Book Excerpt for Virgin Blood

Virgin Blood -- Extract

Richard Stooker

Cover graphic design by Drew at idrewdesign on Fiverr.com.

The right of Richard Stooker to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

Virgin Blood

Chapter One

Holy Virgin Mother of God Medical Center

Whirling as fast as her heart thumped, the cold red light whipped Janie.

She lay on the bed inside the ambulance with a needle stuck in her arm, already hooked up to a glass bottle with blood food in it. The side of her head felt like a pumpkin. The loud siren screeched to a halt and doctors in orange uniforms carried her off. Everything looked so funny she wanted to laugh, but she could only croak. Far away, voices babbled.

"Coming through! Out of the way!"

"This the girl? Number Two's ready."

A loudspeaker blared. "Trauma Team to Number Two. Stat! Trauma Team to Number Two. Stat!"

Janie was in a hospital. She was stupid, but she knew about hospitals. She liked nurses because they smiled and talked nice to her.

They slid her onto a cot that rolled on the floor, and then men and women in hospital uniforms surrounded her. Many hands worked on Janie's body. They held doctor tools against her chest and all over her body. Fingers grabbed her wrists. A damp washcloth wiped the blood from her face. Small plastic blew air into her nose that made her feel dizzy. A TV-like machine next to her beeped when her heart beat. The boss doctor pulled on rubber gloves. They always made Janie think of condoms. Michael didn't like rubbers. That's why Shontell was born.

Strong fingers pressed against the big side of Janie's head, just like her mother taught her to squeeze cantaloupes so she didn't buy a rotten one. Janie felt proud of herself for remembering that. Maybe she was stupid, but she never bought a bad cantaloupe.

"Get skull and c-spine and head CT without contrast," he said. "And all the lab work -- HBG and HCT, type and cross match for two units of blood. Electrolytes and arterial blood gas. I want x-rays, and call the neurosurgeon NOW."

A nurse cut off Janie's shirt with a pair of big scissors. "She doesn't have any pants on. Where're her pants?"

A nurse with long blond hair who was so beautiful she looked like an angel said, "You think the guy raped her pulled her pants back on before he ran away?"

"Shut up and cut that sleeve so I can wrap the blood pressure cuff around her arm," a man nurse said. "The cops'll want her clothing for evidence."

"Can the chatter," the bossy doctor said. "And drape her before she freezes to death."

"My God, she's so small," a black woman with a kind face said. "Like a little girl."

"My thirteen year old daughter is bigger than her," an older woman said.

A black nurse leaned over Janie and pulled up one of her eyelids. "How're you doing, honey?"

Janie wanted to tell the nice lady she was doing fine, but her tongue and lips wouldn't move.

"Say something, sugar. Come on, talk to me. What's your name? Can you tell me that, baby? Do you know where you are? Do you know what time it is?"

Janie stared into those deep black eyes but couldn't make any words come out of her mouth.

"She can't be oriented at all," the nice nurse said. "You hear me, don't you, honey?" she asked Janie. "But you just can't talk back."

A bright light shined into Janie's eyes.

"Left eye is dilated to four millimeters with sluggish contraction."

The angel nurse looked up Janie's nose. "Both nostrils clear, no sign of drainage." Then into her ears. "Tympanic membranes clear. Right ear is clear. Left one has bloody discharge."

The bossy doctor listened to Janie's lungs with the stethoscope. "Lungs clear to auscultation."

The nice nurse grabbed Janie's hand and tried to wrap Janie's fingers around two of hers. "Can you hold on? See how hard you can squeeze my fingers. Come on, honey, make them hurt."

She lowered Janie's hand. "No response."

A man nurse placed his palm flat against the bottom of Janie's bare foot. "Can you push my hand away?"

After a moment he said, "No response."

The doctor hit her knee with a hard rubber hammer. "Weaker than normal reflexes." He ran the plastic tip of his pen up and down the bottoms of both bare feet, making her toes curl slightly. "Only a small Babinski reflex, especially in the right foot. She's totally unresponsive."

As he spoke, the angel nurse was sliding a little plastic tube inside the hole where Janie went pee pee. The beauty of her long, wavy blond hair made Janie feel good.

