Preserved Head

By May MacDonald

It is not only international news freelancers who are plunged into danger covering stories such as ISIS. Even events that are considered a part of our normal routine could sometimes spiral into an unexpected nightmare.

The moment Lanai Jackson reported to her new job the CTV program director gave her and photographer, David Tossinado, a new project called ‘I love Vancouver!’ The team had no idea this popular program would lead them into the most unbelievable, horrendous experience of their lives.

It all started when Lanai Jackson received an invitation from the Youth Talent Charity Foundation. The foundation was a well-known charity that helped, fostered, and encouraged young elite to develop their talents, and to achieve their greatest potential. As it turned out, it was also the darkest, depraved, secret banquet hall of dope and sex.

While investigating the disappearance of Senator Victor van Wick’s daughter, detectives from Vancouver Eastern District’s police station unexpectedly discovered a frightening and terrifying multiple-murder scene.

Prostitutes from the streets of Vancouver’s downtown Eastside were lured with promises of money, and never ending highs to participate in a gigantic carnival of illicit drugs and sex in the basement of the Youth Talent Charity.

Over the years some of those women disappeared with no public awareness. Today, those missing sex trade women reappeared. Not the entire person, but instead, their preserved heads were found.

Some people say that humans are born as angels, while others say humans are twisted and evil the moment they are created. Is the dark angel, a millionaire in this story, a demon or a saint? Only you can decide after reading the story.
At the end of the novel, the human misfit was eliminated, as we would like to expect in a perfect society. But, in reality, could we just as simply delete the complications and confusion in our world?
Think again . . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: May MacDonald
• Release date: Jan 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311168542

May MacDonald

Preserved Heads is May MacDonald’s second book. May’s first book, ‘Lend Me Your Husband’, was written in Mandarin and is a true story about a mixed culture marriage which was released in print form in 2013. May plans to release, ’Lend Me Your Husband,’ in ebook format in 2016. She is also considering translating it into English. When May is not writing she continues to support the sport of gymnastics.

Book preview

Present Time

They tumbled backwards and together plummeted into a pool. The stinky smell of the slimy liquid assaulted them at once.

By instinct, Lanai Jackson shut her eyes and mouth. She waved her arms and kicked her legs wildly in the darkness but couldn’t find firm ground. Her lungs burned, her ribs hurt. Every part of her body was screaming for oxygen, and finally forced her mouth open.

A strong arm pulled her out of the quagmire in time to save her from swallowing the reeky goo down her throat.

Lanai wiped the gunk off her face. Where are we? she asked between coughs and gasps.

Before David Tossinado could reply, she shrieked in horror.

Eyeballs! Thousands of sightless eyes were floating among the debris and staring at her in this semi-dark pool.

Someone was tapping at her shoulder. She turned and quivered; a woman’s head was bobbing right next to her. The entangled hair resembled hundreds of earthworms squirming in this sludgy septic tank.

With trembling hands, Lanai pushed the head away. The round ball turned, Holly Avis! Lanai screamed, jerked back, lost her balance and almost fell into slimy muck again.

Out of the blue, Mr. White, Kutrowski, and Garry Newell burst from the turbulent sludge. Without warning, Kutrowski punched toward David’s temple. David‘s shifted his head backward and at the same time he gripped Kutrowski’s flying fist. A close combat in the liquid mulch began.

One moment Kutrowski was on top of David, pushing him deep into the mire; at the same time, David struck a few punches at Kutrowski’s stomach, and knocked him into the slush.

In another minute David was clutching Kutrowski’s throat, choking the life out of the evil man, and his opponent’s fingers were poking into his eye sockets.

They rotated and flapped violently like two crocodiles mating, and then sank into the stinky gumbo.

Suddenly, White waded over. Lanai tried to whirl away from him, but White caught her and stuffed his amputated arm into her mouth. Lanai gagged. She coughed and spat. The broken limb flew out of her mouth and slapped against the wall of the waste tank. The gory pool started to twirl, accompanied by a mechanical humming, gradually moving faster and faster, and then the dirty brown fluid changed into boiling oil.

