Chapter 7
I messed up. I knew it a half mile back, but we’d already come too far out of the city to turn around.
While the first women’s shelter was only a four-minute walk from the restaurant, it was already full by the time we got there.
So, that left me with two options. The first, find a place for us amongst the garbage in the sketchy alleyways of the French Quarter.
Given the liveliness of the New Orleans nightlife and the fact that anyone—drunk or otherwise—could stumble upon us at any moment, I didn’t think that much of a choice.
The second, walk the mile and a half out of the French Quarter to the next nearest shelter on the outskirts of the Marigny.
It seemed like a better option, even though there was no guarantee that they’d have availability either.
That is, until it started raining and everything became darker, quieter, and less populated the further we got from the heart of the city.
I didn’t know it was possible for a landscape to change so drastically in just a mile and a half.
Tonight has enlightened me. Gone is the Southern sophistication I found on Royal, Conti, and Bienville.
With my cream-colored dress sticking to my bare skin, I stand now, completely exposed, sopping wet and physically exhausted.
With Delilah in my arms and two backpacks strapped to my shoulders, I sink my head in defeat outside the locked door of the fully occupied shelter.
I close my eyes then and hold in the scream threatening to escape me.
I should’ve accepted Mr. Moretti’s offer.
I understand why I didn’t. I was afraid of him, of what he would do once he got me alone.
And, even if he wasn’t a predator and the job was real, it reminded me too much of my former life for my comfort.
Every day, I would wake and care for a man like a slave.
I would cook, clean, oblige his every request, all while avoiding eye contact and doing my best to keep Delilah hidden.
That isn’t the life I want for myself or for her.
But now… Now I find myself truly afraid of whatever semblance of a life I still have, and for Delilah.
While the small awning above the door of the shelter offers us a welcome reprieve from the relentless rain, it does nothing to ease my mind.
We are surrounded by darkness and graffiti-covered warehouses.
There are very few streetlights and no restaurants or bars, no hotels or businesses.
This place is void of the people—witnesses—I was once afraid of and now crave.
We’re alone. Though, I fear not for long.
While walking to the shelter, we passed through a residential area before making it to the industrial zone we’re in now.
As we passed various houses, I noted a few men watching us from the opposite side of the street.
Some sat on their porches smoking cigarettes and herbs.
Some stood around their cars. Others were simply walking when they called out to me.
While the rain muffled most of their words, the looks on their faces as they examined my damn-near naked body told me loud and clear to keep walking, keep moving.
That’s what kept me pushing to the shelter, afraid to slow down or turn around, afraid to rethink my decision.
This shelter was our only hope, and now that hope is gone.
It’s then that headlights force my eyes open. I gasp and turn toward them.
“Mommy?” Delilah asks sleepily.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I lie.
While the incoming car is still a decent distance away, I quickly turn and round the corner of the shelter.
Putting Delilah down, I slip the backpacks off my shoulders and leave them behind so that we can move quicker.
Pulling her into my arms again, I take off running.
Truly, there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
The warehouses are long, flat-sided buildings.
Which means, unlike in the French Quarter, there are no nooks and crannies, no alleyways to hide in.
So, instead, I focus my attention on a parked school bus just up ahead.
There’s a streetlight near it, allowing me to make out certain details of the bus. It’s old and rusty, covered in graffiti, which tells me it’s likely abandoned and may be unlocked. If we can make it to the bus before whoever is in that car spots us, we might survive the night.
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Delilah says then as her face contorts with fear and tears well in her eyes.
“I know, sweetie. But Mommy is going to take care of you. Okay, sweet girl? Just try to be quiet.” As we reach the abandoned bus, I drop Delilah to the ground and use all my strength to pry open the rusty door.
It lets out a terrible screech that has me thankful for the rain.
Hopefully, no one heard. Not that there’s anyone around to hear.
“Alright, up.” I grab Delilah and place her on the first step.
She climbs the rest of them, and I follow behind her, all before the headlights of the suspicious vehicle spot us.
Though, as I turn and face the aisle of the bus, my heart sinks to my stomach, my eyes widen in horror, and my entire body begins to shake.
“Well, look what the rain washed in. My, my, you sure are pretty.” An old man who smells worse than Bourbon Street with tanned, wrinkled skin and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard approaches Delilah.
“You always did like ‘em young. I much prefer it when they’re strong enough to put up a fight.” It’s then that my eyes move behind the old man to find he’s not the only one occupying this bus.
I spot at least two others amidst the rubbish.
One of them lights a cigarette as he looks me up and down.
The small flame draws my attention to the seat behind him.
It’s there that I see a woman—naked, bloody, and bruised.
Despite her upright position, the vacant expression in her open eyes tells me she’s no longer with us.
Yet, as the man with the cigarette stands and kisses her blue lips, I see she’s still of service to him.
Fear courses through my veins like it never has before.
As the men in the back exchange looks, the one closest to us reaches for Delilah.
“No!” I quickly yank her away from the man and maneuver her behind me.
She cries out, perhaps in fear, perhaps in pain.
I’m not sure which. All I can focus on is getting her as far away from these men as possible.
“Run!” I yell as I nudge her toward the steps.
“Bitch!” As I do, the old man grabs me by the scoop neckline of my dress and pulls me toward him with an all-too-familiar sense of force.
“Run!” I scream once more as the man shoves me onto the nearest bus seat.
I’m not able to see if Delilah does as she’s told before the large, grotesque man digs his fingers into my throat and applies so much pressure I can barely breathe.
What oxygen I can inhale is tainted by his putrid breath and aroma as he hovers over me.
“I’ll be back for you,” he snarls as he releases my throat.
He takes a step back and looks toward the front of the bus.
I know he plans to go after Delilah. And I know no matter what happens to me, I can’t give him that chance.
As I catch my breath, bringing my hand to my throat, I kick him in the balls to keep his attention on me.
He wails and lowers his hands to his groin.
Once more, he lifts his eyes to mine. An evil hunger replaces the look of lust I once found.
As he reaches for me, I brace for impact.
“You’re going to pay for that, you stupid slut. ”
I scream as he pulls me by my legs onto the dirty aisle of the bus.
Quickly, he positions me so that my feet rest on seats on opposite sides of the aisle.
The other men join in and hold me in place by my ankles as the old man fumbles with his zipper.
Within seconds, he has it undone and lifts the skirt of my dress, leaving me sprawled out and ready for insertion.
I ran out of clean underwear a while ago.
As reality weighs heavily on me, I break.
This is it. It won’t be the first time I’ve been raped, but it’ll be the last. His expression and the knife in his hand, glinting in the moonlight, tell me so.
Though, considering the corpse among us, perhaps it won’t be the last, just the last I’ll have to endure.
But Delilah—God, please keep her safe. Please don’t force her to watch as these men torment what’s left of me.
“Please, please!” I beg as tears rip from me and my body shakes.
As I do, I’m not sure if I plead to God or to the men over top of me.
It’s the only thing I know how to say, even though I know it doesn’t matter what words escape me.
This man is going to rape me, kill me, and there’s nothing I—or anyone—can do to stop him.
“Please.” This time, my voice is nothing but a whisper as he brings the knife to my throat.
“I wonder how many thrusts you’ll feel before you bleed out?”