Janie

The voice calling her sounded as if it was from far away, under the ground. It sounded like Daddy, but Daddy didn't come to visit her when she was in the hospital. Not anymore.

"Her breathing's irregular now," the angel nurse said. "She's pausing at the end of each inhalation."

"Another early symptom of hematoma. What're her vital signs?"

"Pulse rate over 100 and climbing."

"Blood pressure 75 over 40 and dropping. I think we're losing her."

"Louise, take orifice swab samples to the lab immediately. I want the blood work back here five minutes ago. What's her temperature?"

"Still 97.9."

"BP holding at 80."

"Pulse just over 100."

Janie

That voice again. It could be Uncle Tommy, but Uncle Tommy never came to see her in the hospital. She hadn't seen Uncle Tommy since she left home. Anyway, Uncle Tommy was dead. Mommy told Janie Uncle Tommy had a heart attack, back when Shontell was just a baby.

Janie

Go away. She wanted to look at the pretty angel nurse again, and the doctor standing in front of her head. He was handsome and sexy even if he did have a bossy voice.

"Looks like somebody tried to split her skull open with a baseball bat," he said. "What happened? Anybody know?"

"The cops found her in a vacant building," the angel nurse said. "Joe told me she was unconscious at the scene. We were the closest ER with Level One Trauma Care."

"Aren't we always?" the man nurse said. "And it's only Thursday night."

"It's spring."

"Do we have a history on her?" the doctor asked.

"The cops found a Medicaid card in her pants pocket," the angel said. "Cerise thinks she's been here before. Will's called down to Records for a file."

"She's been someplace before," the older nurse said. "Look at all these scars. Up and down her legs, on her belly -- I bet there's more on her back."

"You win," Angel said. "She looks like she's been flogged with a lash."

"That's a belt buckle or I'm crazy."

"Get her under the x-rays before that hematoma kills her," the doctor said.

Janie

Now the voice sounded like Michael, but that couldn't be right either. Michael was in jail, had been ever since he was arrested for robbing and beating up that old woman who lived down the street. He wasn't supposed to get out for a long time, until at least next year.

The doctor and nurses placed her on a big table and fastened foam pads around her neck and head. They stretched a thick bib over her from throat to knees, then left the room. She heard a brief humming. They returned and moved her around to a different position.

Janie knew they were taking special pictures of her head bones. She dimly remembered doctors showing her funny-looking black and white photographs. She went to the hospital a lot because she was so stupid and clumsy. When she was a little girl a bad man burned her leg with a hot clothes iron. Lots of times bad men on the street jumped her. Once a bad man pushed her down the basement stairs at Michael's house and she had to wear a cast on her left arm for a long time and it made her itch like poison ivy.

The nice nurse shone a light into Janie's eyes again.

"Her left pupil's blown. Now it's seven millimeters."

The doctor placed Janie's hands on her stomach, then shocked Janie by suddenly reaching out and pinching one of her nipples! Why didn't that hurt?

"Decortate response to noxious pressure." the doctor said. "She's a 3 on the Glasgow Coma Scale for sure."

"Respiration up to 24."

"We need that CAT scan, stat. Prepare for emergency burr hole procedures. After we've drained the hematoma we'll install a drain and monitor to measure her intercranial pressure."

Janie

The voice was louder now, more insistent, like Mommy calling her for supper.

They placed her on another table, stuck her head in a big machine and tied her down with straps. She didn't understand. She wanted to leave. She didn't like hospitals.

Janie

Now it sounded like a woman's voice. Maybe Mommy was yelling at her again. Maybe Odelia was screaming at her about something. When Odelia did that, Janie sat inside the back of her head and turned her off, just like a TV. She learned to do that when she was little and Mommy and Daddy fussed at her so much she could hardly stand it. She knew she was a bad girl and too stupid to do things right even when she tried. She just couldn't listen to them all the time.

Janie

She didn't want to listen to this voice either. It wasn't a pleasant voice. It wasn't that nice nurse asking her name or Marilyn calling her. She wouldn't pay any attention to it.

