Angels Out of the Dark

By

Joan S. Peck

BEJEWELED PUBLISHING

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Chapter 1

It was my turn next. I waited just beyond the curtains, and when I felt a tap on my shoulder, I made my entrance. With head held high and my footsteps weaving their special stage walk, I headed down the runway. I felt all eyes on me as I marched along, and I heard a few gasps of pleasure. The dress I wore was stunning, but it was my looks that had caused the stir. I could pretend it was different, but what was the point?

I halted and turned around slowly enough that the dress flowed with grace and allowed the potential buyers to get a better view of its loveliness. Then I strutted back to where I’d emerged. My tall stature, flowing red hair, emerald green eyes, and my slim body served me well as a model. The only thing that didn’t quite fit was my large breasts, natural though they were. Sometimes, I needed to wrap them so I could slide into a particular style of dress to show the creation off to a better advantage.

Soon, I and some of the other models would head to Las Vegas for a photoshoot and a stay at one of the fancy casinos and resorts there. I’d never been to Las Vegas; I had only heard about it. It had grown quite a bit from its earlier days, and I wanted to see for myself what the fuss was all about.

“Tiffany, hurry!” said another model, pulling me away from my thoughts. “They want us on the runway again. They’re going to introduce us to the audience sitting there.”

“That’s different, isn’t it?” I asked.

The model bobbed her head and turned away to take her place in line. I followed. As I marched once again down the runway, I cringed upon hearing my name spoken out loud, “Tiffany Darling.” It sounded so false, so fake. But, in fact, thanks to my parents, that was the name on my birth certificate. As young and as unworldly as they were, I felt sure that my parents had no idea the trouble that my name had already caused me so far.

Having come from a small city in Idaho at the age of 18, I was ready for a change and the big time. As I packed my bags for Las Vegas, my heart thudded with anticipation. My roommate and I collided at the doorway of the apartment we shared, and we laughed at our urgency to leave. We headed downstairs to meet the cab waiting at the curb to whisk us away to the airport.

After I settled into my seat and buckled up, we lifted into the air. The noise from the plane was soothing enough that I was soon slumped in my seat, asleep. Only later, when I felt the airline attendant standing over me, did I begin to stir. “Please put your seat upright. We’ll be landing soon.”

April was already straightening the items on the empty middle seat. She tucked the magazines into the back pocket of the seat in front of her and turned to me. “This should be interesting, huh?”

I nodded and gasped as I looked out the window. “Look outside! Where are we? There’s nothing but mountains of rock.”

April placed her hand on my arm. “It’s okay, I promise you. Wait, and you’ll see what I mean,” she encouraged as the plane soon began its landing in the center of the city.

That time seemed so long ago. So much had happened since Tiffany had bounced through McCarran airport with stars in her eyes, happy to experience all that Las Vegas offered. She had no idea then what lay ahead for her, and if she had known, she probably would’ve never departed the plane. What came about was an extremely rough time in her life—a harsh time by anyone’s standards. She had gotten trapped in the city’s tar pit of destruction, where it was hard for anyone to escape. The irony was that, frequently, she needed to remember every ugly detail of what’d happened to keep herself on the straight and narrow. The Tiffany who had arrived that day from New York City so many months earlier was now nothing but a memory.

Instead, when she faced the past, it wasn’t the glory days of modeling in New York City, it was the shame of what happened afterward in Las Vegas that twisted her heart:

She’d stumbled her way into the bedroom, nearly spilling her drink along the way. Filled with more vodka than ice, it was merely for comfort, not taste. How had things come to this?

She tripped, and the glass sprang from her hand, dousing the wall and carpet with the clear liquid that spread toward her bare feet. When the cold hit her toes, she jerked back. A more lucid reality of what’d happened came to her. She needed to get a grip, but how was she going to do that? Especially when the voice in her head became louder, making her cringe with the honesty of its words. “You’re such a loser.” And those words would be the kindest; always, her inner taunting became uglier in time.

