DISCLAIMER: I own the idea of Ellie, but not her name...The Beatles own that...or, rather, Michael Jackson owns that.

REVIEWS ARE LOVE

WARNING: The following fiction contains themes/scenes of a graphic nature. If you’re bothered by adult content, turn back now. You’ve been warned.

The spatter of rain on her window almost drowned out the soft rapping on her door. A voice, deep and husky with cigar smoke, slipped through the cracks and asked if she was sleeping. She didn’t answer but the door creaked open anyway. Heavy boot clad footfalls marched across the hardwood floor to her bed and stopped at the foot of it. She turned her head toward him and watched as his black outline swayed over her. Even from where she lay she could smell the bourbon on his breath. She’d get it bad tonight for certain now.

His outline moved to the side of the bed and sat down on it, facing her. The stench was almost enough to knock her unconscious. She didn’t cough though, didn’t move, didn’t do anything that might upset him. She kept perfectly still, as she always did. A black hand wrenched the covers away and snaked its way under her nightdress. Finding her underwear, he ripped them off and threw the shredded fabric to the floor. Without warning he shoved two rough, callused fingers inside of her. She gasped before she had time to stop herself and a fist made contact with her cheek.

“Shut up you little whore,” he growled as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, “you know you want this. You wouldn’t go around wearing those skirts and blouses if you didn’t.”

He slapped her again before shifting his weight and crawling on top of her. She could feel him through his wool pants and her stomach turned to lead. He unzipped his fly and she closed her eyes, imagining herself somewhere far way. His spiky hardness was inside of her a moment later, stabbing her like a kitchen knife or an old broken bottle. It hurt so bad she feared she would bleed, although she hadn’t for six years.

He pounded into her hard, pinning her arms on either side of her head. She stared at the ceiling and winced silently every time he reentered her. She wasn’t wet and when he slammed down it felt as though someone was shoving a cheese grater between her legs, burning and stinging at the same time. A few aching minutes later she felt him pour into her. Warm liquid dripped down her inner thigh onto her sheets. The familiar feelings of contamination and nausea washed over her.

“Get up and clean yourself,” he slurred as he slid out of her and zipped up his pants. She didn’t move. “I said get up you dirty slut!”

A hand twisted itself in her hair and yanked her out of the bed. She fell on her knees next to his feet. More warm liquid seeped out of her.

“Now get up. And you better not cry this time,” he snarled before leaving.

She sat motionless, staring at the floor until the soft click of her door latch confirmed that he had really gone. Then, slowly, she pushed herself to her feet and limped to her bathroom. As she examined the freshly purpling bruise over her eye she came to a decision. Tonight would be the last night her stepfather would ever touch her.

**

Ellie put her backpack on the seat next to her and hugged her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on the windowpane. It had been two hours since the train had pulled out of Chicago but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was following her, lurking in the next car just to drag her back home as soon as the train pulled into a station. That’s how her nightmares had always gone. She would be on a train or a plane or in a car on her way to glorious freedom, so close to her destination, when her stepfather would appear. He would grab a fistful of her hair and drag her back to her weeping mother and a fresh round of beatings.

Those were dreams, Ellie, she told herself, he’s back in Chicago…he’s not coming.

Still, she stole a glance over her shoulder.

“Is everything alright, Dear?”

Ellie spun around. An old lady with snow white hair was staring at her from across the aisle. She had a kind smile on her face but her eyes were genuinely concerned. Ellie tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear and nodded, flashing a small halfhearted smile in return. The woman didn’t look convinced.

“You look like you’re in trouble.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Ellie said firmly, turning back to the window. She wasn’t stupid, she was still a minor, only seventeen. If the police discovered that she was a runaway they would ship her back to Chicago. The old lady might mean well, but Ellie couldn’t risk anything at the moment.

Avoiding the old lady’s eyes, Ellie rummaged through her bag for the map she had swiped from the train station. With her finger she traced the line of tracks from Chicago to New York City, her destination. It was a pretty straight shot but it would still take her upwards of twelve hours to get there. She was glad though, that gave her more time to formulate an actual plan. Running away had been the easy part, what she would do when she got “away” was what she was having trouble with. Currently, in her bag, she had three changes of clothes and about twenty dollars she stole from her mother’s purse before bolting to the train station. That wouldn’t last her forever…it probably wouldn’t even last her the week.

With a heavy sigh Ellie leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Before she knew it she was asleep.

**

When the train pulled into Grand Central it was dark outside. Ellie only woke up when the old lady shook her gently. Her eyes snapped open and she recoiled quickly from her touch, her heart jumping into her throat. The old lady smiled sadly at her but said nothing, only shuffled off down the aisle with the rest of the people. Ellie felt suddenly alone as her white hair vanished into the crowd. An acquaintance would be better than nothing at all…and at the moment Ellie faced a whole lot of nothing. Gathering her bag, Ellie shuffled out of the car like the rest of the passengers. Then she followed the steady flow of people from the platform, through the station, and out to the neon New York streets.

People pressed in on her from all sides and she fought to get to the curb for a better view. The street was surprisingly empty, Ellie had expected bumper to bumper traffic. But then she had to remind herself it was three in the morning. Across the street a sign advertising food flashed invitingly and Ellie’s stomach growled. Checking both directions, she sprinted across the pavement and into the diner.

A bell tinkled above her when she pulled open the door. Of the three people in the diner, no one looked up as she entered. Horribly conscious of herself, Ellie slid into the closest available booth. A tired looking waitress with a bad perm appeared at her side a moment later.

“What can I get you, hun?” she said, pulling out her notepad.

“Um…just toast and water.”

The waitress gave her a look and didn’t bother to write down the order. She tucked her pencil back behind her ear and shuffled off to the kitchen.

“Down on your luck, kid?”

Ellie looked over at the bar. A greasy looking man, maybe in his thirties, was perched on the stool closest to her. He flashed her a wide gap toothed grin and took a swig of his coffee.

“What makes you say that?” Ellie said as coolly as she could.

“Toast and water ain’t exactly the breakfast of kinds, sweetpea.”

“I’m on a diet,” she muttered, turning away.

“Yeah, I know that diet. Been on it a couple times myself.” He picked up his coffee and joined her in the booth. “But I know a better way to live. Especially for a runaway like yourself.”

Ellie’s head shot up.

“I’m not a—”

“Oh come on,” he laughed, “One bag, toast and water, getting off the train at three in the morning…I’m not an idiot, pumpkin.” Ellie stared at him. “Like I said, I know a better way to live. One that involves food, and money, and clean clothes, and a job.”

“Oh really,” Ellie said curtly.

“Oh really,” he smirked. “It’s a little business I run for girls like yourself. Girls with no place to go.”

“I think I’m ok, thanks.”

He shrugged and stood up.

“Alright, kid, I tried. But it gets pretty cold out on those New York streets at night…and the bums are nasty to fight when it’s garbage day at Sardies…But, that’s your decision I guess.” He started to walk away, but stopped halfway to the door and turned back. Reaching into his coat, he took out a small card and put it on the table next to her. “If you change your mind, this is where you’ll find me.”

Ellie looked at the card. There was only an address, no name, no phone number. Finding that odd, Ellie turned to ask him about it…but he was already gone. She looked back at the card and then out the window at the streets beyond. A strange looking man was fishing around in a garbage can just outside of the diner. He had unkempt hair and a frighteningly mad look about him. Ellie got the feeling he wasn’t the only crazy this city had to offer. A vision of her sleeping on a park bench surrounded by creepy old men flashed through her mind, making her shiver. She pocketed the card. Tomorrow she would stop by the address and see about that job.