She Was His First

8

Charlie heard Jack's footsteps behind her. She thought he was going to shut the door and go outside, but he'd followed her. Her heart pounded. Her hand trailed along the cold banister of the staircase. She could already feel the cool basement air from the concrete floors and walls. A soft breeze blew through one of the tiny windows.

She stopped at the bottom to ask Jack if he was going to go talk to them for her, like he promised. To her shock, he grabbed her arm hard and spun her around. His face was different. It was the mad face he'd worn when she first saw him. The sudden shift in his demeanor was jarring and it made her afraid.

"Now I'm going to rape you and kill you," he promised.

Charlie was stunned. Her little mind worked its child logic as she tried to rationalize the situation. She no longer thought that Amy or Sarah were ever mad at her. He just wanted to keep her away from them. She didn't really know what rape meant, but kill was like dead. One of her cats got ran over and hurt really bad. Her mom called it dead. The man in the vehicle had killed it. They put it in the ground and Charlie never saw it again. It was gone.

Charlie's heart sank. She would be gone just like Oreo. Her mom would have to put her in the ground, too. She didn't want to go in the ground. She still had so much more she wanted to do. Watch the movie with her family that night. Go to school and learn to read big words. Grow up and have her very own dog. Teach her sister things and play with her. She didn't want to be gone.

"Look," Jack said, holding something up in his hand. It was sharp and silver. A knife. "If you scream, I'll stab you with this."

"Why?" Charlie asked. Her chest felt empty, like her heart had thumped until it ran away.

"Because it's fun," he said with a shrug.

He was acting like she was unimportant. Like she didn't have hopes and dreams and people that loved her. Charlie didn't understand. Fun was running and playing. Fun was jumping on the bed. Fun was fairs and swing sets. Knives weren't fun. Making people dead wasn't fun.

"Lay down," he said.

Charlie was cornered. There was no way out that Jack wouldn't catch her before she got away. If she screamed, he'd hurt her faster. She didn't know what else she could do, so she laid down and prayed. She prayed for a miracle or that at least it wouldn't hurt.

Jack grabbed Charlie's shirt in both hands--one still wrapped around the knife--and pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled again, grunting with the effort. He let go.

"Just take it off," he said.

"Why?" Charlie asked.

She felt his hand come down across her face. Her skin stung where it made contact.

"Take it off," he said.

Charlie felt tears sting her eyes. That hurt. The other things he was going to do would hurt even more, she realized. She was so scared, she took her shirt off quickly. She didn't want to make him mad again. She closed her eyes tight and did her best to ignore what he was doing as he dragged the knife across her stomach and watched her skin give beneath it. She was frozen with fear, too scared to cry out, even though it stung. She just prayed.

Suddenly, from far off, she heard a little voice calling her name. The sound carried through the broken basement window above them.