I woke up in a hospital. Somehow I knew that before I opened my eyes. I could smell the familiar antiseptic odors. My arm felt stiff and sore. I could feel the bandaging they had used on the stab wound. Oh well, another battle scar.
I kept my eyes closed and tried to link to Simone. I was startled to find her so close. She was in the bed next to the chair in which I was sitting. Sensing she was safe and stronger, I drifted off to sleep again.
When I woke up again, it was dark. Simone was still asleep, resting easy. I had been having some very weird dreams. When I noticed she was holding my finger, much like Janey had done when I had sat by her bed, I suspected Simone and I had been communicating over a link between us similar to what Janey and I had done. I seemed to know her better now. She was, indeed, a special person.
The dream had seemed so real, almost interactive. I had been on a beach and thousands, millions of other people or beings were there, too. The fine white sand seemed to stretch for an eternity in both directions. When I looked down at my feet, I couldn't focus on the sand around me but it seemed so real I could almost feel it between my toes. Most of the people along the beach were busy building sandcastles. Some castles were bigger than others were, as those people had others helping them. Some others were struggling by themselves to build one that could stand against the relentless waves. Some of the people I saw seemed frantic, others worked calmly and steadily. Others, here and there, seemed to have given up.
Some people along the beach were angrily raging at the sea, kicking at the water, trying futilely to keep the waves from their sandcastles. As I watched, the waves would come and wash away their castles or the castles of the people near them. They were trying to stop the waves from reaching their sandcastles. The relentless waves would strike at random. You could never tell when the biggest waves would come up onto the beach, who would have to start over, who would need to rebuild, who would be wiped out or whose castle would be touched. Some sandcastles were barely touched by the waves, some the waves wiped out. Wherever the water touched a sandcastle there was a sense of sadness.
Sometimes the people would stop building and just wander out into the waves, to become a part of the vastness of the ocean. Most of us just kept building our castles. Like I was doing.
I had a bucket in my hand full of sand. When I examined the sand in the bucket carefully, though, I saw the grains were made up of the faces of Simone and Nicole. When I looked at my sandcastle, I saw that the sand there, too, was made up of faces, faces I knew, faces from my past and my present. I saw my parents, my sister, Sally and Janey. Mac was there, as were others, some alive, some long dead. I put the new bucket onto my castle and Nicole's and Simone's faces became part of the whole.
Looking up, I saw Simone was there on the beach beside me. The remains of two small ruined sandcastles were visible beside her as she bravely attempted to build yet another temporary bastion from the waves around the face of her mother. I saw in her sand the face of an elderly gentleman that I knew was the man she called Papa. The other man in the ruins was younger. It looked as if she had kicked that pile over herself, her small stomping footprints visible in the white sand, long deep scars where she had tried to kick the face of that evil man away from her, to get him out of her life. That sand, that face, however, was still a part of her castle, a part of her.
Simone wasn't raging at the waves as were many others in less tragic conditions. The waves had touched her sandcastle as it had theirs, yet she persevered. I could also see she was being very careful, selecting the material for her castle with greater care. She stood holding an empty bucket, another was off to one side. Janey's face was in her castle now, the new sand still bright and shiny. I could see my face in the bucket she had set aside. She was scared to mix it in with her mother's sand. Unsure.
Suddenly, in my dream, I was telling a story, teaching a history class. When I would turn to look at the students, they would all have the same face, the face of Simone. All of them asked different questions, throwing them at me faster than I could answer as if the time for the class was running out. I tried to answer as many as I could but some of them I knew I wasn't allowed to answer, secrets from my past I could not share. Some of the questions were easy. Some were hard. Others I didn't know the answers to. The school bell rang and the questions stopped.
We were back on the beach. Simone was turning to me smiling. Both buckets were empty. My face was in her castle. I waved my hands and a space opened in the walls of my own castle. When I looked around I could see that Sally had her castle right next to mine, each of our efforts adding support and protection to the other. Janey's sandcastle was also there next to mine, as was Nicole's. I invited Simone to place her sandcastle within the protection of mine, of my family's. I could tell she wanted to, but she was hesitant, afraid. It was not a feeling she was used to.
