Luscita’s Prayer by Charles Merkel | Fiction

At 3:45, Luscita Huarte, hopped onto the parking lot from the steps at Blessed Sacrament Grade School. She shuddered a bit as she heard the lock click behind her. Yes, it was getting late, but Luscita was giddy because she had stayed and helped the teachers prepare the gymnasium for the Easter Play the following day.

Despite her age, she was to play a prominent role in the production. She started to rehearse her lines as she wandered through the empty lot. Her glee was suddenly dampened by the realization that she had not made any arrangements for getting home, some three miles away and through a scary, downtown portion of bygone El Paso. She’d forgotten the school bus had left forty-five minutes ago.

It’s okay, she thought, running to the other side of the school where the teachers parked. But there were no vehicles there. The convent, where the nuns lived, was being renovated and they were staying at another parish for two more weeks. There were no cars by the rectory either, where Father Gonzales and Father Ramon lived. Because of recent burglaries, she knew the church doors would be locked.

Everybody was gone. Nothing moving, just cold limestone and cracked brick buildings along the ancient city street. Now, feeling panic, she plucked a coin from her purse for the phone but when she looked inside the booth, she saw it had been vandalized and draped, useless, towards the floor.

Several blocks down was a bus stop. That was it. Though she lacked the sufficient fare, she’d head there, hop on, then beg the driver to let her stay on. She’d get off at the police station as that bus didn’t go near her home. Still, she fretted. Would the driver understand? Surely, in this part of town…her eyes started to water. “Oh God,” she whispered, “Please let me get home.”

She knew, because she’d see them from her classroom window, that buses ran every thirty minutes or so. That could be a long time to wait. Anxiously, she began her trek.

Two minutes passed, she was nearly to the stop. Then, looking ahead her heart sank.

A tall, garish man dressed as a clown, arms folded, stood just ahead smiling at her. Her jaw dropped. The kidnapper? For months the story had been all over Texas and New Mexico. A man, adorned as a carnival-jester, had kidnapped several children; six so far, only three found alive. Despite law enforcement and even packs of vigilantes, he’d always seemed one step ahead of his pursuers. Kids all over the southwest had been warned by their parents, teachers, police and newscasters to avoid any strange adult, let alone one dressed as a clown.

Still a block from the bus stop she was within thirty feet of the smiling freak with the white-painted face and the red lips. “Hello, Honey!” he blared, grinning ear-to-ear. “Would you like a balloon?”

Trembling, Luscita resumed her plea. “Oh, God. Please, I’m only ten-years-old. Please protect me. Can’t you send me…an angel to help me home?”

The clown took an exaggeratingly-clumsy step forward, she turned around to run. But to where? She began to sprint away when suddenly, as if her plight could not get any worse, a giant dog appeared in her path. Luscita, deathly afraid of dogs, skidded to a stop. The Rottweilers at Minoso’s junk yard were notorious for escaping and sometimes attacking people in their neighborhood. Plus, her big brother, Luis, had been mauled by a rabid stray when he was four and still bore the scars.

Death ahead, death behind. She screamed and gazed at the dog. Gleaming coat, rippled muscles; it didn’t look like any she’d actually seen except in school library books. Black-and-tan, large; she strained to think: Gordon Setter – long-haired birddog, pretty friendly. No, this dog had short hair. Coon hound: No, they had floppy ears. The only other, besides Rottweilers, she recalled were Doberman Pinschers. Her knees buckled as she listened to its growl.

Yes, that was this dog. Sleek, fearless, clever, she’d read, sometimes-ruthless police dogs, and radiating confidence beyond reality. Never make eye contact with strange dogs her dad had warned. She looked away. But not before she saw the intensity, the fire, in the dog’s gaze. He hates… Oh God, he’ll kill me. She turned to face the clown. To beg for her life– the only choice that made sense. Yet, somehow, she knew she could not be more wrong. God please don’t abandon me. I just wanna go home.

“Mister, please, don’t hurt—” she began. But she instantly noticed the clown was not smiling any more. “Nice boy. Good boy.” he said, voice cracking. “Is that your doggie?” Then, with a contorted lurch he turned and made his way up an alley between two decaying buildings.

Astounded but, without looking behind her she briskly resumed her walk towards the bus stop. Don’t run, she reasoned. She heard the dog’s paw-nails clicking behind her. Now, no one, to help her.

There was some relief as she saw the bus coming. She glanced behind her. There was a tiny patch of grass in front of the last building. Luscita watched, surprised, as the dog perched itself on it staring straight at her. She shuddered, please hurry, bus, please hurry.

As the door opened, she bounded-up tripping on the steps. “Please, I don’t have enough money. That dog! And the clown are after me! Take me to the police station!”

“Okay, little girl. It’s all right. Just sit down.”

As Luscita took the seat across from the driver, she peeked outside making eye-contact with the dog. The monster, the savior, gazed back for only a moment then sprung-up and bolted—cheetah-like—into the alley on which the clown had vanished.

It was then—suddenly able to think clearly—that she remembered her prayers.