For Virginia

Virginia pulled the covers snug to her chin and tried to ignore the impending feeling of doom that pelted her mind. She rolled toward the window, watching silently as the passing clouds revealed the glow-in-the-dark, pockmarked face of a harvest moon. On some occasions she felt comforted by this lunar deity, as if he were a distant godfather watching vigilantly over her. But tonight, nothing seemed to ease the tension.

This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling for Virginia. It was her first night in the new foster home, and she had not come willingly. While the Mitchell's seemed sincere enough, experience  that renowned teacher of virtue  had taught Virginia that trust was a commodity more precious than gold. And just as rare.

In the company of adults, Virginia never lamented the pathetic life that fate had dealt her. Besides, she knew other girls, younger than thirteen, whose personal nightmare eclipsed hers. At the county shelter, though, unencumbered by masked maturity, Virginia convinced the younger kids that she had been born in a coffin, an escapee of hell, on the run until the Devil himself caught up with her and pulled her down to face his dancing court of crimson demons and a jury of the dead. It was Virginia's subtle way of impressing upon the children that they weren't far from that sordid world, and if they didn't watch their backs they might just end up a captive guest of a devil with flesh and blood. One, she assured them, much worse than their present caretaker.

"Are you a vampire?" a frail girl had once asked, cowering behind the bed, unwilling to meet Virginia's cold stare.

Virginia wanted to tell her that she was. A toothy bloodsucker, born to this wretched world to suck the life from naive children, crush their fragile bones and emulsify their eyeballs and intestines into a thick, blood milkshake. With a cherry on top. But an uncommon stab of compassion pierced her heart, and she confessed her exaggerated fantasy. Yet, she reckoned to herself, not all fantasy. This venerable little Hobbit, cringing behind the bed, already a ward of the state, would know her share of vampires unless she miraculous escaped her own coffin.

Virginia heard the door squeak and quickly closed her eyes. It was probably just Mrs. Mitchell, checking on her less fortunate houseguest. Making sure that Virginia hadn't decided to fly the coup or, God forbid, fire up a joint and sneak in some of her orphaned friends for a drug-crazed romp in Underoos and Wonder Woman panties. She lay still as a cat, until she heard the door close. A few more seconds, and she rolled over to face the door. She let out a soft cry when she saw Mr. Mitchell towering over her.

He fell on top of Virginia before she could move and cupped her mouth with a powerful hand. Virginia was no match for him, but she continued to struggle until he moved his hand over her nose as well.

"Be quiet," he whispered in her ear. She felt the warm condensation of his breath filter into her ear. He had even brushed his teeth for the occasion. Virginia couldn't breath. To keep from passing out, she reluctantly obeyed his command.

He obviously interpreted her gesture as surrender, for she felt a slackening of his hand and he slowly slid it from over her nose. Virginia sucked in as much air as she could through her nose, but did not fight.