We were in the delicate and difficult process of moving her sandcastle closer to mine when I had woken up.
I tried to sit up. A pair of strong hands was there immediately to help me.
"I called your house. Janey answered. She said to tell you someone named 'Bala' came over to help out. Said you would want to know everything is OK and that Sally is still in the basement, whatever that means. Nicole, whoever she is, is awake and responsive and didn't need to go the hospital. Now that you know everything is OK, Lar, you want to tell me just what the fuck's going on? Who are all those people?"
I relaxed as I heard the rapid-fire reassurances from my friend. All the little things I hadn't been able to think of, he had. Damn, it was good to hear his voice.
I smiled. "Mac! You should really watch your language around impressionable young kids, you know?"
Mac had grown up on the streets in a very rough neighborhood. Ever since high school I had ribbed him about his rough language, helping him smooth out some rough edges. In return, he taught me to fight dirty and about the hard facts of life in the real world. We both learned and improved, better individuals for our friendship.
He punched my arm, the good one.
"Damn you, Lar, I've been stuck in here for three days waiting for you to wake up and tell them I had nothing to do with this. Whatever this is. What is this, anyway, and who the Hell are you and what have you done with my friend Larry Sampson?"
"Oh, God, Mac, where do I start..."
"He can't tell you," came a delicately accented voice from the bed.
The two of us turned our heads as one to look at the clear, sweet voice coming from the bed. Simone was awake.
She repeated, "He can't tell you. He has integrity."
She said that last word as if it were the most important thing in the world that a man could have. She may be right.
"Damn, Lar, who is the beautiful woman who uses big words with such a lovely accent?"
"Excuse my manners. Mac, this is Simone. Simone, Mac," I said in introduction.
He stuck out his hand, "Hi, Simone." His trademark grin that had won him more than one fair maiden lit up his face.
"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Mac."
She said his name with her delightful accent and giggled at his response to her. I had seen Mac in many situations but I had never seen him this flustered. I swear, he even blushed.
"I can get her to explain any big words you don't understand, OK, lughead?"
"Fuck you!"
"Monsieur Mac!"
That reprimand came from her, followed by another delightful laugh. I had never observed that particular behavior they called coquettish before, but it was truly amazing to see this teenaged girl keep Mac tongue-tied and off balance.
After several minutes of valiantly waging a losing battle, he turned to me for rescue.
"Help me out here, please! So help me God, I want to take her home with me. But if you dare tell CeCe I said that, I'll make you pay for our lunches for the next 10 years."
"I'm tempted to tell you to go fuck yourself, Mac," I laughed, grinning at him. "But I don't think I could afford you for the next 10 years with your new contract."
Mac had gone on a tear at the plate the last month of the season. It hadn't been enough to get the team into the play-offs but it sure brought up the gate receipts, which is what counts. He had been expected to just be a part-time replacement for an injured player. He had far out-performed expectations. I knew he would, given the chance.
When the opposing pitchers kept getting hit, they started walking him. Trouble with that was that Mac firmly believed in scoring. Baseball to him was simple. You get on base, then you score. He brought an exciting sandlot quality to an aging team and a boring game, invigorating the whole team in the process. If you walked him to first, he would steal the next three bases, including home plate. The fans loved it. So did management. They had just signed him to a huge contract for the next 3 seasons.
"Lawrence, is he OK?" Simone asked quietly.
I knew what she meant. Was he safe to have in her sandcastle? Would he hurt her, leaving her to trample more sand?
"Uh, 'Monsieur Mac', as you have dubbed him, is my closest and best friend. I would, and have, trusted him with my life and yours. I hope someday you will find a friend as good as he is to me. I can't tell you if he will be good for you, but I would bet he would be. That decision has to be up to you. Always."
"It is frightening, Lawrence. How can I be sure who to trust?"
"Trust your mother. Trust Sally. Trust Janey. Learn from them, watch them, see how they measure people, who they let into their lives."
"But Gary, and that other man..." she didn't finish.
