Neon Angel: A Memoir of a Runaway (39 page)

 

“I think . . . I think that you’d better take me back now,” I said meekly. I didn’t make eye contact as I said it. I closed my eyes and prepared myself for another slap, but it never came.

 

“I’ll fuckin’ take you back when I’m good and ready,” he growled. “You fuckin’ got it? When I’m GOOD and READY. We’re gonna have a little fun first. You and me. You like havin’ fun, don’t you?”

 

He looked at me when he said this, like he expected me to respond. I looked straight ahead, scared to answer either way. Oh God, oh God, oh God. He stared at me for a few moments, and then looked back to the road. He went on, half talking to himself. “Oh yeah, you like to have fun. I’ve seen you onstage. Strutting around. The fucking Cherry Bomb. Lookin’ like a fucking whore. Crawlin’ around half naked, panting and groaning for all the boys, like some kind of bitch in heat. That’s the kind of fun you like, isn’t it?”

 

I felt him staring at me again. My bottom lip was trembling. The fear was all-encompassing, a great, cold wave of terror. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I thought to myself. James laughed drily to himself and looked away again.

 

“I think it’s disgusting!” he spat.

 

“Please . . .” I said, trembling. “Please take m-m-me back. If you duh-duh-don’t, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble . . .”

 

Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over to me with his right hand and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He gave my hair a vicious twist, yanking me toward him, bringing tears to my eyes. I could feel the hair ripping out of my head in clumps. He slammed my head against the window brutally, and then pulled my face over toward him. He turned, and I found myself inches from his face, staring into the voids of his eyes. They were glittery with rage. His mouth was twisted and small.

 

“Don’t you ever—EVER—threaten me again or I’ll hurt you! I’ll hurt you bad, you fucking bitch!” he growled. “We’re going to a party. Then I’ll take you back, okay? But I’m warning you—if you say another word, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand?”

 

Then he shoved my head away again. I put my hands to my face and wept in fear and confusion. I pressed my body against the door, trying to be as far away from this crazy bastard as possible. He turned onto the northbound Hollywood Freeway, away from the Hollywood Hills, where he said the party was. I looked around for a way out.

 

My father was always very protective of us girls, and he had offered advice for getting away from a kidnapper. I could hear his voice in my head now: “Remember, Kitten, if a man ever gets you in his car, grab the wheel and pull it off the road. Grab any part of his face that you can get a good grip on, and just tear it off.”

 

But I was terrified. Paralyzed by fear. We were going so fast now—I felt for sure that if I grabbed the wheel and tried to force the car off the road, we would both be killed. I knew that if I tore at his face, he would kill me, if the resulting crash didn’t do us both in first. If he slowed up at a light, what then? The doors were locked. He was controlling it all from some central, automatic lock. The utter helplessness of my situation terrified me.

 

Marie had warned me about stuff like this. “There’s a lot of creeps at the Shack these days.” Those were her exact words. She’d told me to watch myself. I cursed myself for not being more careful, for not listening to the advice that everybody had been giving me. What on earth had possessed me to get into a car with a complete stranger? He’d just seemed so safe, so normal. A different person altogether from the raging beast that had just hit me, and threatened to kill me. Oh, my dear God, oh God, oh God! I wondered where Marie was right then? Probably just arriving at the Shack. Looking around for me. Checking the bathrooms. She was probably not even worried yet.

 

Sometimes Marie and I had this telepathic connection. I started praying that this time it would come through for me. In my head I started screaming: MARIE! MARIE! HELP ME! I’M IN DANGER! I imagined Marie talking to Sid, the cloakroom guy. She’d find my purse in there. She’d know that I wouldn’t just leave without my purse. She’d have to know that something was wrong.

 

Suddenly the car was turning again. He took the Osborne exit off the 5 Freeway. We were far, far north. I’d never been to this area before. It felt like we had been driving forever. We were heading down some dark street with just a few lonely-looking houses on it and no sidewalk. Old houses, out in the middle of nowhere.

