The Whore of Babylon

Part 1

My life fell apart in 1992. That was when I lost my son. His name was James and he was seven years old. My life wasn't good before that either, I cleaned rich people's houses for next to nothing, but at least I had my little boy. As long as I had him, I felt just as rich as the people I cleaned for. James was such a big part of my life that after I lost him, I lost myself.

The day I lost him was perfectly normal. One of those days you wouldn't remember. We were at the grocery store. I left my son in the line to the cashier to get something I had forgotten. And when I came back he was gone. No one had seen anything, and the CCTV had apparently been out of function for weeks. The police did what little they could. My son's face was on the local news for some time, but no one recognized him.

He was simply gone. And so was my will to live.

I wanted to kill myself, out of sorrow and guilt, but my depression made me so apathetic that I couldn't even muster the strength to do that. Instead, my mind just shut down and I entered a form of self-destructive autopilot. I watched myself fall down... saw myself tend to my basic needs – eating, drinking, sleeping – without caring about anything else.

Before I lost my job one of the house owners who listened to my story offered to "help" me by giving me a job that would pay more for less work. I didn't have any self-worth. My autopilot, capable of nothing more than the minimum effort to survive, accepted the offer. So I watched myself fall... I saw myself get dressed up, get out of my tiny apartment, stand at the side of the street. It is a big city, my new employer used to say, and it is thirsty. For five years, I watch myself fall without a care in the world.

There was something strange in the air that night at the end of 1997, something that made me tense up. For the first time in a long time, it felt as if I was watched by someone other than myself. And I didn't like it. It felt wrong. My hair stood on end. My corner was next to a movie theatre. Starship Troopers was playing. A large group of people stood outside. I usually shied away from larger crowds when I worked, but this feeling – this feeling of dread – made me want to cross the street and ask them for a light, just to be near somebody.

Before I made up my mind about it a black Cadillac DeVille with shaded windows slowly crawled up to me.

"Another customer," I thought. "Rich one by the look of the car."

A tall man stepped out from the passenger seat.

"He has a chauffeur," I noted for myself indifferently. "Very rich then. Better up my prices."

He was in his sixties, I think. Not the oldest one I had been with, but definitely somewhere up there. He wanted to shake my hand.

"One of the polite ones," I thought.

I could usually read them, see if they were married and bored or alone and desperate, if they were happy and careless or unhappy and caring or if they were submissive or dominant. But with this man... I usually didn't view them as real men, so the fact that I want to use that word now is telling. He stood tall in front of me as a complete paradox. Courteous but intimidating, fatherly but hostile, alluring but repulsive – a stranger but yet somehow familiar.

My dead heart skipped a beat, and my voice trembled when I told him what I had to offer and for how much.

"Yes," he said. "Poor girl, you must be freezing."

Was he one of those who wanted to fall in love, just for the night? I still couldn't tell. He had a thick dialect that I couldn't place.

"I want something rather unusual," he continued.

A pervert? I wouldn't have guessed, but I wasn't surprised.

"I don't do weird shit," I said.

Not that I cared that much, I just didn't know how to act in those kinds of super contrived situations. I was a whore, not an actress.

"Oh," he said seemingly disappointed. "Well, this is pretty weird I'm afraid. But I'm willing to pay a lot."

I locked eyes with him. His face was kind, but a scar that crossed his eye made him look threatening at the same time. I thought about it for a second and said:

"How much are we talking about?"

"Enough for you to never have to work in this profession again."

I laughed.

"Don't be vague, give me a number."

He smiled, but only with his mouth, and said:

"Five hundred thousand dollars."

I almost choked on my own spit.

"For real?!"

With that kind of money, I could retire, have a life... Maybe even do something to help other people in my situation. Possibilities that I hadn't even dared to dream about flashed in my mind.

"For real," he said.

He wouldn't have offered me all that money if he didn't want me to do something outrageous. Maybe he wanted me to do something illegal, something involving dead people, animals or... kids? Fuck that shit, I thought, no money in the world could make me do stuff like that. I hesitated for a moment and then I asked:

"Well, what the hell is it you want me to do?"

He smiled again, hopeful.

"I haven't accepted yet," I added.

"Why don't we go for a ride and I'll try to explain."

"I can tell you right away that I'm not doing anything sick, like some pedo-stuff or–"

The man laughed. "No, it's nothing like that. That's horrible."

"You have my curiosity then..." I said with a skeptic look.

He opened the door to the car and held it open for me.

"Please," he said. "If you don't feel up to it after I've told you, I'll understand and let you off where ever you want."