Don’t let her be dead.

I heard his steps very clearly, dragging through the water as if he was running, and the light grew from pitch-black to dark gray, until I could see my hands. The light was still far away, but I could see it. There was a storm drain, and I knew we must be far under the parking lot by now. I reached for the wall and found it, slimy concrete, like snot, under my fingers.

They stopped beneath the drain, overlit by that half-dead light. A concrete shelf rose above the creek like an altar, and he threw her down. He looked in my direction, but I knew he couldn’t see me. Yet he stared, as if he sensed me after all. Close to panic, I looked back the way I had come; the tunnel behind me stretched away, a throat.

Then his gaze was gone, torn away by his impatience. He was talking again, mumbling to himself, and it was in his voice, the eagerness.

“Yes, yes, yes. Oh yes…”

His fingers moved on her. I heard fabric tear and walked closer. His voice swelled up as her purple dress was ripped away. It spread beneath her, torn wings, and above it, in the light, her body shone like cold marble. His voice rose and fell, a chant, a crazy man’s ditty.

“Thank you, Lord. Thank you. Yes. So long, so long, so long. Oh, my sweet, sweet Lord…”

He moved between us, his back to me, so that I saw her face and the bottoms of her legs. Again fabric tore and I heard his voice.

“Ohhh…”

It was a moan. Her panties floated past me on silent water. I looked down and watched them, blue daisies on a field of black-eyes staring in the dark. They drifted against my leg, spun away, and were gone, down the wet throat behind me.

I tore my eyes up, realizing how close I’d come, no more than twenty feet away, the light touching me. Her eyes were open and staring. Her mouth, too, gaped and I saw where he’d beaten her. Her lips twitched and a low gurgle escaped. Her fingers fluttered in my direction; then he struck her again, and her lips didn’t move after that. Her eyes were still open but showed mostly white. I felt anger and I nursed it, needing it. It made me strong.

My foot touched something beneath the water and I knew what it was.

I reached down, my fingers closing on a rock the size of a baby’s skull…

I stared at the light that spilled from Vanessa’s house, but it didn’t drive the images away; so I closed my eyes, rubbed at them, fearing that I might start to tear at them instead.

I raised the rock over my head and took another step, expecting him to turn and see me, to come for me, too. But he didn’t. All he saw was the girl.

Another step, and the fear rose alongside the anger; and it was stronger. He would kill us both. I saw that. I should have gone for my father. This man was huge and he was crazy and he would kill us. He would kill us sure as shit. I was about to turn and run. Already I was beginning to accept it. Beginning to turn away.

Then he moved. And I saw her, a marble statue on a concrete pedestal…

She was perfect.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I’d never seen a naked girl before, not like that. Not a real one. I felt funny looking at her, ashamed and dirty, but I couldn’t stop. And I noticed that my feet weren’t moving. The rock felt loose in my hand, my head light on my shoulders. My breathing went funny, and she seemed to rush at me, until she filled my eyes. I looked at her breasts and then down to the soft blond hair that filled the space between her legs. I’d forgotten the man, my danger, everything but her, spread on that altar. It was only a few seconds but felt longer, and all I did was stare.

Then he moved, dirty fingers on her stomach, moving down, like snakes into a nest; then he was on her, grunting like an animal, baked-bean teeth dark on her pale and helpless breasts.

I couldn’t move.

Then I saw her eyes, and I saw that there was nothing in them; and in that emptiness, I found myself again. My hand tightened; the rock came up.

I walked into the light. I took two steps before I saw his face, and his crazy eyes. They were on me. Right on me! And his lips were pulled back over those pudding teeth, and he was smiling, his body still pumping, like a separate animal. And his words, when he spoke, they penetrated me.

“You like what you see, don’t you, boy?”

I froze.

“I seen you watchin’.”

Red filled his eyes, making him less than human. But his body continued to move. Up and down. Up and down. Grunt. Grunt. Grunt. Eyes like grease on my face. And again that terrible smile. He knew.

“Well, get a good look boy… ’cause you’re next.”

And then he was off her, laughing, coming at me, his arm out, as if to put it around my shoulder.

“Lord, sweet Lord.”

His mouth a dark, stinking hole. Fingers twitching. A wave of odor, like a dead dog I’d once found by the roadside.

“Adam and Eve!” he shouted. “Eve and now Adam.” He leaned forward, bent low until he looked like a huge rat. “Let us pray.”

He repeated the same words, over and over. “Let us pray. Let us pray…” Until they bled into one high-pitched cackle that ended when he was mere feet away. Then with curled lips, he changed the words, and spoke them slowly. “Let us play… Let us play.”

Then his fingers were on me, and I began to scream.

But even as I screamed, I swung the rock, hit him somewhere, but he just laughed harder. I tried to hit him again, but he pulled the rock from my hand and tossed it down. I heard it splash, as if down a very deep well. Then my face hit the wall and I tasted blood. Again and again, until I could no longer scream. I felt his hands on me, all over me, but I couldn’t move. I was barely there, just barely, but still… I felt his hands. The slickness of his tongue on my cheek.

… And I was sobbing.

But then there was flashing light, and distant shouting voices. I saw him squint, lips pulled back, tongue out like meat gone bad. Then he looked back down, caressed my face with one hand.

“You a lucky little boy,” he said. “Yes, Lord.” Then he dropped me in the water. My head cracked the wall again, and I saw stars. When they cleared, he was still there, crouched over me, eyes glowing but scared, his hand on my crotch, squeezing. “But I’ll remember you. Adam on a cross… oh yes. You’ll always be my little Adam.”

Then he was gone, shambling down the tunnel, away from the light and the voices, which seemed so far away, but coming closer. I thought of the girl, naked and helpless, but this time it was different. I crawled through the mud and pulled myself up. I gathered the shreds of her dress and closed them about her. I placed her hands on her stomach, closed her bloodied legs.

That’s when I saw that she was looking at me, the blue gleam of one eye just visible through the swollen flesh.

“Thank you,” she said, and I could barely hear her.

“He’s gone,” I told her. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

But I didn’t believe it, and I didn’t think she did, either.

I thought I was done, thought that it was safe, but another memory, like a predator, followed fast on the heels of the last.

It was something my father had said. I was in bed; it was late, but I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t really slept in the two weeks since they’d pulled us out of that hole and into the wide-eyed crowd that pointed like we couldn’t see them. The girl, broken, held together by the jacket they’d wrapped around her. Me, bloody teeth chattering, trying not to cry.

My parents were arguing in the hall, not far from my door. I didn’t know what started the argument. I heard my mother first.