 

It’s a party, I started trying to rationalize to myself. He’s just stoned and crazy, and we’re heading to a party and as soon as I get in there with all of the crowds of people I’ll be able to sneak out. I’ll run—I’ll run and run until I find someone who’ll help me . . .

 

But this thought was immediately shattered when we pulled up a long driveway to a house. It was on the top of a hill, shrouded in darkness. The place was as creepy, dark, and isolated as the motel from the movie Psycho. There was obviously no party there. I looked over to my captor, and he was staring off at the house with a faraway expression on his face.

 

“I—thought you said—”

 

“SHUT UP!” he screamed. He looked at me, and screamed “SHUT UP!” again, spraying me with spit. I cowered away from him, terrified that he was about to start hitting me. “I’m taking you to the party,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “But I gotta pick something up first.”

 

The he got out of the car, slamming the door after him. He walked around and pulled my door open for me. Oh yeah, this bastard was a real gentleman. I peered up at him and said, “I can stay here until you come back. . . .”

 

It was a long shot, but I figured it was worth a try. Unfortunately, he had no intention of letting me off that easy. Instead he told me, “You’re coming with me,” and reached into the car. He grabbed me by my arm, and dug his painfully strong fingers into it. He dragged me out into the driveway. It wasn’t cold, but I was shivering all over, my entire body trembling with shock. He dug his fingers in harder, and I screamed “STOP IT!” as loud as I could. He started toward the house, dragging me by the arm, his grip getting harder till he threw me out in front of him. “Walk!” he commanded. There was no one around. I considered just screaming at the top of my lungs, but he could have beat me to death right there before anyone would be able to save me. More than anything in the world, I didn’t want him to hurt me. He shoved me up to the dark front porch, and pulled me onto it. With his free hand, he fumbled with his keys in the dark.

 

The front door opened. He pushed it in, then continued to shove me through his huge black house. Inside, I noticed the smell first. A rank odor of fermenting garbage, dampness, and mildew. The lighting was dim, but a quick glimpse around provided all of the evidence I needed that this guy was totally unhinged. Black garbage bags, full and spilling, propped up in one corner in the living room. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, exposing rotting lumber. Every surface was full of crap of all descriptions, and the carpet looked stained and dirty. Food was ground into it, and I couldn’t tell what color it had been originally, but it was now an array of dark, bleeding smears. He pulled me past all of this and into a small, shabby kitchen. When he turned the flickering fluorescent light on, I saw that the sink was piled with dirty dishes. Cockroaches scattered when they were exposed to the light, scurrying away into the cracks in the tile, hiding away in shadowy corners. The countertops were smeared with discarded food. There was an open jar of peanut butter with a butter knife sticking out of it. He brought me over to a drawer, which he wrenched open. He fished around in there for a while before he pulled out a pill. I had never seen this particular kind before; it was huge, like something you’d give to a fucking horse. Then he turned and gave me an I’m-not-fucking-around look.

 

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he demanded.

 

I shook my head, tightening my lips. He grabbed my face and squeezed till the pain was unbearable. He jerked at my jaw. My vision blurred, and the world turned gray. The pain was so intense that I automatically opened my mouth, crying out. He shoved his fingers in my mouth, forcing the pill down my throat. “Swallow!” he commanded, twisting my face till my eyes pooled with tears. “Fucking swallow it!”

 

I gagged, and the pill went down painfully. I started to cry. Nobody would know where to find me. There was no way out. I had been put into a position of total and complete helplessness. I had never felt fear like this.

 

“Good girl,” he said as he shoved me up against the wall. I was wearing a jumpsuit, and he started unzipping it slowly. His brow furrowed in concentration and he looked for all the world like an artist drawing a fine line. I shook my hands free of him and managed to shove him away. With a crack, he smacked me across the face again. He smiled as he did it. He puffed his chest out. I could see that he was loving every moment of this. I screamed because I knew that this man was insane.

 

“You wanna scream?” he said. “No one can hear you! Go ahead and SCREAM!” And I did. I screamed as loud as I could, as hard as I could. He joined in, with a scream so loud and so primal that my blood turned cold. I cowered away from him as he stood over me.