Garry Newell became a human torch, and his charcoaled black face smiled at her with protruding teeth. He then popped his arms out and gripped a handful of her hair. The fire leapt toward her.

Lanai tore her hair out of the predator’s grip and spun away, but White came up and seized her legs. He pulled her toward the grinder at the center of the pool. She kicked and thrust, but, inch-by-inch, her legs moved closer and closer to the gnawing machine. A sickening screech erupted in the air and she saw bits of her flaming toes flying towards her face…

Aaaah! Lanai screamed and bolted upright, kicking and punching, until she realized that she was in her own bedroom. Only then did her heartbeat begin to slowdown, and the flow of adrenaline pumping through her veins subsided. She unwrapped her arms and legs from the entwined bed sheet and mopped the sweat from her forehead.

It was always the same each time, the disposal tub, the eyes, the head, the floating debris, the amputated arm, and the killers. The unwanted nightmare haunted her night after night.

It had all started when Lanai received an invitation from the Youth Talent Charity Foundation…

TV reporter Lanai Jackson had recently transferred from Toronto to Vancouver, a peaceful and beautiful city on the west coast of Canada. Her secretary, Gina Mondiago, had received an invitation for Lanai. Gina opened the invitation and read it out loud the moment her boss entered the office.

Dear Madam and Sirs,

The purpose of this charity is to help, foster, and encourage the young elite in our communities to develop their talents. The charity will be holding its annual fundraiser fair on Sunday August 13th.

The proceeds from ticket sales and other revenue will go toward supporting our outstanding and talented young people.

We sincerely hope you will accept this invitation and join us.

Date: Sunday, August 13th, 10:00am - 3:00pm

Address: # 120, Dominican Street, Port Coquitlam, BC

Phone: (604) 555 - 9979

William White

Chairperson, Talent Youth Charity Foundation

After Gina finished reading, she eagerly asked Lanai, are you going? I heard that the Mayor and council members participate every year. It’s one of the most important events in Port Coquitlam. I Googled it, and read that the foundation was established twenty some years ago. Over the years it’s assisted many talented kids in achieving their goals.

Lanai walked to the coffee machine; Gina followed and stuffed her iPhone under Lanai’s nose. Look! It says that the fairground has balloon shooting, bumper cars, roller coasters, and all kinds of events for young kids.

Lanai walked back to her desk with Gina glued right behind her, showing Lanai the mini screen in her palm. Look here, they have kids’ talent shows, clown lessons, dancing, singing, and painting. It sounds like fun for a Sunday family outing. Why don’t we all go? Our two girls can have fun together.

Gina had moved from Calgary to Vancouver two months before Lanai transferred. She was an energetic and friendly woman, and was eager to take any opportunity to meet people and familiarize herself with her new environment.

I’m not sure I can go, Lanai said, I need to check with Mr. Donahue to see if the schedule will fit. She answered half-heartedly while flipping through files on her desk.

When Lanai reported to her new job half a month ago, Bob Donahue, the CTV program director, gave her and cameraman David Tossinado a new project called I love Vancouver. The main concept of the show was to introduce accomplishments in the greater Vancouver region; business, entertainment, sports and special events as well as a series of interviews with celebrities and entrepreneurs. Lanai needed to do a lot of research and planning. She didn’t really have free time for fairs.

Ignoring Lanai’s knitted eyebrows, Gina continued her gossip. The web site said that the roast pork and sausage at the fair were donated by Hopper Inc., one of Mr. White’s many corporations. The secret recipe and the superb quality of the meat make their products extra juicy and tender. Once you’ve tasted it; you’ll become addicted to their products.

Lanai found her planner and pointed the date to Gina, I’ve scheduled an interview with the Chairlady of Canada Place Corporation that morning. I don’t think there’s time for this.

You should have some fun after your interview. I could pick Danielle up for you in the morning, and you could come to the fair after work. Oh, I know something even better. You could interview the Mayor of Port Coquitlam at the fair.

I don’t know. Let me think about it, Lanai replied. Her secretary was such a determined and persuasive person that sometimes Lanai wondered why Gina wasn’t working as a lobbyist for some politician.

