The Witness

Chapter 24 - Hell

Christmas 1998

They loomed over her, faces mocking, spit showering. She could see her reflection on the glass of the camera--black eyes, a pained expression, a massive bruise on one cheek. How could they still see her as desirable? As tempting? Then she realized what she already knew--it wasn't her beauty they craved. It was her powerlessness.

"Smile, Sylvia," teased Tim Lauzon, pointing the video camera closer to her. She struggled to cover herself . Enzo Hilanon, Jay Alarcon, and Sherwin Martinez crowded near him and pried her hands off her naked chest. They forced her legs open as Tim focused the camera on her breasts and her private area. They laughed all the way. It was so effortless to overpower her.

Behind the boys were a row of men that Sylvia couldn't count, but they couldn't be less than a dozen. She was sure of it. They watched her and pleasured themselves. They loved it, witnessing her suffering; they savored every bit of it. On the first night the men came, she tried counting them but quickly lost track after nine or ten. It was useless. Now all she knew was that she was going to suffer again, and indeed, it seemed like forever since she had known a life without suffering.

School. Arguments with her sisters. College applications. All cute problems. She was crying, before she realized it, and she realized it only when they howled louder, laughed more boisterously. She sobbed hard, silently crying out to God like she always did, clinging on to that shred of faith that kept her sane. She had to believe that God would rescue her. She had to or they would win.

Tim handed the camera to Sherwin and started unzipping his pants. Sherwin had a sly, triumphant smile the entire time. "You don't want me to have you? Well, we'll all have you this time," he said for the millionth time, and another round of rapes began.

It was Sherwin's idea to kidnap Sylvia, as much as it was Tim's idea to film the tortures. They all needed money for drugs, money that would give them a higher rank in the gang, and what better way to hit two birds with one stone than with a captive girl? Sylvia remembered that afternoon, after dismissal, when Sherwin asked her if she wanted to help him with their upcoming art project. Sherwin was a star student, but he always lagged behind in art, which was one of Sylvia's favorite subjects. She nodded, thinking it would only last for three hours at the most. Besides, it was her Ate Sally's turn to watch over their younger sister Susie.

This was her third week here, and it was Christmas. This she knew because they had a Noche Buena party last night, filled with guests and laughter and food, and for a while they'd forgotten her upstairs. It was cold and it was dark and she was tied up; there was no chance to escape. And she didn't even have any clothes on. She'd forgotten what it was like to be clothed.

Then, as the party went on and karaoke music drifted throughout the house, the door opened and six men entered. Not men, actually. Boys. The eldest was not even in his mid-twenties. "That's her?" he asked, and Sherwin nodded. Sylvia closed her eyes and bore the rapes as she always did, whimpering and clenching her fists. A while later, the Lauzon boys came up--Tim, who was a member of the gang and Sherwin's right hand man, and his little brother Terry. They then ordered Terry to molest her. The young boy refused. Tim slammed his own brother's face against the wall and he did it with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept whispering to Sylvia, and she felt sorrier for him than for herself.

It was Christmas now, and she hoped that Terry was somewhere safe. She was thankful that at least, he wasn't dragged along. She knew what was coming next. After Sherwin's turn, and he always came last, the really sick stuff began. It baffled her how creative they could get about it, how disgusting. Where did they get these ideas? Either way, they prepared their items. Lit light bulbs and scissors, barbecue sticks from last night. It was futile. She could only pray that she would faint in pain again, but this time she didn't and she felt everything.

"God, please, help me!" she finally cried out, and they laughed.

She curled up and writhed, tears streaming down her face. There was an exchange of words, money, finally, drugs, among the boys, and they decided to take one joyride for a Christmas treat. Then they left her, still naked and crying, without turning off the lights.

The camera was on the floor, in front of her face. She saw her reflection in the glass. She didn't know what she had done to deserve this. Where she had made a mistake. All she knew was that she had to keep on believing.

"God," she prayed. "God, please. Please. What have I done? I'm so sorry. Please let someone find me. Anyone. Anyone."

She looked at the camera, not knowing how she would bring an entire courtroom to tears months later while watching the footage. "Anyone."