 

“You see, bitch? No motherfucker can hear you . . . so SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He raised his fist as if to hit me, then burst out laughing as I cowered away. “You shouldn’t have left me,” he said. “We were so happy back in Dallas. Why did you do it? Why did you have to join that band? You humiliated me! Can you imagine what it felt like to see you on TV, to see you onstage, parading around like that? You ripped my heart out!”

 

The whole time I was thinking, Dallas? I had never lived in Dallas. This guy had never even met me before. He was totally and utterly deranged. The realization shook me to my very core.

 

I needed to be at home. I wanted my dad. I wanted my sister. I started crying to myself. Please, Marie, please help me . . . I’m in trouble, Marie. Very bad trouble! Please FIND ME . . . !

 

In my terror, images started flashing through my mind. Suddenly I was seeing the face of Winnie the Wolf, as clearly as if he were standing right there. I saw every detail, right down to his shiny braces, as he smiled at me, his zit-filled face mocking my helplessness. “Stay away from that goddamned kid!” And another face. Derek. A face that still haunted my worst nightmares, now pressing down on me all over again. “You look just like your sister!”

 

What an idiot I was! What an imbecile! I should have learned my lesson when Daddy spanked me for playing with Winnie the Wolf. I should have learned when Derek raped me in my own bedroom back when I was fourteen years old. I should have learned! Now I was cowering in the house of a madman, miles away from anywhere, with no chance of escape. Compared to this monster, Winnie and Derek looked like the fucking Hardy Boys.

 

This can’t be happening.

 

This can’t be happening to me.

 

I’m Cherie Currie. I’m invincible.

 

How can this be happening?

 

This bastard was strong. When he grabbed me, he had hands like a vise. He dragged me over to his filthy couch and threw me on it. I managed to hit him across the face, but it didn’t even faze him. He responded by backhanding me so hard that for a moment I wasn’t even there. It was like he had knocked me clean out of this world. He grabbed the zipper of my jumpsuit and ripped it down hard, catching my skin, tearing it. He ripped my clothes away from my body, and I felt the cold, damp couch beneath me. He grabbed me by the ankles and started dragging me toward another room. The bedroom. I knew somewhere deep down it had to be the bedroom.

 

I screamed. I screamed louder than I had ever screamed in my life. My throat felt raw, torn open. I kicked, I screamed and screamed, praying that someone, somewhere would hear me. We were in the bedroom. The lights were dazzlingly bright. I was thrown onto the bed, still screaming for my life.

 

“SCREAM!” he yelled, standing over me. “SCREAM ALL YA WANT! NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU!”

 

I was naked, except for my panties. He climbed on top of me and put his face right up against mine. He grabbed my face in both of his hands to steady me. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs. He screamed for what felt like five whole minutes. The screams were loud, terrifying. His breath was like raw sewage as it blasted in my face. When he was done, he smiled at me and said, “How many times do I have to tell you? No one can fucking hear you, Cherie. You’re wasting your fuckin’ breath.”

 

As I opened my mouth to scream again, he punched me in the stomach, knocking all of the wind out of me. He got up from the bed, and I lay there, gasping for air, sobbing and retching. I could see the bedroom door behind him, hanging open. I wondered if I could make a run for it, but realized it was impossible. Even if I made it out of the bedroom, where would I go? Oh God, oh God no, oh God. The whole world had caved in on me. The whole universe! There was nothing left for me to grab hold of. At that moment I realized that I was totally, utterly without hope. This was something beyond fear now. A place where your darkest nightmares are born from. To call this terror would have been a total understatement.

 

Standing over me, James Lloyd White said something that chilled my blood even more. Something that left me no other option but to sob, to sob from the total horror of it all.

 

“I’ve killed before,” he whispered. “Do you understand? I’ve killed before. Six in Dallas.” He reached down, and pulled my panties off. As I lay there hyperventilating and crying, he climbed on me and put his mouth to my ear. Then in a hoarse whisper, he promised, “And you’re next.”