While you’re thinking, I’ll try to contact the Mayor’s secretary.

Gina never wavered from her focus. However, Lanai had no idea that her secretary’s persuasion was going to plunge her, and David, into a horrendous experience.

CHAPTER 2

1959

Only the chunks of black remaining on the wrecked footpath told that it was once covered by smooth asphalt. At the end of this jagged trail was a yard overgrown with weeds, garnished with a few stubborn wild flowers, heads lowered, battling the arrogant icy wind.

In the center of the yard a little house slanted sideways, seemingly bracing itself against the chilly winter weather. The paint on the small house was now faded and peeling. The distorted and lopsided walls were coated with mud, here and there. From a distance it looked like an abandoned toy box.

One of the windows, dotted with countless dead bugs, had a hole as big as a fist, and had been taped together with faded, cheap plastic cloth to prevent the bitter cold from seeping inside. However, the thin fabric did not stop a woman’s ear-splitting scream from within the house penetrating and vibrating the spider webs under the eaves. Insects caught in those webs, hopelessly struggling for their life in the shadow of the overhang, bore a resemblance to the woman in the dark bedroom inside the cramped house.

The air in the house was a mixture of competing odors of cigarettes, sour ale, sweat, stale pizza and the blood from the bedroom.

Exhausted, in pain, and only half conscious, the pregnant woman gathered her last bit of strength, propped herself up from the bed and begged. Jason . . . drive me to the hospital, the baby’s coming . . . blood . . . Hurry Jason . . . Pleeease . . .

Don’t bullshit me, bitch! Jason White roared. This is the third fuckin’ time this week you hit me with a false alarm. I won’t rush you to the fuckin’ hospital no more! He paused to scratch his crotch and then bellowed again, you’re not the only fuckin’ person in the world who’s having a goddamned baby. I ain’t no fuckin’ taxi driver for that little shit in your fuckin’ belly.

He forced a loud belch and said, fuck! Why didn’t you get rid of that bastard when I told you to? I’m too fuckin’ soft. Shouldn’t’ve let you keep that fuckin’ shit. I should’ve punched it out.

Lying on the living room couch, Jason propped his legs on top of the decaying coffee table, which cracked loudly as it struggled to stay up right. He drew deeply on his cigarette and let the smoke linger in his lungs before blowing it out through his nostrils. He then reached over the side of sofa and picked up a can of beer from the floor.

He pulled the tab and tipped his head back. His Adam’s apple slid up and down noticeably as he emptied the can in one long pull. Golden liquid dribbled down both corners of his mouth.

He forced another big burp, crushed the can, aimed, tossed, and missed the trashcan. The tin rolled across the floor and stopped in front of the TV to join its brothers. Fuckin’ garbage can. I sweat that bitch moved it a foot away from where it was the other day just so I’d fuckin’ miss it, he grumbled.

Jason, please . . . help me please, hel . . .

That was the last screaming Stacy did for a while. Thank the Lord, Jason grumbled, maybe now I can watch the fuckin’ game in peace. Then he shot upright and bellowed, you shitass!

The Atlanta Hawks had missed three shots, in succession; they were five points behind the Bulls. I just bet on the fuckin’ Hawks today; and they play like fuckin’ chickens with fuckin’ broken wings. That stupid team better smarten up soon. He then kicked the coffee table, enraged. A still glowing cigarette butt leapt up and landed on his lap. Oh shit! He cursed and swept the overflowing ashtray off the table. Cigarette butts and ash sailed off into the air.

The ashtray shattered on the floor and joined the empty pizza boxes that littered the diminutive living room. Look at this house, shit all over, he griped, pissed, and that useless bitch’s in bed, pretending to be sick. Fuckin’ lazy bitch.

At that moment someone knocked, opened the unlocked front door and let herself in. Hi Jason, how’s Stacy today? It was Rachel Anderson from next door.

Stacy? Ha! Where else would that bitch be? Lying like a fuckin’ queen in bed, shrieking like a fuckin’ pig being slaughtered. That damn woman won’t give me a minute of fuckin’ peace to watch the fuckin’ game! Jason picked up another can of beer, popped the top, and took a big gulp.

