Authors: Josh Grayson
“
Come on, baby,” the third one croons.
I’m in a jogging suit, I remember. Time to use it. I may have nothing else, but at least I have good shoes. The boys don’t bother running after me, though they do hoot a bunch of suggestions having to do with the view. Doesn't matter. I keep running.
It’s still afternoon, so I’m running in the sunshine. It feels good, and I start thinking that maybe I should keep going, head into the city. Here in the park, I can only chat with squirrels and birds, which won’t answer any of my questions. Self-conscious in my little pink outfit, I keep running along a tree-lined road called Stadium Way. I follow it toward the looming black skyscrapers in the distance.
Finally, I learn where I am when I jog past a huge outdoor sports arena. Its big blue sign declares,
The Los Angeles Dodgers welcome you to Dodger Stadium
. Another sign informs me of the state—California, then. That explains the warm breeze and healthy rows of palm trees lining the street. Beyond all this, the air carries the salty tang of the sea, but so far, I can mostly smell smog. Ugh. The stink intensifies as I approach the city.
The road starts to veer back toward the park at one point, so I slow to a walk and follow the highway instead. My plan is to walk beside it as far as I can, hoping the cars will lead me in. Traffic’s bad around here. At some points, it feels as if I’m walking faster than the cars are going. Cars and trucks—some of which are obviously expensive luxury vehicles—putter down the crowded roads, their drivers on cell phones or texting on their laps. One driver is actually brushing his teeth, then rinsing and spitting out the window. It’s amazing nobody drives into anybody.
After an hour or so, I wander upon a more populated road called Figueroa Street. The buildings climb taller as I reach downtown, and the noise gets louder with every block. Yellow cabs hover like bees around a hive. Given the large crowds hailing them, I imagine they’re making lots of honey. I pause outside the shiny, mirrored turrets of the Westin Bonaventure Hotel, noticing the architecture. If it’s this impressive on the outside, it must be incredible inside. Especially the restaurant, I think, and my empty stomach gurgles in agreement. I toy with the idea of going in, but I reconsider when a well-dressed couple exits and scowls at me.
I have to get something to eat. I’m dizzy from hunger and exertion, and my head’s starting to pound. I turn away from the hotel and keep on walking.
The noise and the action of the city is wild, coming at me from all directions. Outside a crowded outdoor plaza, the street is lined with trucks advertising dining choices—the aromas drifting past are killing me. I stare at one truck, its side painted like a green dinosaur, and breathe in the fried onion smell. The name of the traveling restaurant is Me So Hungry.
I snort, lacking the energy to give it a good laugh. “Sounds just about right,” I mutter. The truck's brightly painted menu advertises burgers, fries, chicken . . . God, what I’d do for a bite of something right now. Just about anything. I can’t hold in a little moan, and I press my hand against my stomach to reassure it.
Then a hand grips my shoulder. With a gasp, I whirl around, panicked.
Apparently, I’m not alone.
CHAPTER TWO
Startled, I look up into the dark eyes of a smiling man. He looks about ten years older than I am. He’s dressed in a smart suit with a clean shirt and tie, and his hair is combed neatly back.
“
Sorry,” he says warmly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He motions at the menu. “I just wanted to suggest that you try the teriyaki burrito. It’ll change your life.”
I relax. “I’m afraid I can’t. I, uh . . . left my wallet at home.”
His eyes travel over my body, and I instinctively cross my arms over my chest. But instead of being rude, he gives me a small, courteous bow. “From the looks of it, you didn’t have any place to carry your wallet, huh?”
I pretend to read the painted words again. “No.”
“
Well, it’s your lucky day. My name’s Bill, and I’d like to buy you a little supper.”
“
Oh, no. I couldn’t accept that,” I say, even though I could. I
absolutely
could.
“
Please. I try to do one good deed a day. And I want this to be it.”
I glance back at him and swallow hard. He’s clean and handsome. His smile, bright under a thick black moustache, seems genuine.
