Date of Confinement

Prologue To paraphrase an old army advertisement, Megan had lived more in her sixteen years than most people live in a lifetime. The product of a heroin addicted mother and an absent father, she grew up within the shadows of downtown Boston. Her grandmother, a nurse’s aide at Boston City Hospital, had become her de facto primary caregiver while her mother hustled for tricks to support her habit. Her father had been one of her mother’s johns, though she was hard pressed to know which one he was. With her mother sleeping during the day and running tricks at night and her grandmother working the day shift at the hospital, Megan spent a lot of time in their two room apartment watching television and fending for herself. For company she had her Curious George doll and a younger brother, who was likewise a product of her mother’s nighttime activities. Megan’s grandmother had signed her up for school at the time of her fifth birthday, giving her access to a hot lunch each day and the attention of caring adults. She thrived in her primary school days, though that ended when her mother married Jack, a former policeman on permanent disability for injuries suffered in the line of duty. He had been shot in the leg during a holdup scuffle and was not able to work thereafter. Though there was finally an adult’s presence around the house during the day, drinking and smoking took up much of Jack’s time. Her mother had been placed in a drug rehab program and had traded her heroin for benzodiazepine and barbiturates. Megan’s gradual physical development through fifth and sixth grade was not lost on her stepfather. At five foot-three with the developing figure of a young woman, the attention began innocently enough with small gifts and parental affection. But Jack’s need for physical and sexual satisfaction was never far below the surface. Light affection soon turned into heavy petting. He took her to his bed on numerous occasions with Megan’s only escape being the school day. Tardiness and absenteeism followed. By fourteen, she put her few possessions into her backpack, stole some money from Jack’s wallet and left the house one night, never to return. The next two years were a blur. Hitchhiking was Megan’s mode of transportation as she lived on the streets of Worcester, Lawrence and eventually Manchester, New Hampshire. It was there that she met up with several other girls in similar situations, shared an apartment and made a little money waitressing or washing dishes. By sixteen, with some savings from her steady job at a pizza shop, she was able to avoid the life her mother had led. As she left the pizza shop one night after hours, a black sedan pulled up and two men got out. The first was in his forties, heavy set but well-dressed and with a warm smile. The second appeared much younger and strikingly thin with a short goatee. “Megan, is that you?” the older man asked. The mention of her name caught her off guard. “Do I know you?” “I’m your mother’s brother, your uncle Derek,” he answered. “Your parents are very worried about you.” “I don’t have an uncle Derek,” she responded, turning to walk away. But the move by the second man was too quick for her. His left arm wrapped around her from the back and the cloth in his right hand, heavy with chloroform, pressed against her nose and mouth. Blackness enveloped her as they quickly laid her out in the back seat and drove away.