksgiving, and you’re off from school,” she informed him.
Seth clung to her. “I hate it when I don’t get to see you, Aggie. Thelma said I ain’t good enough to have Tanksgiving dinner. I have to stay at home with her. I hate it there, and I hate Thelma,” he yelled, frustrated.
“I know you do, but this is just temporary. Before you know it, we’ll be living together again, and you won’t have put up with Thelma anymore,” Maggie said.
“Fine.” Seth pouted. “But I hope she doesn’t keep hitting me. I hate it when she hits me. It’s better when she just makes me stay outside. Even being cold doesn’t hurt as much as when she whacks me,” he whined.
Maggie fought her natural urge to walk to Rock’s house and beat the shit out of Thelma. Afraid Seth would see her anger and that would scare him more, she put on her sweetest smile. “Does Rock see Thelma hitting you?”
“Yeah, she puts out her hand, and he takes off his belt and gives it to her. Then she hits me with it. See?” Seth said, lifting the back of his shirt.
“Holy shit!” Maggie blurted, staring at the marks on his back.
She leaned into Seth, taking him into her arms. “I won’t ever leave you. I’m going to get you out of there. Do you believe me?” she asked, fighting back tears.
Seth nodded. Then with his head hung low, he walked into the elementary school, where he would spend a few painless hours before he would have to go home for the long, four-day weekend.
Chapter Sixty-Four
It was Thanksgiving, which meant nothing to Rock and the men who hustled the girls. While they allowed the women to cook a dinner in the house, they were expected to work that night. It was a busy night for prostitutes in Kensington, where the population of addicts and degenerates meant there were more people out on the streets with a reason to party rather than spending time with their families giving thanks.
Juju was among the partiers. She’d sold her dope within a few hours and decided to stay at Needle Park and drink beer with some of her pusher friends. She had just guzzled her fifth beer and was drunk. Juju stood and staggered over to three guys she knew from the streets. She heard one of them say, “The really hot one,” just as she approached.
“Yeah, that chick, Maggie. I know who you’re talking about. She’s gorgeous. Too bad she’s a hooker or I’d have to charm her into being my old lady,” one of the guys stated.
The others nodded in agreement. “Hey, Juju! You hang out with that girl, Maggie. Why don’t you ever bring her out to party with us?” a good-looking, dark-haired teen called Bond asked.
“Maggie does her own thin’, Bond. She’s my friend and doesn’t want to get caught up with any douche bags like you,” she stated, her tongue loosened by liquid courage.
Bond laughed. “I don’t know how she does it. All those assholes I see her talking to. Some are old, some are nasty, and others are just ugly,” he told the others. “It must really blow to climb into cars with some jerk-off you don’t even know. I hate dealing with some of those pricks here in the park, out in the open. There are some real shady characters,” Bond said, looking at Juju.
Juju guzzled another beer and let out a long, loud, manly burp. “Maggie doesn’t get into cars. She only does it with them where there are people nearby. She’s not an idiot,” she stated, flailing her arms in slow motion.
The alcohol Juju consumed removed all of the boundaries between her thoughts and the words coming out of her mouth. She was very drunk, and by the next morning, she wouldn’t remember most of what she’d said.
But the boys had heard her loud and clear. When Bond left Needle Park, he walked down Kensington Avenue to find Rock. All of the hookers and dealers knew that giving Rock information regarding his business was valuable, and he always took care of those who watched out for his best interests.
“Rock, hey man!” Bond yelled and ran toward him.
“Yeah, ’sup?” Rock asked casually.
“Hey man, happy Thanksgiving,” Bond said.
“Yeah, same to you. How you doin’? You need more dope?” Rock asked.
“Nah. I have about ten bags left. I’ll probably need more tomorrow. Anyway, I ran into Juju down at Needle Park tonight. She was pretty drunk. Told us something about that girl, Maggie, of yours I thought you might wanna know,” Bond said proudly.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Rock asked half interested.
“She told us that Maggie won’t get in cars with her johns. She’s refusing them. Tells them she’ll take them back to the field, but if they won’t go, she turns down the trick,” he stated.
“Hmm, that’s interesting. Little bitch would only give hand jobs when she first started. Got away without me knowing it for a while, too. Why would Juju tell you this? She’s friends with the little ho.”
“I told you, man. Juju was drunk. I ain’t never seen her that drunk before. Anyway, I just thought you’d want to know. You know, so you can check it out. I’m watching out for ya man, and makin’ sure if I hear anything you should know, I come and tell ya. That’s all,” Bond said, nervously waiting for validation that he’d done a good deed.
“Yeah, man. I appreciate that,” Rock said. Then Rock stood and gave Bond a gangster handshake.
Rock got back to the house of whores just when Armando was kicking one the girl’s asses because she talked back to him. Armando looked over as his boss took long strides through the living room. Rock’s jaw was set hard, and his demeanor revealed his burning fury.
“’Sup man?” Armando asked as he shook Rock’s hand.
“Word on the street is your bitch, Maggie, is at it again. Bond told me that she’s turning down johns if she has to get into their cars. I want to know what’s going on. I’m gettin’ tired of this shit, Armando. You all need to learn how to tame your b
itches. Now, get on it and let me know what you find out,” Rock told him and left the house.
On his short drive home, Rock wondered what he would do with Maggie if what Bond had told him turned out to be true. He couldn’t put up with the shit she was dishing out. Otherwise, the rest of the girls would think they could do whatever they wanted. Maggie had to be put in line…the hard way.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The next evening, Armando confirmed the rumor about Maggie and went over to Rock’s house to discuss the matter.
“Hey, Rock,” Armando called as he walked through the front door.
“Hey, man. What’d ya find out?”
“Yeah, it’s true. I sent one of our guys from North Philly over to see her. She wouldn’t get in the car with him. You want me to handle this?” Armando asked.
“Yep, you take care of her. Don’t kill her. This one has great earning potential. But this time I want you to break her in the right way. She needs to understand we make the rules, not her! Oh, and one other thing, I want you to do…” Rock dictated.
When Maggie returned to the house early the next morning, Armando was waiting for her. He held out his hand to take the money she’d earned and handed it to Diesel. Then he backhanded Maggie, and she flew sideways, landing on top of a couple of girls who were sitting on a mattress nearby.
Instead of helping, the girls pushed her off them and onto the floor. Armando stomped over and kicked Maggie in the gut. She barfed and fell lifelessly into her own puke, which clung to the side of her face.
“Get the hell up, you little bitch,” Armando seethed.
Armando pulled Maggie up by her hair, and she ran behind him as he ascended the stairs.
“Please, Armando. I didn’t do anything, I swear,” she begged, but her pleading fell on deaf ears.
Once in the bedroom, he pushed Maggie onto the bed.
“Let’s go. Get undressed,” he ordered.