"Don't hold your mother responsible for Gary, Simone. Sally fell for him, too. We all need to learn from our mistakes and the mistakes of others."
"I know, but it is difficult to know sometimes."
She looked up at Mac with her sparkling blue eyes, her decision made. I knew he was a goner. He was going to be a part of her sandcastle whether he liked it or not. Something told me he wouldn't mind. CeCe's opinion was another matter, but one bridge at a time.
A first for Mac, he had not interrupted this short exchange. He was puzzled at some of the things we were saying, others began to make sense.
"So, anybody want to tell me what you were doing on my doorstep covered in blood and shit? Can you tell me that much?"
I looked over at Simone, who nodded for me to tell him.
"Remember a couple of weeks ago, that serial killer they caught? It was a big raid on the TV and in the news for several nights," I started out.
He nodded, shuddering at the reminder. It was still fresh in most people's minds. Even with his tough background, some things still touched you hard.
"That bastard was Sally's boyfriend before she kicked him out."
"You mean the one where she just about shot apart her house when she kicked him out, oh about four or five years ago?"
"You knew about that and didn't tell me?" I asked him in disbelief.
"Well, yeah, CeCe told me but she said Sally would tell you. I thought you knew. Honest!"
"Thanks, buddy. Thanks a lot. Anything else you want to tell me about my fiancée before I finish with this little story?"
He shook his head sheepishly. I knew he hadn't meant to keep it from me. I continued the abridged version and told him the story about Sally and Gary, then of us seeing Gary, Nicole and Simone together at the symphony. I told him what I had done to set Gary up, just not the connections I used or how I had made them. He assumed they were from my financial clients. I let him.
I also glossed over exactly why Nicole and Simone were staying with us and what led to Simone running away, just that there were some adjustment issues around the house to work out. Then I turned to Simone and asked her to tell both of us what had happened from that point, as I was curious, too.
Simone lowered her eyes and spoke to her hands, which were folded on her lap. Her voice was clear and her words concise, no fear apparent in them.
"I was so jealous of Janey. She is so beautiful and her first dance was perfect and graceful. I will never be like her. She has so many friends. It is so hard for me to speak with people my own age, especially the boys. I try but I always say the wrong things and make them feel stupid. I don't mean to. For Janey it is so easy. Everyone likes Janey.
"I was angry at her for being so perfect. I did something awful. I told one of her friends, a boy she really liked, something that made him not like her. It was a lie. She found out. It hurt her terribly and she cried at night for several nights. She did not hate me, though and that made me feel so small. In fact, she tried harder, spending more time with me, helping me to try to fit in and make friends. I had never done anything like that before, to try to hurt someone. It made me feel so dirty inside. It shamed me.
"I know she tried so hard to make me feel welcome but it was still her room, her home. I missed my things, too. You took us in to your home to help us but it was not my home. Mama felt the same way, a little. Please understand, we were grateful for the help and protection you gave to us but it hurt our pride to need it.
"I was angry with Mama, too, for saying those ugly things about Janey. It was not the first time. Mama isn't like that, really. Please do not hate her, Lawrence, she is very frightened and alone. She needs to have a man such as you take care of her. Still, she kept saying bad things, worse and worse. I think she was afraid you would not want me around with Janey so perfect, so she tried to make her less perfect by saying those things about her. I warned her that Mist-, er, that Sally was becoming angry with her. She didn't care.
"Then after the dance Mama said that horrible thing about Janey. My Mama is bigger and stronger than Sally but I have never seen such a rage in a person. I wanted to stop her from hurting Mama but I couldn't move my feet. It happened so fast, too. I could feel Sally's rage with that thing inside of me Janey showed me. The intensity of her madness terrified me and kept me from moving. I was ashamed to be so weak and useless when my Mama needed me most.
"When that nice couple left, I hid on the back of their car. I am sorry for running away, Lawrence. I did not mean to go. I did not mean to cause you so much trouble. I thought if I were not there, Mama would not have to worry about you not wanting me around. If I were not there, I would not have to live with Janey and be compared to her perfection. At least, that's what I told myself later, as we both know those are just excuses, really. In all honesty, at the time, I did not think at all, Lawrence. For once in my life that I can remember, I did not think. I just did it.
