Part Two

Spike, the novice pimp renamed Chrissy, Crystal. As a teen, she had potential on the fresh meat market. She was loyal to the heroin he provided her. You could say he owned her because of it, since she'd come back like a loyal dog once before. He figured he'd have her work the streets, or maybe the back room of the porn shop where peep shows might give her pass on her youth and inexperience.

From downtown Buffalo area, Crystal wasn't far from home in Amherst suburb where Mom prayed for her every day. But it might as well have been another country or the Grand Canyon between them, since Spike had her by the tracks on her skinny arms. Her home was with Spike, on the far side of a rundown motor inn off a busy street.

Every city had the seedy side of town. Buffalo was no different. There's always a place where the addicts and the drugs flow. Downtown Buffalo had a modern look. Mini skyscrapers where Niagara Falls could be seen with all of its fury. From Crystal's view through her milky window were abandoned brick building ready for a wrecking ball. She needed to be rescued before life was hollowed out. But how do you find someone whose nearly invisible?

As Crystal sat on the edge of the bed near noon, she waited for Spike to come back with burgers and fries. Still in a stupor from last night's shot in the arm she found some crack residue on the cheap dresser. She leaned over in short cut jeans and filthy blouse. Her racoon eyes caught the mirror and made her pause. There was hardly anything of Chrissy left to claim, a mere shadow of herself. She knew what was coming. She owed Spike. She'd have to do something on trade.

There was an echo of hunger in the pit of her stomach where she cried deep inside. She bowed her head. Crystal pressed a finger to one nostril and snorted the remnants of crack on the dresser when the door snapped open. It made her heart leap, and her stomach knot.

Spike with his sharpened hair in the air shook his head and grimaced over how defeated Crystal looked. He had what she needed, a bag of fries and drugs to keep her on his leash. "You look sick? You need to get cleaned up and earn your keep."

Crystal loved and hated him in one. She looked at the mirror again, took time to blame God, blame her mother for not allowing her to have a real father. She still blamed her for marrying a man who turned out to be a prolific pedophile. And then her Mom drops a bomb. "Your real father is Luke Cole, he's a police officer. I've tried to contact him. We need to see him. He's the father you should have been raised by. It's all my fault."

Crystal talked to the ghost in the mirror. "Yes, it's all your fault. You turned me into poison." That made her feel gutted like a fish out of water. She clutched her stomach, as if she could feel the knife turn.

Spike looked he heard an insult hurled his way. "What you say? My fault."

He looked like he could hit her for what he thought he heard. Crystal tried to change the subject. "My real father's a cop. He doesn't know I'm alive."

Spike handed her the fries that got lost in the bag. She dug for them. "Well good," he said. "Let's keep it that way."

"Yeah," she said. "I don't exist. I'm just a ghost."

"And I'm your Daddy now. Don't you forget it," He said, stroking her filthy blonde hair.