Page 16 of Forgive Me Father: For I Have Sinned

THE BLINDING LIGHTS OFHeaven shone down on me, or maybe it was the fiery pits of Hell. Either way, I was dead, this painful life had come to an end. Or so I’d thought until I opened my eyes.

“Mr. Keller, welcome back,” the female dressed in scrubs standing beside my bed told me.

“Jesus?” I questioned in a voice that didn’t sound like my own.Was this how I sounded in the afterlife? Will my throat always hurt, or will the pain finally go away?

At the laughter I received, I blinked a few times in a desperate attempt to focus on whoever was meeting me at the long-awaited gates. “No Jamie, I’m nurse Joan. You’re at Harborview hospital.”

Hospital?

Cupping my hand over my eyes, I attempted to shield them from the blinding lights overhead. I felt like a hamburger under a heat lamp. Nurse Joan placed a straw to my lips. “Drink,” she ordered.

As much as it hurt to do so, I did as directed, and tried my best to figure out what the hell had happened. “The police are here, they’ve been waiting for you to wake up so they could question you.”

Police?

“What happened?” I asked, my voice raspy from the horrifying sore throat I had.

“Well, sweetie looks like you’ve been put through the wringer. I’ll let the officers know you’re awake,” she patted my hand before walking away. A few minutes later, two men dressed in suits came in.

“James Keller?” the first officer questioned. “I’m Detective Ryan Harris, and this is Detective Connor Richardson,” he pointed to the man beside him. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know why you’re here?” Detective Richardson asked me.

My last memory I could recall was…shit…Are they going to arrest me?My heart rate elevated as the machine beside me began to rapidly beep. Nurse Joan came back in and checked it, pushing a couple of buttons before taking my pulse and giving the cops the evil eye.

“Please James,” Detective Harris said, “we’re not here to arrest you, you’re not in any trouble. We need to know more about the man you were with last night and what he did to you.”

The tears started, Detective Richardson handed me a tissue from the box on the bedside table. I nodded, letting him know I’d talk while wondering, was that rape? Could it even be construed as such if I willingly went with him to the motel? Probably not, but I’ve never felt like more of a fucking dumbass then I did right then.

“James,” Detective Harris spoke again, “we need to know as much as you can tell us, starting with the description of the man you were with and where you met him.”

Something in his statement led me to believe it really wasn’t me they were after, but the man who did this to me. I told them about the club, how we met and then left, and what I could remember about his facial features. Thinking back, he’d done his best to keep my back to him, but I felt I was able to provide a decent enough description for them.

“You’re lucky to be alive, James,” Detective Harris said, drawing my undivided attention with his declaration. “Several others before you didn’t fare as well.”

“Wait. What?” Had my ears deceived me? Were they saying this guy was a serial murderer?

“Had the people in the room next to yours not heard you scream, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. They banged on the wall and yelled that they were calling the cops. He freaked out and took off, leaving you behind. Excuse me, I’m going to step out into the hall and make a call.” He nodded to his partner before walking out.

That’s odd, I don’t remember screaming…

Detective Richardson walked around to the side of my bed with no machines by it. He retrieved a business card from the inside of his suit coat and handed it to me. “Look, James,”

“Jamie,” I mumbled, I hated being called by my given name.

“Jamie, I know what you were doing there, but I’m not going to arrest you for it. Instead, I’d like for you to talk to a friend of mine that I think will be able to help you out with a job. A legal one. I took the liberty of calling him while you were resting. His name is Daniel Holloway, and he looks forward to hearing from you.”

“Thank you, I think,” I told him, not sure how I felt about this, but his intentions seemed sincere.

“It’s not safe for you to be out there. I hope you’ll consider calling him. Here’s my card as well, if you remember anything else about last night, please call us right away. Good luck Jamie,” he told me before he left.

Was this guy for real? I’ve been living on my own, fighting the evils of the streets for nearly four years. I’ve seen and lived through shit no child should ever have to endure yet here I am. Somehow, I survived last night, although it sounded like they were just as surprised I did as I was. Scanning the card, I still had in hand said it was for a place calledThe Nook, down by Pike’s Market. I’d passed it a few times, and if I recalled correctly, it was a bar. Why would he give me a card for a bar? Even I knew I couldn’t live this lifestyle anymore, nor did I care to ever be touched again so this was a lead I needed to at least check out.

The urge to relieve my bladder surfaced, and I decided to try and take myself but cringed as I slid my bottom across the mattress. My ass seemed to have taken the brunt of his abuse, even if I wanted to get back to work as a, what was it he called me? A rent-a-boy? I wouldn’t be able to as I’d be limited to blow jobs and those didn’t pay enough to cover my rent. I hobbled over to the restroom in the corner, securing the door behind me. When I clicked on the lights and looked in the mirror, the horror I saw reflecting back terrified me.I can’t do this anymore.A bruised handprint covered my neck, he’d squeezed so hard the blood vessels in my eyes had burst, and the whites of them were a deep crimson. The one feature of mine I liked was my gray eyes. At that moment it was painful to see them staring back at me.

The damage that incident caused ran far deeper than the surface wounds that were visible. I felt like an imposter, faking my way through my own life. Being a whore wasn’t what I wanted for myself. Wearing that label took away my last inkling of dignity. I’d never hated myself more than I did, not that there was much love, to begin with. Yet whatever shred of self-respect I had was long gone.

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