I distinctly heard the man in the khaki pants say, “I’m not a photographer but I can picture my dick in your mouth,” his voice muffled by the door.
Callie’s breath hitched as she suppressed a sob. “Oh my god.”
“What the fuck is happening?” I said.
“This is a bad dream, right?”
“I wish it were.”
Other people up and down the street were all migrating our way. All of them appeared to be men. The khaki pants man unzipped his pants to expose himself to us and began to masturbate.
Callie turned away from him in disgust. I pulled her away from the door. Her mascara was streaked down her cheeks from crying. I noticed a pinkish scrape on her cheek that must have come from the man shoving her up against the brick wall. I touched the wound with my thumb.
“I want to go home,” she whimpered before burying her face in my shoulder.
“Okay,” I said. I guided her toward the empty podium for the host. “We’ll get the manager to call the police and send those dickheads to jail. Then we’ll head home. Okay?” I rubbed her back to assure her.
She responded with a hiccup and nodded with her head buried in my shoulder. I didn’t turn to look at the asshole outside the restaurant but he responded by banging on the door and shouting something I couldn’t comprehend but sounded like “I’m coming.”
When we reached the host’s spot there didn’t appear to be anyone in the restaurant. There were several plates of abandoned food on the tables and a couple of the chairs were overturned. Two plates of pasta were spilled on the floor by the swinging kitchen doors along with a silver serving tray and two glasses. I sensed the hairs on the back of my neck raise as muffled sounds came from an ill lit room to the right of the swinging kitchen doors. We couldn’t see directly into the room.
Callie clung to me but quieted once she recognized the state of the restaurant. I guided her across the dining room toward the noise. I craned my neck to look into the other room and could see some frantic movements in the shadows at the end of the bar. There was another sound, almost a soft squeal. Callie lifted her head from my shoulder and her body tensed. She opened her mouth to say something but I brought my index finger to her lips to shush her. I pulled her back toward the podium and into a short hallway to the restrooms. We were out of eyesight of the room and front door.
“What are you doing?” Callie asked in a panicked tone.
“Something is wrong here.”
“You think?!” Her voice squeaked with terror.
Another squeal came from the back room, followed by a muffled man’s voice.
I signaled for her to keep her voice down and whispered, “Please, Kitty Cat, don’t let them know we’re here.”
Callie wiped at the tears on her face. “Please… let’s go home.”
I hurriedly retrieved my cell phone from my pocket and dialed 911. The call immediately played a recorded message informing me all emergency lines were busy.
“Do you have your phone?” I whispered.
Callie nodded and began to dig in her purse.
I tried to pull up the news site. When Callie had her phone in her hand I said, “Try calling 911.”
She did so as my phone informed me there was no internet access. I quietly cursed under my breath. The logo that indicated internet was absent from my phone’s screen. Callie held her phone to her ear. Her expression grew confused and even more panicked.
“How can that be?” she said.
“Too many emergencies, maybe?” I said. I pocketed my phone.
A man erupted into a cheer from the back room as if he were watching a sports game and someone made a goal. Callie jumped and almost dropped her phone. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a yelp. I began to creep across the dining room toward the commotion.
“No,” Callie said. She grabbed my arm to stop me. “Please… Let’s go home.”
I held a finger to my own lips to indicate she keep quiet. As softly as I could I said, “I think someone needs help.” I tilted my head toward the front door of the restaurant. “Like you needed help. We can’t just leave. Stay here”—she tried to interrupt me but I kept talking—“and if something happens there has to be a back door through the kitchen.” I pointed toward the kitchen’s swinging doors. “Run and get help. Do you understand?”
She bit her lip and nodded. Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t spill. I stealthily headed toward the room where the voices emanated from. The softest sound came from behind me. I turned to find Callie slipping her heels into her purse and following me. I shook my head at her and mouthed ‘no’. She gave me a look I interpreted as ‘fuck you I’m coming’. I mimicked the gesture of a resigned sigh.
I crouched and made my way to the doorway. Staying low, I pressed myself against the wall and slowly peered around the corner. I wasn’t sure anyone in the room would be able to see me but the maneuver was one I’d seen police and military characters pull in movies. Callie followed my lead, holding her shoulder bag against her hip to keep it from making any noise.
I peeked around the corner. A bar ran from our direction to the other side of the room in the center. The lights over the bar were dim and there were tables with stools running along the walls on both sides and booths along the back wall. At one booth partially obscured by the bar there were three men in cook’s uniforms. I could see two of them fully but the third I could only see from the waist up due to the bar. One of the two I could see appeared to have his dick out, masturbating, while the other looked as though he were struggling with something on the table. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on after taking in the third and partially obscured man thrusting his hips, a muffled cry mixed with anger and terror coming from their direction. The two men encouraged the third.
I clasped my hand over my mouth and nearly choked on tears threatening to spring forth as I sat back behind the wall. I began to cry regardless of my efforts to staunch the flow. Callie placed her hand on my shoulder and mouthed ‘what’ frantically. I shook my head and steadied my breathing.
When I knew I could talk without sobbing I whispered, “Rape.”
There’s nothing more stomach-wrenching than seeing hurt and terror fill the face of someone you love. Callie’s expression was already filled with terror and despair before I said the dreaded word but it swiftly morphed into something I’d never seen from her before and never wanted to see again.
“We have to stop this,” I whispered.
She clenched her jaw and nodded.
I said, “Stay low and follow me as quietly as possible.”
I checked around the doorframe again. None of the men changed position and the two who would’ve been the most likely to spot us were too preoccupied by their own agenda. Staying hunched, I crossed the short pathway from the doorway to the short end of the bar obstructing us from the scene. Callie followed closely behind me. I waited only a few seconds for one of the men to alert the others of our presence but nothing happened. I peeked around the corner of the bar. The stools for the bar were stationary and there wasn’t any room for us to squeeze between them and stay hidden in the shadows close to the bar. We’d have to make our way toward them down the actual walkway. I made a small internal prayer or wish to a higher being I’d never believed in that the men would be too preoccupied by what they were doing to notice us so we could make it to them in surprise and hopefully make it out of this unscathed.