My stomach begs me to accept his offer, pummeling me with cramps.
“
Really. It’s no problem,” he says, giving me a friendly wink. “I hate eating alone anyway.”
Something clangs inside the truck, and a fresh whiff of fried onions floods the air. The temptation is too much. I’m going for it. If I don’t eat soon, I’ll probably die of hunger anyway.
“
Well, if you insist,” I say, giving him a sheepish grin. “Thank you.”
“
Beef or chicken?”
Just this question floods my mouth with saliva. “Chicken, please.”
The neat, hot package fills my hands. I don’t even need to unwrap it to know it’s delicious. I turn, looking for a place to sit, but the prospects of finding a table are bleak. They all look full; even the eating area farther in the mall is crowded. I eye the sidewalk skeptically, but Bill motions to his car. The shiny black Cadillac is parked behind the truck.
“
Let’s eat there,” he says.
I hesitate until I note the pretty, young girl sitting in the back seat. She’s wearing a yellow sundress and eating ice cream.
“
That’s my niece,” Bill explains. “I’m taking her to the mall. Uncle of the year, right here.” He laughs at himself.
She meets my gaze, offering a polite wave. It immediately sets my fears at ease. I decide to go in. They seem like a nice enough family, and I'm weak with hunger and exhausted from my long, dazed, trek into town. Besides, I can't take the throbbing pain in my feet anymore. I'm dying to sit in something comfortable.
“
Okay,” I tell Bill.
I climb into the car and sink into luscious black leather. It smells new and sighs under my weight.
He turns to his niece. “Beth, this is . . .”
“
Sia,” I say.
She smiles widely. “Nice to meet you, Sia.” Suddenly, her cell phone rings. Beth’s face lights up. “It’s my crush, Derek! Uncle Billy, can I take this call outside? I’ll be quick. Pleeease?”
“
Sure, honey,” Bill says. “Just stay close to the car.”
She squeals happily, then steps out onto the sidewalk. Once she closes the door, Bill starts unwrapping his food, and I follow suit.
I’ve barely got it opened when I bite in. My eyes close with delight.
“
This is delicious,” I say, still chewing. “Thank you so much.”
“
Don’t mention it. I like helping people when I can.”
A violent rap song, the screaming lyrics accompanied by a loud, repetitive drum beat, suddenly fills the air. Its booming bass vibrates right through from the car beside us.
“
Close the door,” Bill says. “Let’s have some real music.”
I’m more than happy to comply, and when Bill switches on some vaguely familiar classical music, I lean back, relaxing. “That’s nice,” I say.
“
Vivaldi,” he informs me, his mouth partially full. “Good for the soul.”
I close my eyes, just listening, but Bill apparently wants to talk. I’m kind of disappointed about that because I’d like to lose myself in this yummy food and soothing music. But he’s determined—and he did buy me dinner, after all.
“
So? What’s your story?”
My expression doesn’t change, but I’m instantly on guard. “I don’t really have one.”
“
Come on. Sure you do. You don’t look like a typical street kid, dressed like that. How’d you end up here? You a recent runaway?”
I hesitate. Am I? I have no idea. I settle for, “Something like that.”
Bill seems satisfied. “Yeah. Most girls are. Were your parents abusive?”
The question throws me a little. Maybe I was abused. Maybe that’s why I lost my memory, due to a blow to the head. But I have no bruises as far as I can see. “It’s complicated. I’d rather not talk about that.”
He nods, thinking it over. “That’s understandable. You know, if you’re looking for money, I can help you find a job.” He lifts one dark eyebrow and smiles.
I stop chewing. This sounds interesting. “Really?”
“
Sure,” he says, sounding as if there’s nothing he’d love to do more. “And it doesn’t even matter that you don’t have an ID. You wouldn’t need any, and you could make over a hundred dollars a day. I even have a cheap room I could rent you. It’s nothing fancy, but it’d be a roof over your head.”