Janie grew chilly cold as a strange gray mist filled the room like smoke. Her flesh and bones felt heavy, thick, uncomfortable, like rock. She stood up to escape the weight, and suddenly she could hear and see everything more clearly, even her body still lying on the table.

She watched the beautiful nurse who looked like an angel cover her head and face with white cloths and place doctor tools out on a shiny tray by her head. Now all Janie could see of herself was that big, bald knot on her head. It looked like a pink baseball.

Another doctor was in talking to the first one. He was holding up weird pictures. "She has a parietal fracture with significant bony depression extending inferiorly from the anterior aspect of the temporal bone's squamous portion. CAT scan indicates tearing of the meningeal artery, so she does have an epidural hematoma. She also has uncal herniation with a ten millimeter mid-line shift to the left. If we don't hurry, she's taking a permanent trip to gaga land."

Janie watched the second doctor drill a hole in the side of her head. She wondered why that didn't hurt, then remembered that in the hospital they always put you to sleep before they cut on you.

Except she wasn't asleep, unless she was dreaming. But she felt wide awake. How could she look at the doctor and nurses and even at her own body just like watching a hospital movie on TV?

"Janie."

There it was again. Calling her. Wanting her.

It sounded different now. Still from below the ground, but somehow not so far away. It was the doctors and nurses who sounded like they were speaking through a bad telephone connection, even though they were right there in the same room with Janie.

She watched as the gadget in her head pulled bloody water out of her skull.

How did all that get inside her brain? What happened to her? Something about Dewie. She tried to think, but she never could think very good. Things she planned never worked out right and everybody always laughed at her.

But what was it about Dewie?

She didn't like Dewie even though he was Michael's younger brother. She didn't like how Dewie looked at her. Michael didn't like Dewie either. Michael told her that Dewie was a bug-eyed weasel, even if he was his brother.

Michael was nice. He talked soft to Janie, stroked her back and ran his fingers through her hair. At night, in bed, he held her pressed close against him. Janie missed that. Of course, lots of nights he hadn't come home until late, or not at all, but when he was there he gave her lots of loving. And when he wasn't, Janie at least had his bed to sleep in.

Now, since Michael went to jail, Janie didn't get nothing. Odelia'd kicked her out of Michael's room and Janie was lucky if she could lay down on the big, lumpy gray couch in the front room.

But what happened to make her go into the hospital?

"Janie. Janiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee."

Janie wouldn't say anything. If that was Dewie, she didn't want to talk to him.

"BP up to 90," the angel nurse said. "Pulse rate down to 85. Temperature 98.1. She's stabilizing."

"Left pupil dilation has decreased nearly two millimeters. It's sluggish, but it's reacting."

"Intercranial pressure should be near normal limits by now," the first doctor said. "Have that cop go through the rape procedure as fast as he can. After we patch her together she goes into the neurological intensive care unit. We need her hooked up to an ICP monitor for baseline readings. Order the EEG. I want it ASAP."

"Janie."

Oh no, who could that be now? Nobody Janie could think of came to visit her when she was in the hospital, except Michael, maybe. But he was in jail. She kept forgetting that. Besides, when Mommy and Daddy used to come see her it was always when she was in a bed in a room, not being worked on by the doctors and nurses. Nobody saw her then. People in the hospital sometimes asked her how she got hurt and why she had so many scars. Because she was so dumb, Janie always told them.

Not a genius like the real smart kids who made straight `A's in school or even a normal kid like Mommy and Daddy kept saying they wished she was. But stupid. Once she ate a whole bottle of aspirin. She was so stupid, she didn't care what anybody thought.

"Janie."

Why wouldn't he go away and stop pestering her? She was busy. The nice nurse and the angel were taking her back to the first room. Janie saw a young, fat policeman in the waiting area. He was drinking coffee and flirting with the nurse behind the desk.

"Janie."

Janie looked down. A long way past her feet, below the basement, she saw a ghost who looked like an Indian. He held a big, green stone hammer. He also had on a big headdress of white feathers and a skirt made out of woven grass that did not make him look like a girl because he was an Indian. But he wasn't like the Indians in cowboy movies. He had bright red circles on his cheeks. Janie thought that was his war paint, then she realized they were tattoos. He must be a real strange Indian. Janie knew lots of men, and some women, who put tattoos on their bodies, but nobody she knew had big tattoos on their faces.