She dropped onto the unmade bed and pulled her legs tight to her chin, aching for the darkness to take her away. Suddenly, the door flung open, and he stood there scowling. “You disgust me. Get the hell out of my house!”

She stayed still and pretended to be out cold, but he stepped nearer and stood over her. His foul breath floated around her, and it took all her control not to gag. “I mean it, bitch!” He yanked at her unkempt hair and pulled her face from the pillow. Tears leaked out and ran down her cheeks, giving her away. “I’d drag your sorry ass out now, but I’m late as it is. Gone by morning, hear me?”

She lay still. Where would she go? She had begun her downward spiral a few years back and had shut out anyone good in her life. Instead, she had fallen for the biggest loser of all time—snow—cocaine. And to feed its demand? Those were the times she didn’t dare think about. They were nightmares all by themselves.

She felt blood trickle from between her legs, and the ache in her heart became unbearable. She knew she’d done the right thing, hadn’t she? Wanting numbness, she reached for her drink and saw the glass on the floor, empty. Disappointment filled her as she realized she didn’t have the strength to do anything about it.

Then, she forced herself up. Clutching herself, and bent so far over it looked as if she were crawling, she stumbled into the bathroom. There, she grabbed a washcloth and began her clean up. Finished with the bare necessities, she lurched her way back to the bed and crashed upon it, not caring whether she ever woke up or not.

Now eight years later, it was the memory of that night that pushed me each day to do whatever it took not to repeat that time in any way. It still took hard work at times for me to cut off that negative voice in my head and block any opportunity for it to begin its blasphemous chants. I’d been close to becoming a statistic wasted by drugs; yet, I’d been one of the lucky ones. By the grace of God, I had lived.

My cell phone chirped, and I was glad to see it was one of my two Samaritans who had saved me. I smiled. “What’s up, Lester?”

As I listened to him, my frown deepened. “Where is she?” I asked.

I listened to Lester’s calm voice “We’ll meet you in an hour, okay?”

“Are you coming here?” I asked.

“Yes, we’re on our way.”

I looked around the office where I sat. The sign on my desk read, Tiffany Darling, Counselor, but that didn’t cover it all. My thoughts turned to Lester, remembering the first time I’d met him.

She had crawled out of bed after that horrible night and jammed a few of her things into a cheap plastic bag advertising Marshall’s, and stumbled out into the daylight feeling sick. She fingered her hair to give it shape and a semblance of style before she headed into the older part of Las Vegas. She’d be safe there before she went on the hunt to earn some money. Since she was still bleeding and not feeling well, she’d offer a blow job. Perhaps she’d be lucky and make enough money to feed herself for a couple of days.

Later, when she saw him get out of his car, she knew there was something different about him. When he reached her, he didn’t pull her into the alley where she stood at its end or didn’t immediately start fondling her or himself. Instead, he’d asked politely, “What’s your name?”

“Tiffany. Why, does it matter?”

He leaned closer and, in a soft voice, asked, “Why are you doing this? Selling yourself like this?”

“Look, mister, I don’t have time for your crap. Do ya want a blow job or not? Fifty bucks and I’ll make you think the bells in heaven are ringing.” She stood defiant in her stance until her legs gave way.

Instinctively, he reached for her and grabbed her arm, supporting her. Then, he held on tighter as he felt how hot she was. “You’re sick. You shouldn’t be here doing this stuff.”

She straightened and yanked herself away from him. “What makes you think you have the right to judge me? Well, you don’t, pervert. Mind your own business or I’ll… I’ll…”

He held his hands up in a defensive mode. “I can help you, miss. You’re burning up, and you’re bleeding.”

Her face reddened, horrified that she hadn’t noticed. A hot flash and then a wave of cold crossed her body. She began to shake, her teeth chattered, and she felt herself falling. His quick hands caught her, and he half-lifted, half-carried her into his car parked along the street.

My cell phone chirped, breaking into my thoughts. I read the text message. Change in plans. Meet us at the house.

I immediately rose, gathered my purse, and headed out the door.