Since they moved here a year ago, despite an eighteen year age difference, his wife and this fat bitch quickly glued their asses together and call themselves good friends. Conspirators were what he’d call them.

That nosy Rachel, full of neighborhood gossip, came and went anytime she wanted. From the way Rachel looked at him, Jason knew Stacy must have been whining about him being a brutal husband. What was the big deal about a few yelling matches and a couple of beatings? That woman needed discipline. Sure being right next door, Rachel probably heard the odd plate being broken against a wall, or the odd glass being thrown at the television; so what? This was his house. He could do anything he pleased. It was none of her fuckin’ business.

And now that Stacy was pregnant, her tears would leak like a broken faucet for even the tiniest of bruises. She’d go to Rachel’s and seek sanctuary. Sanctuary my ass!

One day he even overheard that fat slut suggesting Stacy call the police. That alone should’ve been enough for him to kick her fat ass out of his house. Rachel should know by now that Stacy was a clumsy bitch. Just a little push and she would fall and hurt herself. What did that have to do with him?

Now that it was near the end of Stacy’s pregnancy, Rachel was increasingly worried about the health of Stacy and the baby. She knew how ruthless that drunkard could be, and tried to pay Stacy a visit every day to make sure she was okay.

Jason had broken the bedroom door, of course, a few months ago. When he was heavily intoxicated he had boisterously kicked the flimsy door and it had shattered into pieces. Rachel had helped Stacy sew together a few pieces of old cloth to make a curtain and then hung it in the door frame to offer a little bit of privacy.

Ignoring Jason’s foul mouth, Rachel walked toward the bedroom, and flipped the curtain aside.

Stacy, St─ Oh, my God! Jason! There’s blood all over the bed! Hurry! Call nine-one-one! She was shocked to see Stacy lying on bed, unconsciousness. Her face was ash-grey. Dark red blood flowed from the root of her thighs, spreading and penetrating into the bedding, like a red rose embroidered in the old linen.

Fuck! Women’re all the same, just a little fuckin’ blood and they scream like banshees. She heard Jason cursing. Is your fuckin’ arm broken or what? Call nine fuckin’ one-one your fuckin’ self!

Rachel hurried to the living room to make the call and saw Jason, very inebriated, lying semi-paralyzed on the sofa. He mumbled a few more curses, and then fell fast asleep.

With a crooked nose and a two inch long scar on his left cheek, from a fight when he was young, plus a few days of stubble covering his face, Rachel couldn’t understand what Stacy ever saw in this savage of man.

Hearing the sharp siren as the ambulance approached, Rachel wiped the bloodstains off Stacy’s body with a white towel and whispered into the young woman’s ear. The ambulance is here, Stacy, you gotta be strong.

Excuse me, ma’am, we’ll take over now, one of the two paramedics said as they walked into the room.

Blood pressure’s ninety over sixty, pulse’s sixty, her breathing’s shallow. We’ll need an IV. The EMT’s discussed Stacy’s condition with each other.

Rachel watched them carefully and efficiently checked Stacy’s vitals and inserted the IV. They monitored the baby’s heartbeat, fastened a pad between Stacy’s legs to stop the bleeding, and then the two medics swiftly but gently moved Stacy onto the stretcher and rolled her to the ambulance.

Would a family member like to accompany her to the hospital? One of the medics asked. Rachel glanced toward Jason, passed out on the couch, shook her head and sighed.

The medic followed Rachel’s eyes and saw a person sprawled out on the couch. He approached the couch to make sure Jason wasn’t in critical condition, but was immediately stopped by the powerful sour smell. The medic held his breath and reluctantly shook the acidic man’s shoulder. As Jason moaned, even stronger foul air escaped from his lips, giving the lifesaver a good reason to turn away.

Later, the ambulance pulled up to the emergency entrance of Royal Columbian Hospital. Two blue-robed emergency staff members rushed out and pulled Stacy’s stretcher out of the vehicle and headed in the direction of the maternity ward.