"Pull me up to PeopleLand, Janie. I long to see Elder Brother Sun again. I long to live in flesh again. I will again be king."

What was he talking about?

"Once I was the absolute ruler of your land, but I have been trapped here in Dirtworld for twelve cycles of the sacred fifty-two years. It is time for me to reign again. It is time for your people to worship Elder Brother Sun and obey his younger brother. Your people need my wisdom, my guidance and my strength. I long to feel the warmth of Elder Brother again."

Janie didn't understand. The Indian made her think of Dewie, and she didn't want to do that. She turned her attention back to the hospital.

The fat policeman was opening a big plastic pouch and talking to the nice nurse and the angel.

"I don't have any other officers available to help me," he said. "So I hope at least one of you ladies will stay here and observe. It's standard procedure to have a woman present." His face reddened and his voice choked with embarrassment. "I'm sure you understand. So there's no suspicion on me of doing anything wrong."

"Go head on, Jerry," the nice nurse said. "We'll stick around and make sure you behave yourself. Looks to me like this baby done been abused enough already."

Janie watched the policeman comb through her sex hairs, cut some off, clip some hairs from the top of her head, take cotton swab samples from her mouth, pussy and asshole, and put everything into sealed envelopes. He also scraped under her fingernails. The nice nurse pricked Janie's finger and drew blood for him.

"Associated injuries?" Jerry the policeman asked.

"Some vaginal lacerations and bleeding. We're going to disinfect and sew her up as soon as you're done. It'll all be in the report."

"How soon do you think before she can tell us anything?"

The two women looked at each other. The angel said, "The prognosis is very poor, especially if she doesn't regain consciousness by tomorrow. You guys going to catch the motherfucker did this?"

Jerry was packing up the rape kit. He sealed it shut and returned the Bic pen to his shirt pocket. "I hope so. Just in case, we're putting her under protective custody, so nobody can find out she's here. I wonder what she was doing way up north in that neighborhood anyway? Helluva thing."

The doctor sewed up the skin on the side of Janie's head and the inside of her pussy. The nurses swabbed her with smelly goo and taped white bandages on her.

The doctor said, "With a ten percent chance of developing seizures, her side rails must stay up at all times, and keep an airway at the head of the bed. I'm ordering a prophylactic anticonvulsant dose for her IV. Dilantin. Point 2 normal saline solution."

"Janie," the Indian ghost said. "Your sacrifice will break me free of Grandmother Earth's embrace. You must die so I can live again."

Janie shivered. She felt like when she had to get out of bed in February after the gas company turned the heat off or she played in wind packed snowdrifts behind the house in Eureka when she was a little girl.

That was the Indian. He was under the ground, cold -- and dead.

As a man wheeled her down the hall to another room in the hospital, she suddenly knew. Something real bad happened to her. Like the time she was in South St. Louis late at night with Solange, only even worser.

Why did she keep thinking of Dewie?

She remembered now Dewie told her to meet him at that abandoned house on the corner in ten minutes. Of course Janie had said no. She was stupid, not crazy. Then Dewie told her he had a special message for her from Michael. He couldn't tell her in the house, because Michael didn't want Odelia to find out. Janie knew that Michael didn't trust Odelia even if she was his mother and didn't like Odelia being all up in his business. If Dewie told Janie in the house, even late at night, then Yolanda or Tiffany would find out and go to Odelia. Janie knew that was right, so she went to see what Michael wanted Dewie to tell her.

"Janie."

Cold like old bones. Trapped, frozen inside the earth. What did that Indian ghost want with her? She couldn't rescue an Indian from below the ground. That was silly.

She watched the nurses hook lots of tubes and machines up to her arm, neck and head. Dewie. Dewie must have hurt her. Dewie must have done this to her. But, but -- what about -- her kids? She woke Latasha up before she left and told her to watch Shontell. But, but -- now she remembered hearing Latasha scream. They must have followed her to the empty house.

