The Innocents

published her story and also printed her picture. The article’s title read, ‘The Strong Thing’.
“You’re Italian, aren’t you?” Bugsy asked and gave her body a once-over. “Those robust shoulders and feisty look on your face, these American women don’t got those. They’re all weaklings.”
Iris didn’t know how to respond to that. If his mom had sent him to school, he would have learned about Amelia Earhart, Jane Addams, or the one in Detroit, Rosa Parks.
“I’ve seen you out on the streets,” Bugsy continued, “in Vito’s butchery, in Carrera’s vegetable shop, and I think to myself, you’re the most beautiful bitch in the neighborhood. How come you married a nigger?”
Iris’s eyes widened, and she clenched her teeth. “Watch your language.”
“Can you believe this bitch?” Bugsy turned to Roman who shrugged.
“I said mind your—”
“Close the door!” Bugsy barked.
Before Iris could react or shout for help, Roman locked the front door. Bugsy pulled a knife out, the light gleaming on the metal’s edge menacingly.
Roman circled the counter, but Iris didn’t back up; she stood her ground. Then he came around and grabbed her arms from behind. Bugsy inched closer and touched her neck. His rough hand travelled down and squeezed her right breast, making her gag in repulsion, and he groped his way to her stomach.
Licking his lips, he said, “You lost touch with how the world outside works. Let me give you a reality check.” He made a fist and punched her in the gut. Iris’s surroundings darkened and everything spun. Roman let her go and she fell down at Bugsy’s feet.
“You don’t teach me how to talk, bitch.” He nudged her head with his boot. “Not when you owe me, you got it?”
She just wouldn’t talk to this racist animal.
Bugsy mashed her hand with the heel of his boot, and grated it against the floor. In spite of a yelp originating within her, she shut her mouth in time to contain it. Never give the animal the satisfaction.
“I’m asking you a question. Say you got it.”
Iris pursed her lips, deciding not to be intimidated by this two-bit thug. When he lifted the boot, Iris held her dust covered hand. Skin had been scraped off and the tissue within slowly turned from white to pink before finally settling on red.
Bugsy sighed. “Looks like we’re gonna have to teach this bitch some manners. Open the door.”
Roman obliged and kept watch while Bugsy doubled over, tugged her upper arm and pulled her to her feet. He put the knife’s tip on her back, inches above her hip, and whispered into her ear, “Make a sound, this goes in.” He pressed his face onto the side of hers and bit her cheek along with her hair. “Damn, you smell good.”
Roman opened the car door, and Bugsy said, “Let’s go.”
Even though she knew no one would cross these criminals, Iris wanted to scream for help. But then she remembered Ryatt. These unpredictably violent gangsters would not hesitate to hurt anyone, even a child. So she complied.
As Bugsy manhandled Iris out of the shop, she turned and looked back.
Though she was confident that she would never cry, that she would never let the corruption of this city get to her, she heard a loud sniffle.
And then she saw Ryatt’s tiny head peeking from the back wall. He was terrified and frozen to the spot. Tears dripped down from his big eyes. Eyes that were now redder than that evening’s sun.

Chapter 3
September 19, 1977. 06:45 A.M.
 
The van that transported Iris back to her shop jerked to a sudden halt. She heard the door beside her glide open and a cold morning wind flooded inside. The hood they’d put over her head was yanked off and she was pushed out of the vehicle, making her land on all fours. As the shock of hitting the pavement passed through her, the burning throb below her hips became more apparent. However, she had no time to process the disgusting things Bugsy and his men had done to her in the name of teaching her a lesson. Her baby had spent the whole night alone, starved and petrified, and that was what mattered the most. She scrambled to her feet and propelled herself at the entrance, throwing the front door open.
Ryatt was at the same place where she had last seen him, but in a different position.
He lay motionless on the floor!
Iris’s motherly instinct took over. As she sprinted towards him, the rug caught her foot, causing her to stumble. Straight away, she got up and rushed to her child again.
She scooped him off the floor as tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Ryatt? Oh my God, Sweetie?”
Ryatt’s eyes were swollen, and some kind of viscous fluid ran along the sides of his face in thin rivulets. It appeared too thick and gelatinous to be tears.
“Baby?” She stroked his right cheek, and his eyes fluttered open. “Are you alright?”
And she almost fainted when she saw his eyes. They were plump red, bordering on bloody, causing her heart to pause for a few moments before accelerating at its fullest speed.
“M-mommy?” Ryatt spoke but his eyes did not look at Iris, focusing on something over her head.
She held his chin and angled it gently so that he faced her. “Look at me, baby. I’m right here in front of you.”
“Mommy…” Still not looking at her, Ryatt cried, “I can’t see no more, Mommy!”
A ghastly chill froze her spine and traversed her back. “What do you mean you can’t see?”
“I don’t know.” He sniffled as his small fingers wiped his nose. “Everything is just so black and glowing-like.”
Iris lifted Ryatt up, maneuvered him onto her hip, and swiped the keys off the counter and hurried to the car.
* * *
In under ten minutes, Iris skidded