Rachel tried to follow the stretcher but a female nurse stopped her.

I need to be with her, Rachel explained anxiously and tried to move past the nurse.

Let the doctor and the nurses look after your friend. You can come to the front desk and register, the nurse suggested, then you can have a cup of coffee in the waiting room.

Holding a paper cup of lukewarm coffee, Rachel anxiously paced in the waiting room. Before her shoes wore out the vinyl floor, the operating room door opened. A nurse looked at each and every woman in the waiting room and asked, is Rachel here?

That’s me. Rachel leapt forward.

Stacy’s asking for you. Dr. McKenzie said to have you come in to accompany her.

Rachel followed the nurse to the changing room, got dressed in an isolation gown and gloves, and then went into the operating room. She saw Stacy on an operating table with her legs placed in a set of labor stirrups. The chilly stainless steel table had wakened Stacy, and she was shaking and twisting in her birth throes. Rachel quietly appeared besides operating table and held the fragile young woman’s hand. Her warm smile immediately comforted Stacy’s apprehension.

Dr. Sean McKenzie was wearing a purple surgical robe, mask, and gloves, as he sat in the chair facing Stacy’s parted legs. He bent down to check the vaginal opening, looked up, and spoke to his nurses.

Only open four centimeters; severe bleeding. What’s the heme reading? Anyone contacted her family doctor for patient history?

Heme five grams per hundred cc’s, the nurse replied. Her doctor’s Wendy Bishop. She said the patient had overdosed twice, Gravida three times, Para zero. This is her fourth pregnancy. Last period was ten months ago. Blood type O positive. She only visited Dr. Bishop twice, at the beginning of the pregnancy.

She needs a blood transfusion. Prepare for C-section. Notify the anesthesiologist and pediatrician. Ask another surgeon to stand by, McKenzie instructed.

After the nurse and the technicians had followed his orders, the doctor then walked up beside Stacy. He nodded to Rachel, then turned to face his patient and said, Stacy, I’m Dr. McKenzie. From the ultrasound, it seems that the umbilical cord’s slipped down, which caused your bleeding. His eyes expressed tenderness. We must perform a C-section to deliver your baby as soon as possible.

Is my baby . . . alright? Stacy struggled out a question between contractions.

McKenzie looked at the obstetric nurse. She glanced at the monitor and said, one hundred.

The readout was slightly lower than the normal fetal heartbeat. McKenzie suspected that it might be due to intrauterine pressure changes.

The baby’s heartbeat is a little bit low, he told Stacy, we’ll keep our eye on it.

Ple . . . please, doctor, you mu . . . must save my baby! Stacy pleaded, tears filling her eyes.

We’ll do our best for you and your baby. In just a moment the anesthesiologist will help to relieve your pain.

A female and a male doctor entered the operating room; Dr. McKenzie quickly informed them of the situation. Elena, the patient has suffered massive bleeding. It might’ve been cause by an umbilical cord blood vessel rupture. I suggest that we use general anesthesia.

He then turned to the pediatrician, Tom, the ultrasound indicated that the cord has prolapsed and wrapped around the fetus’ neck, but I can’t verify the situation from the imaging perspective, so please be prepared for any eventuality.

Dr. Tom Miilor, the pediatrician, nodded and told his nurse to prepare the emergency instruments and gather the supplies for neonatal care.

Dr. Elena Ingnatova gave commands to her nurse as well. Together they injected the anesthetic into Stacy’s IV and a mask gently covered her nose and mouth. The anesthesiologist said softly, Stacy, take a deep breathe, very good, relax. Count down from one hundred please.

Hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven . . . nine . . . Stacy’s voice faded out, and her chest moved up and down gently. The medical staff expertly fastened tubes and electronic devices to her.

A nurse adjusted the surgical light as McKenzie looked at the anesthesiologist with a silent question.

Maternal condition, stable, Ingnatova announced.

McKenzie took a deep breath and stretched out his right hand. The surgical nurse handed him the scalpel. At the edge of Stacy’s pubic hair, with a steady hand, he made a horizontal slit and skillfully separated the cortex and subcutaneous fat of Stacy’s skin.