"Janie. I need your life, Janie. Your death will end your fears and pain. Soon you and your troubles will be over. Do not worry anymore."

Ice clutched Janie's heart with fingers cold as a snow-covered grave.

What happened to Latasha and Shontell?

Where are my babies?

St. Louis Abused Women's Shelter (secret location)

"I'm worried about her, Sara," Marilyn Patterson said. Her headache hammered a spike through the top of her skull. "She should be back here by now."

Sara finished marking the last entry in the account book, slammed it shut and ran her fingers through her elfin-cut short hair. "Do you know where we could lay our hands on a cheap used PC? One Wal-Mart special and I wouldn't have to stay here until after midnight once a week keeping the records straight enough to qualify for United Way funding."

"Don't you care, Sara?"

The other woman rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Lord, give me strength. Marilyn, we have been down this road a zillion times. You cannot worry your head off about every single resident, especially Janie. She'll come back when she comes back, just like always."

Marilyn walked across the cluttered office, turned and strode back to the desk. "She's moved back into that house. I know it."

"So? She always pops up here again after Michael practices karate on her, if that's what happens. With Janie, who knows for sure?"

Marilyn kept pacing. "I shouldn't have let her go."

"Like, just how were you supposed to stop her? She's twenty-three even if she looks twelve and acts five. This is where abused women come when they want to, right?" Sara slid the ledger book into its place in a desk drawer, stood up and stretched. "When they want to leave, they leave."

Marilyn collapsed into the lumpy, overstuffed armchair. "Why do some of them go back, Sara? We change their bandages, feed them hot chicken soup and give them counseling. We take them to sign up for TANF, SSI, General Relief, Energy Assistance, Food Stamps, Medicaid -- you name it."

"So what do you want, a medal from the Goddess?"

"I want to think we're really doing something. We find them jobs and apartments. We drive them to safe houses in Kansas City and Chicago. We send them to GED classes. We help them sue for child support and file for divorce. Then some return to the same asshole who broke their jaw and punctured their lungs with a steak knife."

"Hey, divorce is just a piece of paper," Sara said. "I get pissed at myself for it, but my heart still goes pitter-pat every time my ex calls me. After they take the big step of coming here, some of these women find they really miss the guy. They're too scared to be on their own or it's too peaceful or they miss the adrenaline rush of the constant fighting and danger. Or maybe they still feel responsible for the poor baby. After all, they married the dude, so there must have been love there once. You need a vacation."

Marilyn laughed a hiccup of a laugh. "Where would I go? I don't have any money."

"So stay home and watch Oprah. Chill out."

"I wish I could."

"Believe it or not, the shelter won't fall apart without you. Get a life."

Marilyn glanced at her watch. "It's a quarter after two. She can't be with a friend this late."

Sara sighed. "Thanks to you, Janie and the kids get checks and Latasha's in school and Shontell's in Head Start preschool. Both girls are up on their shots and they have clothes. You've made Janie's life better. But she isn't going to leave Michael or his family behind, not permanently. Get used to it. And maybe she shouldn't. He does seem to give her some stability."

Marilyn closed her eyes. She felt so tired, so drained. Her muscles ached. Her blood pumped sluggishly, choked with the dull pain of too much missed sleep over too many nights. She couldn't keep track of the hours she spent at the shelter even though she was only paid for twenty-four a week, and that at only a small fraction over the minimum wage.

"Sara, what're you saying?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? Janie's using us. We're her free hotel when she needs a break from home."

"Janie doesn't think that hard."

"Don't underestimate her. Just because she sounds like a kid when she talks and can't read doesn't mean she's innocent. She lies. She goes over to that house when she says she's visiting a friend. That's probably where she and the kids are right now even though she said she was only going to stop by to ask about her big checks. That was two days ago. She's probably out spending that money right now."

"She said she wanted to buy a house with it. And I believe her."

"Don't you think maybe she's learned how to manipulate people by now? Especially you?"

"Oh Sara."

"She doesn't do it in a mean way. She's like my five year old kid. When I catch him sneaking cookies in the kitchen he lies brazen as can be. Janie just doesn't want you to know she's doing something you don't approve of. Basically, she doesn't tell the truth so it won't upset you. Don't expect total honesty from someone who has nothing else to protect herself with but deceit."