"I had gone outside to get away from the things in my head, from the rage and anger and fear. I could still hear Mama screaming. I could sense Sally's rage. I could feel the thump of Mama's body as she was pulled down the stairs. I could feel the hairs pulling out of her head. I had to get away, as far from the pain and screaming and rage as possible. I am sorry I was so weak.
"Their car was leaving and I ran and jumped on. I didn't think. I had to do it before it got too far away and once I took that first step, I was flying. I have never felt so free before. I was doing something without planning it out. I did it without knowing what would happen. My heart was racing from the excitement and the wind felt wonderful on my face. Such exhilaration I have never felt before. I was free!
"The first part of the ride was like a magic carpet. I was gliding along. Then they went too fast and I got frightened. I couldn't see the exit signs because my eyes would water in the wind. The temperature dropped as it got dark and I got cold. I kept my eyes closed most of the ride so I didn't know what road I was on. I got off at the first stop of the car but by then, I was cold and lost. I didn't know where I was. I started walking towards the lights of the big sports arena and the music, looking for a telephone or a store. A big van drove by me as I was walking along. I think maybe it passed by me twice. The third time it went by then backed up. I was so cold, I was shaking.
"A nice man in the van asked me if I would like a ride. I said no. He said just get in to get warm, it was cold out tonight, and it looked like rain. He said he would just drive me around to find a telephone, then bring me back to where I was standing. I said no. He asked me if I was hungry. I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused you, Lawrence, but I was so cold and hungry. I did not eat at the dinner, I had been too excited with all the new things Bala was teaching us. The nice man pulled a big sandwich out of a bag and took a bite. I could smell it though the open window. The juices dripped down his chin and he reminded me of Papa. Just a little. It looked so good. I am sorry, but I got in.
"He started driving around. I wrapped up in a blanket in the back, as far from him as I could. It was so nice and warm. He gave me a cup of hot chocolate, to help me warm up first, he said. It tasted funny and I think he had put something in it. But it was warm and I drank it all. I felt a little strange later but not really bad. I suddenly didn't care if he didn't take me to a telephone or back to where he picked me up anymore.
"He made a phone call while we were driving around. I didn't pay any attention to where we were going. I felt like I was floating. I didn't care about anything anymore. Soon we were far away from the bright lights of the sports arena. He stopped the van by another car on this dark street with all these broken buildings. An ugly man in a yellow hat looked at me and made an ugly laugh. I didn't like him. He handed the nice man some money. Suddenly the door I was leaning against was yanked open. A big man ripped the blanket away from me. I felt the cold again and I screamed. He hit me. Then he stuck a needle in my leg.
"I woke up where you found me. I felt you coming, I think, but I had to hide. They... , they did bad things to me. I got thirsty, and they peed in my mouth. When I got hungry, they backed up to my face and defecated on me. The other men, they always kept coming and using me, in my mouth, in my bottom, everywhere. They paid money to the man in the yellow hat to use me.
"When you found me, they were getting ready to move me to another place. The man said someone had paid cash for me and I was going far away, where no one would find me. They had taken pictures of me first thing before I got too dirty, to show to the buyers. The yellow hat was happy with the price the new people had paid him. He called me 'prime.'"
She ended her story. Both Mac and I sat there, unmoving, shocked at what we had just heard.
"Simone," I asked her, "were there two men or three who took you the first time? When they grabbed you out of the van."
"Just two. The man with the yellow hat and the big, dumb one. He drank a lot of beer and made a lot of piss. He grabbed me and leaned on me until I was still after he stuck me with the needle. I remember he carried me to the other car under his arm like a loaf of long French bread, but I couldn't feel anything. Then I don't remember."
"There were three men in the cellar. Do you know who the third man might have been?" I asked her.
"When they went away and left me alone, they said they were bringing back someone to take me away. Perhaps that was him."
I hoped to God it was, and that he had been acting alone. I just wanted this nightmare to end for Simone.