Red blood oozed out of the incision, one nurse immediately wiped it away with a sponge. Another nurse used a forceps to pull some membranes apart while McKenzie cut and separated the two abdominal muscles, incised the slippery layer of peritoneal membrane, and exposed the swollen uterus.

How’s the patient? he asked.

Stable, the anesthesiologist replied.

I’m now opening the womb, McKenzie informed his staff while holding the scalpel next to the uterus wall. The sharp blade made a small opening. He pulled apart the strong and forceful uterine muscle then split open the amnion.

The uterus is open, he announced.

He reached inside to find the baby's feet, at the same time feeling and identifying the situation of the umbilical cord compression and how it was wrapped around the baby’s neck. He then gripped the legs and began hastily but cautiously pulling the body, shoulder, and arms of the baby out. And then, holding the fragile head, he gingerly slid the baby out of the uterus.

It’s a boy! McKenzie announced, while noticing that the baby’ face was blue-grey.

Suction, he said, while un-wrapping the cord from the baby’s neck. The assistant handed him the suction and he quickly sucked amniotic fluid out of the baby’s nose. Meanwhile, the nurse used clamps to close each end of the cord. She then cut the cord. The baby didn’t cry at all.

McKenzie handed the pediatrician the fragile newborn. When the uterus contracted again, McKenzie took out the placenta, cleaned the inside of the uterus, carefully sutured the uterine wall, and then closed the peritoneum and the surface skin.

Dr. Miilor took the baby to the neonatal care corner, laid the infant on top of the thermo table, and slipped a pad under the baby’s shoulders to elevate and stretch his neck allowing the air to flow through his trachea. However, the baby still wasn’t breathing and the heartbeat had slowed to sixty beats per minute.

Tenderly the pediatrician used the suction and vacuumed the mouth and nasal cavity of the infant, clearing the vestiges of amniotic fluid, and then applied a respiration mask over the little face. A few moments later the baby twitched his limbs, issued a thin cry and his heartbeat gradually rose.

Miilor used a warm towel to wipe fluid off the baby’s face and body and examined every inch of the newborn. He treated the umbilical cord, took footprints, fastened an ankle strip with the infant’s mother’s name and the birth time written on it, and then wrapped him in a dry, warm blanket. Finally the doctor presented the baby to Rachel.

Wiping away tears of joy, Rachel gently received the precious little bundle. After struggling for life, the exhausted baby fell fast asleep in her arms. His little face was half-hidden in the small blanket; Rachel could only see a perfectly round head with sparse, soft yellow hair. She removed the blanket and looked at the baby.

Oh, my sweet Lord! Rachel was horrified at the sight. There was a big split on the newborn’s upper lip.

Miilor saw the concerned look on Rachael’s face and said, "His harelip isn’t too severe. Sometime between three to six months he’ll be able to have a lip operation. When he’s nine to fifteen months old, he could have palate surgery. With today’s advanced plastic surgery techniques, if the baby has an early operation, the scar will be almost invisible in the future.

Besides that, his limbs, body, and head look very healthy. Those are the most important issues at this stage. Regarding the lip palate surgery, after Stacy wakes up, she can ask for a plastic surgeon that specializes in harelip surgery to explain the details and answer any questions she might have.

McKenzie finished the afterbirth treatment. He turned to Rachel and said, Everything went smoothly. The nurses will tell Stacy how to care for the newborn once she’s awake. I’ll come to check on her during my rounds.

Thank you doctors, Rachel said, thank you all.

Smiling behind his mask McKenzie said, Please tell Stacy that she’s underweight and needs good nutrition to nurture her child. He then thanked all the operating room staff and, one by one, they left the OR.

Rachel was sitting on a couch against the wall of the recovery room, flipping through a magazine, when Stacy moaned and twisted on the bed. She went to hold on the young mother’s hand and whispered, Stacy, Stacy!

Rachel? Stacy could barely lift her heavy eyelids.

You were moaning. Were you having a bad dream?

I dreamt of back when I was a kid and my brother spun me in a merry-go-round. I’m so dizzy now.

