Eyes of Innocence
by
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The beautiful, star-filled clear sky was a sharp contrast to the event taking place below. The malicious act had started off as merely a dare. A contest of young male pride. A game. Screams from a young girl’s torture, silenced the usual cries from the swamp frogs. It was as if all the creatures of the swamp hushed, in an effort to allow the stranger’s cries to be heard. Nis struggled against her assailants, screaming, biting, kicking, but her struggles were useless against the three young men. She could smell the strong stench emanating from them as they talked amongst themselves. "All right buddy. Let’s see if you’re the man you claim to be! We have her. Go ahead." Fourteen-year-old Nis tried to free her arms from the two assailants only to find herself held even tighter. She stopped struggling for a moment to try and think. She had been jumped from behind and now, as she was forced down on the damp cool earth, she raised her head to see her attackers. The face looming over her was not an unknown face. Clear eyes met dark eyes and for a moment he hesitated. "Non! Qui tu veux?" Nis asked just before the scream erupted from her throat as she felt the first thrust from the attacker. "Hurry up, man," came an urgent plea from one of the other attackers. Stan heard Fred’s voice just before he reached his climax. "Ahhhhh!" he screamed, shuddering from the release. Breathing hard, he stood. Looking down at the girl as he hastily buckled his trouser, he suddenly felt sick. His head began to clear through the cloud of intoxication and the realization of what had just occurred hit him. Hard! Her face had been a blur up until now. Pieces of how they had gotten to this God-forsaken place began to emerge. It had been a joke! A dare. They had come out here to buy some of Old Uncle John’s "Corn Water", so-called by the locals because of its potent blend of corn and other mysterious ingredients. Everybody around knew where to get the stuff. They had spotted the girl walking away from the house as Old Uncle John left them to retrieve a jug. Each of them took a note of her lush, long, black hair and the way she glided through the forest like a seductive breeze. It was after they had left and started passing the jug around that Fred spoke up. "That Uncle John’s niece sure is a fine piece. Yessiree, she ought to be around----Mmmm eighteen years old by now, don’t you think, fellas?" "Naw, can’t be that old," Sly said as he drove down the narrow, dirt lane. Barely wide enough for a horse drawn cart, let alone his ’46 Chevy Roadster. "How old do you think she is?" Stan asked before taking another swig and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Sly was quiet for a moment, his face contorted as he strained to remember the girl. "She’s almost gotta be at least seventeen by now." "Think so?" Stan queried. "At least!" Sly stated, matter-of-factly as the heavy brown earthen jug was passed to him. "God, but that’s some strong stuff," he exclaimed, leaving his friends to ponder whether he was talking about the girl or the hooch. Fred laughed, reaching for the jug. "This night is for celebrating! Come on, guys, soon we can kiss ol’Mcnally High away!" The hoots and yells from the small sports car went unnoticed as they sped off down the long curvy isolated road. As agreed upon by all three young graduates, this night was to be a night they would all remember.
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About the Book
This story is set in Louisiana, moving from the mysterious bayou and its Cajun inhabitants to the halls of justice in Baton Rouge and back. The plot revolves around a seemingly backward girl, abducted as an infant and raped as a teenager. The story weaves its way through a mother's search for her long-lost daughter and a quest for justice that, ultimately, only the swamp can provide.
About the Author
Sherry Jo Saunders is a true GRITS (Girl Raised in the South). Born in South Carolina, she spent much of her childhood seated at the foot of her great grandma's rocking chair. She would listen intently and absorb every word of her grandma's extraordinary, exciting tales of days long past. As she grew older, Sherry gained more knowledge of her native South as she traveled throughout Georgia, Florida and westward to Louisiana and Texas. All along the way, she eagerly sought out the yarn-spinners to learn about the lore of the land. This quest was the seed of her desire to be an author so she could share these stories with readers far and wide. However, more than wanting to be a novelist, Sherry J o Saunders hopes to be a great storyteller – keeping true to her great grandma's legacy of imparted lore.