“
Yeah? That sounds awesome.” I swallow my food, considering the idea. This could be great. I can work and have my own place while I wait for my memories to return. Bill is a godsend! “I wouldn’t need fancy. What kind of work is it? Waitressing or something?”
He chuckles. “No. You’d . . . provide entertainment.”
That sounds wrong. “Entertainment?”
His tongue flicks out, claiming a dab of mayonnaise left beside his mouth, but his eyes stay on mine. Is it my imagination, or have they gotten darker? “Yeah. To men. Rich men. I would introduce you to them.”
Now the full truth hits me.
I search for Beth outside, but she is nowhere to be found. Of course she left. Bill had planned this setup very carefully.
My dinner doesn’t sit quite so well in my stomach anymore. “Uh, no thanks. That is definitely not the job for me.”
Bill’s smile has grown almost as dark as his eyes, and he chuckles again. Only now, he sounds menacing. “Why not? A gorgeous girl like you? You’d make a killing.”
My heart thrums in my throat. I shake my head and fumble for the door handle. “Thanks for supper, but I gotta go.”
“
Think about it,” he tries. “You don’t need to starve out here, you know. You could escape the streets. Do really well.”
“
Bye, Bill,” I say as my fingers close over the handle, but he hits the lock, and I jump. Tears burn behind my lids. My next words are barely audible. “Please let me out.”
“
No. I’ve changed my mind. I've decided I need a little payback for that food. You’re coming with me.” He turns the key, bringing the Cadillac to life.
“
Let me out!” I shriek.
The door’s lock isn’t budging, and Bill’s already turning into traffic.
Suddenly a hostage, I grab the wheel in desperation, but he slaps me hard across my face. Something deep in my memory stirs. I use the reflexive impulse to drive my flat palm against his nose. Cartilage cracks under my strike, and I yank my hand back as blood gushes onto Bill’s white shirt.
While he’s covering his nose and screaming at me, I reach past him and hit the button to unlock my door. I’m halfway out when he hits the accelerator. In or out? Easy decision. At least if I’m outside the car, I might stand a chance. I stumble out, trip on the edge of the sidewalk, and sprawl awkwardly on the pavement.
When I sit up, I’m shaking wildly. Using my forearm, I wipe tears from my cheeks, then stand and back away from the road. A few people stop to stare, but nobody bothers to intervene on my behalf, to rescue a girl in distress. And no one comes over to see if I’m hurt. That’s okay, though. I wouldn’t be able to offer them any sensible explanation anyway.
My legs are unsteady, but that doesn’t stop me from running. I jog for miles, past whistles and catcalls from men in cars, frat boys by the side of the road, older men perched like pigeons on benches. I have no idea where I’m headed. I just want to get away from Bill and his disgusting proposition. I don’t want to be anywhere nearby if he decides to come back for another try.
When I finally stop running, I’m far from the lights of the city, and the day’s done. My iPod says it’s just about eight o’clock. The night is dark, and every one of my muscles is twitching with fatigue. My lungs are burning, and I have no idea what I'm going to do.
The road stretching in front of me has trees on both sides, but I know I’m nowhere near the park. Despite the late hour, the road is still thick with traffic. Headlights and a bright moon help me see where I’m going, but there’s no sign of a shelter anywhere in sight. When the moonlight suddenly blinks out, I look up. A storm is on its way. I can already feel the humidity building in the air. Can things possibly get any worse? Clouds blanket the sky, washing the black with gray, and I shiver. I have to find a place for the night. Someplace with a roof, since it’s obviously going to rain.
A car roars past and honks at me, but I don’t have the energy to scream at it. That’s when I realize I’ve wandered into the road, not paying attention, which is why he honked. I scramble off the pavement, close to tears again. What am I supposed to do? I squint at something in the distance and my chest floods with relief. It’s a bridge. I can take refuge there. A wind gust sweeps up from behind me, and I pick up the pace.