Sara's son. Even lesbians had children. This unwanted reminder of her friend's fertility coated Marilyn's mouth with scorched lead.

Sara put her hand on Marilyn's shoulder. "I've got to run. Important meeting in the morning, can't be late. I'll be here tomorrow afternoon by four. You go home and catch a few Z's. And don't beat yourself up. The damage is just as real as when a man does it."

Marilyn squeezed Sara's hand briefly. She wasn't going to follow the advice, but she appreciated the concern.

"I'm going to heat a glass of herbal tea in the microwave," she said. "That'll calm my nerves."

"Then drive yourself home and sleep late in the morning. Don't even think of arriving here before noon. Everybody knows how many hours you put in."

Home? The overpriced apartment where she grew her houseplants? This was her home, God help her.

"You're not Janie's mother," Sara said.

"She tells me I love her like a mother."

"So stop fretting, Mama Hen. That girl has a remarkable ability to find people to help her out. Remember the first caseworker she had at the welfare office, the one who broke all the rules to send Janie's TANF checks out as soon as she could and put the kids on Medicaid so they could have a checkup right away?"

"That's true, isn't it?" Marilyn said. "Either you want to do everything you can to help her, or to take advantage of her."

"And plenty of people have done plenty of both."

Marilyn sighed. "I'm afraid there's been more take advantage than help. Or else the damage they've inflicted is worse than the good the rest of us can do."

"She could be worse off," Sara said. "There's lots of women locked up in institutions who went through only one tenth the punishment she admits to. And we just know what she tells us. She denies the rest, but she couldn't have gotten all those scars from falling out of a tree, no matter what she claims."

"Sure."

"So she comes in here, battered and crying, saying Michael beat her up, then after a few weeks she tells us it was a bad man on the street jumped her. And when her wounds are healed she'll claim nothing happened at all. So she copes by denying reality, just like all of us do. She always bounces back. She's still on her own, more or less in charge of her life for all she insists on screwing it up. She doesn't do as badly as lots of people with three times her smarts."

"But she's the one I always worry about."

Sara waived at the resident files stacked in boxes in the corner. "We've had women in here with college degrees, even money of their own, but they were as helpless as babies and wouldn't snap out of it until their guy almost killed them. Janie had the strength to leave home at fifteen when she was pregnant and survive."

Marilyn grinned. "Actually, I think Latasha handles things now. When she's learned more how to read and write, and add and subtract, I think she could manage a checking account for Janie. She could write them out and have Janie sign them."

"Don't let Tyrannosaurus Regina hear you're teaching a seven year old to pay bills. She'd have a hissy fit."

Marilyn smiled. "Just because Mildred's Executive Director doesn't mean she has to know everything."

"She sure doesn't," Sara said. "Or she'd tell us to get rid of the guns."

"Guns? What guns?"

"You don't know? As many hours as you spend here? Of course, you're really day staff."

Sara pulled open the bottom drawer of a banged up file cabinet they had scrounged free from a local insurance agency which thought its useful life over. She shuffled through a pile of old ledger books and thick stacks of paid bills wrapped with rubber bands, pulled a cardboard box from the rear and opened it.

Marilyn couldn't believe what she saw. Four handguns, and lots of loose cartridges scattered over the bottom. Several of the pistols were small, but one looked big enough to stop a horse.

"Where'd they come from?"

"Residents, where do you think? A couple of women couldn't have gotten past their husbands without one. Remember that Sadie Jones? She thought she was a cowboy herself. We couldn't let any of them keep the guns, and we didn't know what to do with them after we took them, so we just put them here."

"Lord, Sara."

"Hey, a lot of times I'm here late at night so I always figured, what the hell, you never know what might happen. Maybe one day, despite all our precautions, some outraged husband or boyfriend will find us. Or maybe some night we'll get a run of the mill thief. This isn't exactly the safest neighborhood in the city."

"But guns -- I had no idea."

