I guess it was originally built with the intention of giving travelers a place to stop in the middle of nowhere, but for whatever reason, it couldn’t stay in business. As we pulled into the pitted and worn-down parking lot, I saw old gas pumps off to the right. It was obvious they were no longer in use. A couple of rooms had lights on, but what looked like the office showed no signs of life.
As we passed the old gas pumps I looked to my left and noticed a group of people between the motel and us. They were sitting around a dying campfire among the rusty old swings, slide and an antiquated carousel. It looked like a picnic and playground area that had seen better days. On the other side of the playground looked like a pool area. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought it looked like it didn’t have any water in it.
We circled to our left, and I noticed about six or seven motorcycles scattered in front of the units. He pulled up next to one and cut the engine. That’s when I heard them.
It was a mixture of laughter, cursing and what sounded like two women arguing. I thought I heard Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” coming from somewhere.
He stood up and said, “Get off.”
I stood on the foot pegs and swung my leg over. My legs almost buckled, probably from a combination of the ride and fear, but I caught myself. I adjusted my backpack and stood straight. I figured the best way to deal with this was with confidence. I was scared to death, but darn if I was going to show it. He put the kickstand down and got off the bike.
“So, how long before you can give me a ride back?” I asked. I sounded a little too perky even to my own ears.
He didn’t reply. He looked straight at me and gave me a smile that was born from pure evil. Was that the smile I’d seen at the 7-Eleven? I couldn’t remember. How could I have not noticed it then? The realization of my situation hit me like a lead bullet.
I remembered once when Delia and Vince weren’t home and one of his supposed friends stopped by. He’d convinced me to let him in the house to use the phone.
“You can trust me, sweetheart. I’m a friend of Vinny, your stepdaddy.”
That should’ve been a red flag. Nobody called Vince by the nickname Vinny. I’d released the deadbolt and as I was leading him toward the kitchen, where our only phone was mounted to the wall, he grabbed me by the back of my hair and threw me on the cracked linoleum floor. That’s when I knew true fear. I’d felt a heat slowly work its way up my spine.
Before anything could happen there was a loud pounding on the front door. It was our neighbor, Guido. That was his real name. Well, that was the name he told us. Vince was convinced Guido was some Mafia guy in the Witness Protection Program. He didn’t fit into our neighborhood at all. He was a total bully, and now he was loudly complaining because Vince’s friend had parked on his lawn.
That’s what Guido did. He sat on his front porch and waited for someone to do something wrong so he could assert himself. Normally I disliked Guido, but at that moment, his big mouth and heavy New York accent were music to my ears.
The mystery man, who never mentioned his name, had flipped me on my back and was sitting on my stomach with one hand over my mouth and the other holding both of my hands over my head. He was yelling for Guido to go away and that he’d move his truck when he damn well pleased. It wasn’t until Guido threatened to call the police that the man let go of my hands and jumped off me in one swift movement.
He told me if I ever told anyone what happened he would come back and finish what he’d started. I told him it would just be our secret. I wouldn’t say a word. I wasn’t hurt. No harm done. I would never tell. He could trust me.
I told. The minute Delia and Vince got home I told, and they called the police. After I described him and Guido described his truck, Vince knew who he was. Some low-life drifter named Johnny Tillman, who’d been hanging out at my parents’ local haunt, Smitty’s Bar on Davie Boulevard. He wasn’t a friend of Vince’s, but he’d had enough conversations with him to learn his name. How he’d known about me, I had an idea. I’d never seen him before, but he may have seen me. When I couldn’t get a ride from my friends, sometimes I’d walk from the school bus stop to Smitty’s to wait for Delia or Vince to give me a ride home. They could be counted on to stop in for a beer most days. The owner was a real nice lady. I’d sit in the corner and do homework, and she’d give me an orange soda and French fries on the house.
Now, standing in the middle of nowhere, Steppenwolf playing and motorcycle guy still smiling evilly, I was so paralyzed with fear I couldn’t even remember her name. But one thing I wish I could forget was Delia’s remark after that incident: “How can someone as smart as you do something so ridiculously dumb?”
Back then, I’d tried to reason my way out of it: “But Delia, he knew Vince.” I’d even tried to convince myself the man seemed familiar. But that was a lie. She was right. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever done.
Until an hour ago.
Now all I could think was, “You’re on your own, girlie. No Guido here this time.”
Motorcycle guy grabbed me roughly by the arm and pulled me forward. “C’mon, time to meet your new family.”
Family? I was in too much shock to try to decipher that remark. We walked toward the group of people sitting around a campfire, the noise from earlier slowly fading. As we approached, I heard a long, low whistle and comments coming from all directions.
“Oooh, look what Monster brought us.”
“Hey Monster, thought you liked blondes and gigantic titties.”
“That one’ll bring in a pretty penny. Help pay the bills.”
Then a shrill female voice hissed, “Don’t know what you think you’re doin’ bringing that piece of trash here.”
A very articulate male voice retorted, “What’s the matter, Willow? Afraid Grizz might be interested? Everyone knows he likes brunettes, and I’m pretty sure he’s had his fill of you.”
“Fuck you, Fess, and your momma and your daddy. She’s too scrawny for Grizz and ugly, too.”
Good, let them think I’m scrawny, ugly. Anything to get me out of here.
A gravelly male voice added, “No, she ain’t none of that, Willow. But don’t you worry, honey. You’ve been with Grizz going on two years now. He ain’t ever lasted that long with one woman. I guess it’s really love with you guys.”
That seemed to placate Willow. The exchanges were so quick and the campfire so dim I couldn’t put a face to a voice. My captor roughly plopped me down in a scratchy lawn chair within the group, then took the one beside me. I leaned forward, took my backpack off and placed it in my lap. I realized I wasn’t wearing my poncho and the most ridiculous thought popped into my head that at least my poncho was safe and sound at the library. I wrapped my arms around my bag and started to look around, assessing my surroundings.
That’s when my captor spoke. “Where’s Grizz?”
Monster. I think that’s what someone called him. Monster. God help me.
“He’s here somewhere. Just went in to make a call, I think,” someone answered.