Chapter 3: The Room In the Vacant Building

Something smelled so bad that it cut through Juicy's unconsciousness. Her head moved slowly from side to side. The pain in the back of her head was magnificent. She sucked in a breath before remembering that the smell was also magnificent. She tried to bring her hand up to her nose and that hurt so much that she let it fall back to the ground.

No...not ground. She was lying on layers of something. What? She wasn't sure but it wasn't the cement ground of the alley. Juicy's eyes widened. Where was she and how had she gotten here?

"You're not going to scream anymore, are you?"

The voice was mumbled and low. Juicy couldn't see Mr. Cracker. She wasn't in the alley but inside now. It was dark, but not completely. There were candles lit.

Juicy's stomach suddenly flipped and she was able to turn her head and vomit. Ahhh. And that was the source of the smell. It wasn't the first time she'd been sick.

She moaned. "W-where am I?"

Mr. Cracker slowly unfolded his squatting form from the shadows of the semi dark room.

"My home," he mumbled.

Juicy hurt so bad that she could barely focus on him. Had they...raped her? And what about him? What had he done to her?

"I need an ambulance."

Mr. Cracker didn't speak but he did come slowly to his feet. His home was a room in an abandoned building. The windows were boarded up but through the cracks she could tell that it was full dark outside now. Juicy lay on a pallet of newspaper and blankets. Instead of furniture there were wooden crates and cardboard boxes. Some of them held possessions or what appeared to be trash...only it wasn't trash. It was Mr. Cracker's belongings.

Mr. Cracker rummaged through a cardboard box until he came up with an old t-shirt, faded and worn.

"It's not dirty." He tossed it to her from a distance. Juicy looked down. She was semi covered by a jacket and beneath that she wasn't wearing anything but her bra. Her panties, her skirt, her nylons and her blouse were all gone.

"God..." she sobbed." Mister I'm hurt. I need an ambulance." She couldn't even raise her head from the filthy pallet.

Mr. Cracker's lip twitched and then he picked up an invisible phone and began dialing.

"Hello 911? Yes, could you please send an ambulance? Yes, I'm located in the alley. Okay, see you then." Mr. Cracker hung up the invisible phone while Juicy watched him incredulously.

"They're on their way."

She couldn't even form words. This man was crazy...

Juicy's eyes hadn't closed but her awareness began to fade away. When it returned she blinked quickly. Her head pounded like spikes had been driven into her skull. That was twice that she had passed out. It wasn't normal. She needed a Doctor, a hospital before she died in this filthy abandoned building.

Juicy inhaled deeply. "Mister?" She murmured, fighting to keep from blacking out again.

There wasn't any response. He was gone. The room was empty. Juicy thought hard. Her hand was most likely broken, some of her ribs had definitely been cracked, her back hurt, but it was her head that was the biggest cause for concern.

Using her good hand she reached up and touched the back of her head. Her hand came away bloody. Her scalp was split, possibly her skull.

Dear god...this was bad. Real bad...Juicy didn't have anything else to vomit or she probably would have.

She had to get out of here. She remembered the shirt and picked it up. It took her perhaps ten minutes to pull it on, but there was still the problem of her lower half. She still wasn't wearing any bottoms. She would need to wrap up in one of the blankets.

She noted that Mr. Cracker had evidently cleaned up the vomit although traces of it still remained in her hair and on her body. Juicy pushed away the jacket and covered herself with the cleaner of the two blankets.

Who was she fooling? If she couldn't even sit up, she wasn't going to be able to stand up.

Baring her teeth, she dug down deep, and finding some shreds of strength she half scooted half pulled her way across the filthy floor. She ignored the rat droppings, dead and living cockroach carcasses and nameless other things that she didn't want to try to figure out.

As she fought her way across the room, reality and the past began to meld. Sometimes it seemed that she was trying to get to Momma, and at other times she was in school being ignored or tortured. She began to remember things that she had long ago put out of her memory...

Momma had a date with Mr. Benson and she wanted Juicy to put spirals in her hair. She had such beautiful hair. Juicy had always wished that she looked like her momma. Momma was milk chocolate with long, thick hair that touched her shoulders. Juicy in comparison was ashy black with hair like a kinky cap. She pressed and oiled and brushed what she had until it shown...still it would never be like Momma's.

Juicy's home life wasn't good but it was all she knew. Most people thought that her Mom was nuts. Her personality was fierce with a temper that lashed out at everyone with the exception of her daughter. And Juicy, in turn, was as docile as her Mom was chaotic.

"Babygirl, that looks so good." Momma carefully pulled a curl, released it and then watched it bounce back into position. Juicy had wanted to say that it was easy with hair like that. It bent to her will with no effort. Instead she made small talk like people expect hairdressers to do; even if the hairdresser is just ten years old.

"You've been out with Mr. Benson a lot."

Jasmina Robinson stood then moved closer to the mirror. She studied her makeup and then lit a cigarette.

"Yeah, but Charlie is as broke as me. I ain't trying to waste my time with a broke-ass nigga."

Juicy followed Momma into the living room and watched her sit on the couch and slip on heels. One day she would be doing that; sitting on the couch putting on fancy shoes so that she could go out with her man.

"You laugh when you're with him. So he must make you happy." What could be better then someone that makes you happy?

Her Mom scowled. "Juicy, laughter don't pay my bills." She gave the little girl a pointed look. "You can fall for a man that got a little bit of money just as good as you can fall for a broke nigga. Charlie is fun, but Charlie can never be my man."