"My ex is a gun nut and some of it rubbed off. So every once in a while, when I'm alone, I take them out, clean and reload them." She grinned." Oh, I know it's outrageous and it's not in accordance with Mildred's philosophy of strict nonviolence, but I believe in protecting myself."

Marilyn pressed her mouth into a sour expression to keep from speaking her mind. She didn't want to hurt Sara, who obviously derived some sicko thrill from the weapons beyond a sense of security, but her first duty was to Mildred, who had founded the shelter as a way to help women counteract male violence.

Marilyn chewed over the situation as Sara placed the box back inside the file cabinet. When skeptics asked Mildred theoretical questions about whether she would allow men to rape and kill her grandchildren, she answered with cold glares and elegant sniffs implying, of course, no proper lady or gentleman allowed themselves or their loved ones to be in such situations to begin with.

Coming from a working class and therefore much less sheltered background, Marilyn understood this attitude wasn't realistic. Violent people could strike anyone. But guns weren't practical for self-defense since they escalated confrontations into unnecessary violence. Besides, any bloodshed at the shelter and they would have to call the police. That would place the shelter's address on public record, and they couldn't afford to relocate.

So Marilyn would have to tell Mildred she discovered the box while searching for something in the file cabinet. Current staff and volunteers could simply disavow all knowledge and blame past workers. The shelter had a high turnover. Not many women could take the emotional stress for long.

Sara picked up her purse. "Come on, Marilyn, let's walk each other out to our cars."

Marilyn shook her head and checked her watch again. Almost three o'clock. Sara was right. If Janie's wasn't there by then, she wasn't coming back that night. Maybe not ever, not even to pick up their few clothes left upstairs. With Janie, who could know for sure?

"I haven't had that cup of herbal tea I promised myself."

"You need to sleep."

Marilyn heard a noise, jumped in her chair. "Who's there?"

"It's only big old me." Betty Silver trudged through the door and plopped herself down in the second armchair. "I hate to disturb you guys when it's so late, but I couldn't sleep."

"Do you need to talk?" Marilyn asked.

"No. I mean yes, but I really feel guilty bothering you so much. This isn't exactly my regular time to see you, but everything bothers me. I'm scared of little noises. I keep thinking Terry is going to find me and shoot me. He's looking for me, you know, I'm sure he is. He has this weird mystical idea about the importance of being married and his honor. If he knew I was so close to our house he'd --"

"He won't find you here," Marilyn said in a soothing voice. "You know how careful we are."

"But he's so close, and he can be so sneaky."

"Didn't you say he's a gun freak?" Marilyn gave Sara a significant glance. See what kind of people like guns?

"Worships them, but you know the funny part? With everybody else but me, he's a sweet guy. He wouldn't hurt nobody unless he had to. Then he might do anything. He's got some strange shit in his head. He needs your counseling a lot more than me. Like, he believes serial killers are cool and admires outlaws, but he doesn't want to do anything like that himself. He just wants to come home from work, drink beer while he watches movies on TV, then beat the shit out of me before we fuck."

"You're safe here," Marilyn said. "I promise."

After Marilyn helped Betty back upstairs to bed, Sara stood up. "This time I'm leaving for sure. Go home soon, all right?"

Marilyn nodded, making a promise as empty as her womb, as faithless as her heart, as bottomless as her life. Her apartment, which took so much of her hard earned money, did not draw her.

Some of her sadness must have showed through her voice or her eyes, for Sara gave her a long hug. "What I'm about to say is horribly politically incorrect. It also offends my newborn dyke's soul to its womanist core and you'll probably never forgive me, but it's the truth. Girl, you need a man."

Marilyn gasped as though punched in the stomach and stared at her friend. She sputtered, then she and Sara broke into loud laughter.

III

Sawbuck Trailer Court, Jefferson County

A choir began singing "Rock of Ages."

Judith Braxton dragged herself to the edge of waking.

She had just been dreaming about taking Janie to church, back when Janie was still a child. Back when she was proud to sit between her mother and father in the pew listening to the gospel preached, and singing her own words to the hymns. Back when she still said goodnight prayers on her knees before going to bed and talked about Jesus as though he were her closest friend. Jesus liked her yellow dress better than the blue one. Jesus told her to be good to Mommy today. The memory brought tears to Judith's eyes.

