The Schwarzschild Radius (30 page)

“We’ve entered the last stage of the bidding process, gentlemen.”
Olivia’s spent image was transmitted all over the world with a flick of a button. She hadn’t bathed in days. Her face bore the marks of countless blows as she lay naked on a bed. Her once flawless white skin was covered in welts. Her vagina and anus had been ripped by the objects inserted into them over the last week. A specially trained German shepherd had mounted her as the camera recorded every abuse, every scream and grunt, all the pleading for her life.

The host had challenged the imagination of the clients to conjure some new abuse, a novel act of degradation to subject her to. They had risen to the occasion. She was raped a dozen different ways―chained, suspended from the ceiling, forced to role play and speak lines from a prepared script. She had performed well, and this is what had kept her alive.

But now the imagination of her tormentors was exhausted. Now it was time for the final act.

“In keeping with tradition, I will now show the condemned videos of all the past executions and you can see her react.” He ordered Olivia to sit on a table opposite a laptop that began to play the images. The camera panned back and forth between the screen and Olivia’s face. She turned away and her abductor grabbed her by the hair, pointing her back to the screen.

“You have to watch,” said the Webmaster.

When the Schrodinger murder was played, Olivia vomited on herself. She fell to her knees and begged to be spared. She promised sex for life. She promised to love him forever. Faint applause came over the speaker as the audience approved. Then she appealed to the men who weren’t present that she might be spared as some bulls are spared in the ring.

“She’s asking for your mercy, gentlemen. We’ve never had a reprieve, but cast your votes.”

One by one the votes came in.

“It’s almost unanimous. Death.”

onia was still in bed with another client―Hector―while Rachel sat on the couch reading. Where did Sonia find all these guys? They all had tons of money. Some of them were pretty good looking, yet they risked jail, disgrace, or a gunshot from an outraged father to have sex with an underage kid.

Last night, Hector wanted each of them to come out separately as Dr. Sartorius had. At least his music was better―Latin. He smoked a joint while she stripped and that made her even more uncomfortable. What would it take for him to just reach over and put her down on the carpet? But he just sat there, a bright smile on his face with his legs crossed. Didn’t ask for floor work. After she took it all off, he had complimented her on her body and lovely hair. Then asked her to get dressed and sit with him for a few minutes. They talked. He owned a bar, had been a U.N. peacekeeper, traveled the world. She declined the joint and made him laugh when she said it caused lung cancer. He asked about her circumstances and she gave him the stock answers. Ran away from Vermont. Staying at a shelter. Working at a peep palace downtown. Rachel wondered why each man needed to hear this as if their voyeurism extended beyond a girl’s body to her whole messed up life.

Hector was originally from Mexico, and Rachel wowed him with her high school Spanish.

“
Tu eres muy linda
,” he said.

“
Gracias, señor. Y usted es muy caballero
.”

He took her hand and kissed it, something Rachel had always wanted from a man, but not in these exact circumstances. She liked those old world customs. She wished everyone spoke with English accents and had the command of language that the characters in Jane Austen’s novels had.

“You can tell Sonia that her audience is waiting.” She took that as a dismissal and got up. He tipped her a hundred dollars. Spanish class had paid off.

Rachel rifled through his house during the night, but no PC. It hadn’t been a total waste―she had brought her copy of English Romantic Poetry and curled up on the couch to read for a few hours before getting some sporadic sleep.

What a mess Percy Shelley’s life was. Married a sixteen-year-old, got her pregnant, abandoned her, married a seventeen-year-old, first wife commits suicide, writes gorgeous poetry, then drowns at twenty-nine.

Thy brother Death came and cried,

Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,

Murmured like a noontide bee,

Shall I nestle near thy side?!

Wouldst thou me?―And I replied,

No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,

Soon, too soon…

Hector and Sonia came downstairs. Rachel shut the book and slid it in her knapsack―homeless kids aren’t supposed to read lyric poetry.

“I hope you slept okay,” said the host.

“The couch was fine.”

“I guess we should make like a shepherd and get the flock out of here,” said Sonia.

“Cool.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lisa. Here’s my number. If there’s anything I can do for you, give me a call. You’re welcome to come back.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate that, Hector.”

He watched them from the window. Great girl, that Lisa. Fourteen, alone and cute. Too bad there wasn’t any of that when he was a U.N. peacekeeper in the People’s Republic of the Congo. There were young girls, but the Africans just didn’t do it for him. Like a lot of other soldiers, he had traded food for sex with the twelve-year-olds. No problem getting college girls to come over with a promise of free beer and weed. But getting the young ones, that was another story. There were plenty of middle-school girls willing to put out for money or thrills, but the risk was too great. They had to be runaways or the cops would come down on him right away. Sonia had a lot of cute, young friends in just the right circumstances. She was a magnet.

This Lisa had real possibilities. Beautiful body, sweet disposition. He would have to cultivate her. Bring her along as he had so many girls with his no pressure approach. The conquest of a new girl was the supreme pleasure.

He went back downstairs and scanned the area. Nothing missing. Still, there was something about the room that wasn’t quite right. The books weren’t pushed all the way back in the book case. The Scotch tape, scissors, odds and ends in the kitchen drawers weren’t in their usual place. In the basement, he found the CDs in the media center in random order. Some CDs hadn’t been fully closed and he always closed them. It didn’t look like someone who was looking for money, yet what would a homeless girl be most in need of? On the couch there was a slip of paper where Lisa had been sitting.

It was a receipt from the Columbia University Bookstore for a copy of English Romantic Poetry.

t was Saturday night, their last gig for the weekend and Rachel couldn’t wait to get back to the dorm. They rang the bell of an old colonial in the Bensonhurst section of Brooklyn.

Someone looked through the peephole, then the door opened. Sonia kissed him on the mouth in a way she hadn’t greeted the others. After the kiss, they looked at each other only for a moment, but it was enough.

In his open-collar Polo shirt and khaki trousers, Rachel almost didn’t recognize him at first, but he had already placed her.

“Rachel, isn’t it?”

“You have a good memory, Father. Nice house,” said Rachel, not bothering to remove the contempt from her voice..

“How do you two know―”