Chapter One
The pain was searing and like nothing she'd ever felt before. She listened closely to the silence. Were they coming back? How long now had they been gone? Another wave of terror washed over the young woman. Nausea bubbled up and she vomited on herself. Slowly she turned over, getting the rest of the vomit on the filthy floor.
"Mama..." She sobbed as she was racked with pain from the simple movement. Aware she had made a noise, she quieted her sobs and listened intently. Nothing. Relief washed over her, almost pushing the panic aside.
She blinked against the pain as she pushed herself off the mattress that she lay upon. She rolled onto the dirty floor a few short inches from the mattress, and bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Grasping the side of the mattress, she put her other hand against the floor and pushed. She couldn't contain the scream of pain that ripped through her young body as she sat up.
She wanted to look down at the damage, but she knew she couldn't. Not yet. She'd go into shock. She forced a deep breath down and felt how that hurt her lungs. Her throat was raw from the screaming. She knew her knees were scraped as were her hands. Her face must be a mess, she knew, from the beating she took.
Suddenly a car door closed outside and she stopped. Stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped thinking and listened. She could hear people talking. Slowly the voices faded as they moved away from the building. Taking a brittle breath, she wiped at the tear rolling down from her only half swollen eye. Her right eye was completely swollen, she couldn't blink or open it.
It's now or never, she thought panicked. I have time if I go now.
Refusing to acknowledge the pain, she pushed herself to her abused knees. "Please, God, help me..." She prayed as she pushed herself to her feet. She wobbled so badly she almost fell back onto the offending mattress. Taking a shaky step forward, she put her hand on the door frame, and studied herself.
Unconsciously wrapping an arm around her midsection, she pushed away from the door frame and deeper into the house. Her steps were slow, painful, agonizing. She slowly made it down the once hallway, and into the main room.
Leaning against the wall for support, she quickly scanned the room and found the door. She was pulling at the handle before she even realized she was at the door. It wouldn't open. She pulled with all her might, twisting and turning the handle. Panic overwhelmed her. What if they came back while she was trying to escape?
She clawed at the door, mewing like a downed animal. Finally, defeat swam over her. Leaning her head against the door, she gave up. She cried leaning against the door. She knew they were coming back. Knew they were coming to finish the job eventually. She mourned herself. Mourned her poor parents who were even now out looking for her, she was sure. Mourned her friends and the life she could have led.
Where was God? She'd been a good Christian her whole life. Why had God abandoned her now? Why now, in this, her one time of need, had he simply left her alone? "WHY!?" She screamed into the dark blankness of the house. She screamed loud and ragged for her loss and for the loss her family was going to experience.
Looking at the door that kept her prisoner, her sorrow was replaced by anger. That damn door! She looked at it, and nearly screamed in relief. The dead bolt was locked. Flipping the deadbolt, she heard it click back, echoing in the silent room. Slowly she tried the door again, refusing to believe that it was going to work until it actually had.
Slowly she pulled the door open, and nearly fell to the ground in relief. Before she realized it she was out the door and down the steps of the house and running down the sidewalk. She held her midsection out of fear something was horribly wrong, and ran. The pain slowly numbed as she ran.
She was in the old section of town. Most of the houses, like the one she' d been imprisoned in, were abandoned. She never came to this side of town. The gangs ruled this area. Blood was considered payment for injustices, and women were objects. She'd discovered that tonight. She was nothing more than the nightly whore for them.
Tears streamed from her opened eye as she ran. She had done nothing to deserve such a punishment, she thought wildly, as she continued to run. The houses slowly began to change. They melded silently with houses still in use, still full of people. She ran, her feet pounding the asphalt at an agonizing rate.
She fell to her knees unable to stay upright any longer. "Mama..." Looking around her she realized she'd made it into a nice looking neighborhood. Standing slowly, she looked up at the street light that framed her in the dark. 'Don't leave me now, God...' she thought.
"Oh Lord!" She turned slowly to her right. An older woman, stood on her porch, the porch light blazing as she stared at her. "Henry, call 911! There is a woman hurt out here!" She rushed down the porch toward her.
Relief bubbled up through the sorrow and self doubt. She fell to the ground unable to keep herself up any longer. The pain was gone now, and exhaustion replaced all else. She lay on the asphalt and listened to the pounding of the women's feet as she raced toward her.
Falling to her knees beside her, the old woman let out a sob, sharp and short. And then she lifted her head into her lap closed her eyes and prayed.
She recognized the prayer. It was said every Sunday at church. She clasped at the old woman's hand and silently began to pray with her, but knew God had forsaken her. He was nowhere to be found for her this night, nor would be ever be again.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and she felt herself grow incredibly tired. "No! Don't go to sleep child! Stay awake. You need to stay awake!" But unconsciousness sucked at her, blurring her one eye, until she succumb.
And she knew no more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rosalita Newman stood just inside her daughter's hospital room. When Jane hadn't come home from the science camp she volunteered at on time, Rosalita had been irritated that she hadn't called to tell her she was going to a friends house. But when dinner time came, and Jane hadn't called and hadn't shown up, Rosalita began to really worry.
Peter had insisted she was alright, but Rosalita had mother's intuition. She knew Jane wasn't alright. She was somewhere being hurt, or had been hurt. So she screamed Peter into submission and began canvassing the neighborhood. Rosalita called every one of Jane's friends, the church, the school, the hospital, the police...
Peter had come back empty handed. Rosalita had insisted they keep looking, and by that point Peter had become worried as well. It wasn't like Jane to just disappear. They'd looked for her until well after dark. Peter had taken her home and told her to stay home in case she called or showed up.
He went back out looking for her. And an hour later, Rosalita answered the door to the policemen who took her to the hospital. As she stood in the doorway of the ICU room Jane was in, she fought for control. Tears streamed down her face, and she begged God for control. She didn't want Jane to wake up and see her like that.
She was hooked up to tubes everywhere. The doctors spoke to her before they let her into see Jane. Apparently Jane had been attacked by some one or someone's. She had five broken ribs, a skull fracture, a concussion, a broken wrist, and that was only the beginning. She'd been raped, and by the amount of damage to that area of her body, the figured there had to be more than one assailant. Her breasts had bite marks as well as scratches. Her midsection had been cut up with a knife of some sort. Her liver was bruised and she'd suffered some internal bleeding.
They said the worst was over.
She would recover, but the injury to the brain and skull worried them. They said they would know more in twenty four hours.
Rosalita moved forward and looked at her only child. "Sweet Mary..." She said unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks. Slowly she sat in the chair next to Jane's bed and wept.
"Why her?" She quietly cried. "Why my sweet Jane?"
But no answer came. Only the quiet beeping of the heart monitor Jane was hooked up too. Rosalita wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and forced down her sorrow. Now was the time to pray, she reminded herself. Not to mourn. Clasping Jane's hand in her own, she silently began to recite the Lord's prayer.