That’s probably from the anesthetic. You’re in the hospital. You have a brand new baby boy!

Where’s my son?

In the nursery room, I suppose. The nurse said she’d bring him around soon.

Someone rapped on the door. A nurse with a warm smile came in. She cheerfully greeted Rachel and Stacy and efficiently checked Stacy’s condition. Undoing the IV from her left arm, she helped Stacy to sit up. She then positioned a pillow behind her back, to make Stacy more comfortable, before she left the room. The nurse came back a short time later with a blue bundle in her arms and said, Look at your cute little boy.

Stacy reached out, took her baby and cuddled him in her arms. Gently she kissed his head and took a deep breath of the sweet, fresh aroma of her son. She then unfolded the blanket; from head to toe, she tenderly touched every part of her son, for a long while, without saying a word.

Rachel saw tears well up in Stacy’s eyes. She hastily comforted her, Stacy, the doctor said the condition of his harelip isn’t serious, and plastic surgery’s very advanced now. There won’t be much of a scar.

Stacy looked up and said, This is my baby. He truly belongs to me. My son! Have you ever seen such a beautiful baby? Tears of joy glittered on the new mother’s face.

I don't care if he has any defects, Stacy said, I’ll take good care of him for the rest of my life.

CHAPTER 3

Present Time

On this bitterly cold and windy night, the dim light at the street corner generously offered some blurry illumination to the gloomy alley. All the stores on the street were closed. Even the iron gate of the twenty-four hour store across the street was locked. Above the front door, the light bulb behind the dusty sign released a hazy glow that barely showed the name of the store: 24 Express.

Holly Avis leaned against the streetlight pole; she stamped her feet and pulled her faded black artificial leather coat tighter, pathetically hoping to shield herself against the chill air that cut into her body like a sharp knife. She brought her hands close to her mouth, blew hot air on them, and then rubbed her icy hands together in an attempt to gain some warmth; her breath hung in the air in front of her and turned into frozen fog, just like her derisory life, before slowly evaporating in the dark night.

On this bitter evening, even the ghosts were staying in their hideouts. Besides a couple morons who’d come by to get a quick release, she didn’t have enough earnings to pay her fees to Paul Edgar. Maybe due to the bitter cold, or, maybe because he was having a hot gambling streak, Edgar, the scum who ran this territory, wasn’t patrolling the streets yet, to her good fortune. Any other time, she would have certainly received offensive verbal insults and threats of physical abuse from him.

Taking a glance at the cheap watch she had bought at the flea market; she saw that it was eleven thirty. She decided to stay a little longer. Christmas was near. Looking at the colorful Christmas lights twinkling in the commercial buildings on the street reminded her of Zoe’s Christmas wish.

She could see her daughter standing in front of the TV with her envious and eager eyes glued on the screen as she imitated the rhythmic gymnasts that were performing on a special program. The little girls’ performances were cute, and the older girls’ movements were beautiful and elegant. The flashy outfit on the gymnasts was every little girl’s fantasy.

Zoe’s imitation of the gymnast’s movements flashed her back to when she was as sweet and innocent as her daughter. Then, her world was full of confidence and excitement. Who could have imagined that she would fall so low, standing on a dark street corner, selling her body for a living?

For Zoe, she must keep going. Stick with it a little fucking longer tonight; maybe she’ll get a few old farts with a fat wallet, quick and easy. I’m doomed. But I’m going to try my fucking best to give Zoe the opportunity to have a brighter future. She promised herself.

From a distance, a black Ford Ranger pickup was cruising next to the sidewalk. Holly observed it carefully. It wasn’t one of the regular unmarked cars.

As if on cue, several women with heavy make-up emerged out of the dark corners of the street. Doesn’t matter what kind of industry it is, there were always numerous competitors, like insects fighting over a limited source of food. She couldn’t afford the luxury of a low mood now. Holly tucked away all the emotional nonsense and unzipped her black leather jacket to expose a small, low cut top decorated with a red rose bordered by gold thread.

The deep V cut emphasized the roundness and fullness of her creamy white breasts. She wore a pair of black leather high heeled boots, and black