Crow's Row

I batted my eyes at Victor. “I really don’t need an escort. I think I’m old enough now

to find the washroom by myself.” My voice oozed like honey.

Victor looked thrilled with my attention. “Yes, you’re certainly not a child anymore,” he

said, and then added as he gently rubbed my arm, “But I want to keep you safe, so please humor

me and let Mickey walk you to the washroom?”

“All right,” I agreed softly.

Mickey the soldier-man and I walked down a white hallway. Up ahead was a wide open space. We

were in a warehouse, I realized. The cheap carpet came to an end and was replaced by concrete

floor and concrete walls. The empty warehouse was dimly lit, with the light of day coming in

from the dirty, frosted windowpanes up above. There were more armed guards standing by exits,

and more were playing cards, with empty boxes as their game table. Our footsteps echoed as we

made our way to the washroom. The picture on the door indicated that this was a men’s washroom.

I glanced along the cement wall—no women’s washroom. Mickey confirmed my suspicion as he

opened the door to the men’s washroom.

“Get out,” he ordered a guard who was standing by the urinal. The guard quickly zipped up and

rushed out.

The washroom was everything I expected a men’s washroom to be—disgustingly dirty and smelling

of urine, among other things. Mickey followed me in while I quickly fled into one of the stalls.

There was no point in asking for time alone to think—this was all the privacy that I was going

get. Up to that point, I’d had a faint hope that the bathroom would have had a window and that

I would be able to ruse soldier-man away long enough to escape. That was what usually happened

in the movies, right? But there were no windows—just yellowing, staggered subway tile and

someone’s inscriptions as to who to call for a good time. If Victor had his way, my name would

soon be added to the stall’s wall of fame.

I was out of options, and I had to prepare myself for what I would have to do next. I let a few

tears silently drop from my eyes as I prayed to the gods on the stained concrete ceiling. At

soldier-man’s urging to hurry up, I wiped the tears, put a smile on, and bounced out.

I couldn’t look at myself in the splattered mirror. I was too afraid of who I might find

staring back—for the next while, I would have to be anybody else but me. I splashed water on my

face and rinsed my mouth out, as I had pledged to do. When we walked out of the washroom, my

teeth were tightly clenched into a smile, and I was breathing short shallow breaths—just enough

to keep me standing. In my head I was signing a tune from The Sound of Music to keep myself from

crying.

Doe, a deer, a female deer. We walked past the staring card players.

Ray, a drop of golden sun. We reached the threshold of ugly carpet.

Me, a name, I call myself. We were back in the office that had been converted into my prison—

where Victor was eagerly waiting. As he approached me, he ordered Mickey to close the door and

give us some privacy. My only means of escape slammed behind me, taking the cheery show tune

with it. There was nothing in my head now but inescapable fear. I wished that Victor would turn

the lightbulb off. This, I thought, would make it easier for me to imagine that I was anywhere

but here.

Victor was smiling, benevolently. I was shaking uncontrollably.

“You don’t have to be scared. I won’t hurt you,” he whispered as he wrapped his hand around

my ponytail, pulling my head back, forcing me to look up at him. He looked like a much older

wrinkly version of my brother. This thought only made things worse. I started crying. I knew

that I wouldn’t be able, under any pretense of willingness or otherwise, to go through with it.

His face was coming closer to mine.

“Uncle Victor,” I pleaded, “I can’t …”

This made him smile. “I’m not really your uncle. You know that, right? This would be wrong if

we were actually related. But we’re not. So, it’s okay. Just relax.”

He pressed his lips against mine, but I didn’t respond.

His smile was fading.

“Kiss me back,” he ordered coldly.

I started sobbing. “Please don’t. I don’t want to do this. I’ll do whatever you want me to

do, but not this.”

He laughed chillingly and shook his head. “You’re just a tease, aren’t you? You think I’m

going to let you go back to that boy without some kind of assurance that you’ll do what I tell

you to do? You’ll be mine before I send you back to finish the job.”

He pushed me up to the wall and held his hand at my throat while trying to push his tongue into

my mouth.

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