The ring tone tore at Judith's heart.

Cleft for me . . .

Through the haze of nearly two bottles of red wine she realized she lay across half the couch. Willie Lee snored at the other end. A black and white movie flickered on the TV.

Judith had been proud that, despite all Janie's limitations, she was bringing the child up as a good Christian. She may not be able to prevent other children from making fun of Janie. She couldn't buy Janie many toys or the special counseling and therapy the schools wanted her to have. And she couldn't stop Willie Lee from punishing Janie. But she could give Janie faith, and that was her obligation. Many parents with lots more money failed to meet their children's spiritual needs. After Janie died, Judith once believed, she would go to Heaven. That comfort was taken from Judith long ago.

Let the water and the blood . . .

One Sunday afternoon after her thirteenth birthday, Janie announced Jesus wasn't her friend anymore, so she wasn't going to church ever again. When Judith and Willie Lee tried to take her the next Sunday, she screamed and pitched a fit so hard they finally admitted they couldn't force her short of locking her in chains.

Some children could be reasoned with. They did what their parents wanted if only to keep peace in the household or avoid punishment. But not Janie. She was in her own little world. Willie Lee punished her, but that only raised the decibel level, as Judith could have told him if he had asked, which of course he never had because of course he knew his chastisements of Janie never worked but of course that never stopped him.

Save from wrath and make me pure.

Judith sat up slowly and swigged a belt of wine. Thinking about her daughter always made he reach for the bottle, an action as automatic as bowing her head to pray when the preacher raised his hand.

Judith had known all day something was going to happen. Women's intuition. Willie Lee made fun of it, said if women wanted to be as good as men they had to give up their intuition and think only with their brains, as men did. When they were younger she'd talked back when he said stuff like that, but that just made him angry, sometimes sent him right over the edge. Willie Lee had a lot of good points in spite of himself, but patience was not one of them. And raising Janie would have taxed the limits of Job. She shuddered. The Bible said God didn't give a person more burdens than they could carry, but Judith had long ago accepted neither she nor Willie Lee possessed the strength to shoulder the load of a child like Janie.

Willie Lee kept on snoring.

All for sin could not atone . . .

It hadn't just been Janie's retardation although, the Good Lord knew, that was difficult enough. The child had been so willful and cantankerous. Because she was so dumb she didn't understand what she was not capable of. Through church and Bible study groups, Judith had met many retarded children who were as sweet, gentle and obedient as could be, but Janie had the devil in her.

Helpless, look to thee for grace . . .

Willie Lee snorted, harrumphed, but continued to doze. Judith knew in her heart the call was about Janie. That's why she was afraid to answer. That's why she kept waiting for the person on the other end to give up.

She suddenly wished she'd drunk so much wine she couldn't wake up for a brass band. She wanted to ignore the phone. She wanted to stare at this old movie and cheer on the dead actors as they learned how much they loved each other despite all their arguments and misunderstandings. She wished she were at an old-fashioned revival tent meeting, with singing and mad shouting and people filled with the Holy Spirit speaking in tongues as they rolled and thrashed on the ground. Once she'd been to see those folks in the South handled poison snakes without fear.

When mine eyes shall close in death . . .

No matter how much Judith tried to put Janie behind her, leaving Janie to wallow in the filth she had chosen over God and her family, the girl kept invading Judith's existence and ripping her heart to tatters. Janie was her only child, the fruit of Judith's husband's seed in her womb and, for all the pain she caused, Judith couldn't cut Janie totally out of her life, even when that seemed to be Janie's preference. The girl would disappear for months, even a year, at a time, with no visits or phone calls, then reappear again when least expected and least wanted.

When I soar to worlds unknown,

see thee on thy judgment throne . . .

Heart slamming against her chest so hard she thought it would wake the dead, or at least Willie Lee, she picked up the phone and fumbled to press the green button. "Praise the Lord."

"I'm Jim Williams," a strange man said. "A social worker at Holy Virgin Mother of God Hospital in St. Louis. I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but it's important."

"What's happened to Janie this time?"