Jane Doe

Died May 27, 2004

Approximately 15-18 years old

I had a name, once, but no one knows it now. The only thing known about me is that I died. The date of my birth, my name, age, and even who exactly killed me is a mystery to the rest of the world now. The only person who could enlighten them on this is my killer, and he's definitely not talking.4

My name was Adrianna, when I was alive. Not only did I once have a name, I once had a home. I lived with my parents and my little brother in New Orleans. I was happy for many years there- until I was eleven, in fact. That was when my father's brother, my Uncle Andrew, came to live with us.5

Uncle Andrew was always sort of the black sheep of our family. Ever since he was a teen he'd been involved in crimes like petty theft, vandalism, etc.6

He had just gotten kicked out of his apartment for not paying rent and had nowhere else to go. So he came to live with us.7

My dad was close to Uncle Andrew- he always defended him when anyone spoke ill of him. He claimed that he didn't mean harm, that he didn't even do half the things people accused him of. My mom liked him too and usually agreed.8

I thought Uncle Andrew was nice at first too. Until the night he crept into my room and slipt beside me in bed. He made me do things that I'd never even heard of, let alone experienced. Afterward, he told me that I could never tell anyone what he'd done. If I did, he told me, he would kill my parents and make me watch. Then he would kill me.9

I had no trouble believing him after the terrible things he had done to me with no provocation at all. I could only imagine how much pain he could inflict when angry.10

For three years I stayed silent. I would lie awake at night, tense, terrified, wondering if he would come to my bed, or if I was safe tonight. I would hold my breath, waiting for my door to creak open, for him to stick his head in and call, " Adriannna..."11

When I was 14, I could not stand it any longer. I had to tell someone what he was doing to me. I still feared he would find out and retaliate brutally, but I figured if I told my parents when he was out, we could be ready to defend ourselves by the time he came back.12

So the next time he left the house and I was alone with my parents, I sat them down and told them what had been going on. I expected them to be shocked, to hug me and tell me everything would be okay now, I'd never see Uncle Andrew again. But to my horror, they did not. They were angry, all right, but at ME! They told me I was lying, that I was an ungrateful brat, to make up such awful stories about him. Then to top it off, they told me I would have to apologize to him for making up stories!13

I was terrified. I knew Uncle Andrew would be furious at me for telling. He would kill me, he really would, and he' d enjoy it.14

I knew I couldn't stay at my house any longer. My parents were not going to help me, and neither would anyone else. No one else was going to believe me if my own parents didn't. I had no choice but to run away.15

It was easy to get away. I just shoved what money I had in my pocket and went outside, breaking into a run. I ran down the streets not knowing where I was going, because i had nowhere to go. I only knew that I had to get away from Uncle Andrew.16

I spent my first night away on the streets. I didn't have enough money to get a hotel, and I knew I'd have to save it for food anyway. I slept on a fire escape in an alley, praying no one would bother me. The next few days went by much the same. I slept on the fire escape and walked around during the day, going into stores and not buying a thing. I was so lonely, so scared. I was all alone- there was no one who cared for me at all.17

On the third day, while standing helplessly on a street corner, not knowing where to go, I was approached by an older man. He asked me if i was homeless. I was wary and told him no, wanting him to go away. He persisted. He said he had seen me sleeping on the fire escape and wanted to help me. He told me he helped homeless girls like me, that he had a big house filled with girls he'd picked off the street. He'd give me clothes, food, a home, if I would come with him.18

It sounded too good to be true. What were the odds a man as nice as that would exist? But I was desperate. I wanted to believe he was sincere. I had nothing to lose by going with him. It couldn't get worse than it was now, and I had nowhere else to go.19

He took me to a building not far away. It turned out he wasn't kidding. He really did take girls off the street and give them a place to stay. But he neglected to mention we had to pay our way, and not by money either. We were to work as his prostitutes. The man, who called himself Elijah, was our pimp.20

I stayed anyway. I had no choice. Where else would I go? At least here I had shelter, food, clothes, and I didn't have to worry about money. And no one tried to kill me. They were never quite that rough.21

I stayed at Elijah's for another year, working as a prostitute 2-4 times a day. After a while i grew used to it, and was no longer terrified of being discovered every time I went out. No one was looking for me, it seemed. I was sure I'd never see any of my family again.22

I was wrong.23

One day when I was almost 16, Elijah sent a new customer to my room.24

" Treat him extra nice so he'll come back,'' he instructed me. I braced myself, steering myself for what was to come. But I was not prepared for what was to transpire. Because to my shock and horror, the person who walked into my room was my Uncle Andrew. 25

The moment I saw him I let out a cry of fear and began to back away from him, up against the wall. He was startled to see me too at first, but then a slow, malicious smile spread across his face. 26

" Well, we meet again, Adrianna,"he said. " We're going to have fun getting to know each other once more."27

He lunged at me and grabbed me, covering my mouth with one hand and reaching into his pocket with the other. I Fought back, kicking and thrashing, but then his hand withdrew a knife, and I stilled instantly. Whatever he wanted, whatever he told me to do, I'd do it. Maybe he'd spare my life. Maybe he'd let me off easy...28

But he didn't let me off easy. Everything he did to me when I lived with him he did again, with ten times as much violence and anger. He hurt me so badly, but I tried not to make a sound, not wanting to anger him, to give him reason to hurt me more. I wanted him to go away, to stop, to leave me alone in my pain...29

But then he began to stab me in the chest, the stomach, my breasts, and my legs. The pain was unbearable. I felt so terrifed, unable to stand the pain. I just wanted to die, to end my suffering forever.30

The last thing i ever saw was Uncle Andrew, standing up and wiping off his knife, the same evil grin on his face. My last coherent thought was I wouldn't even be mourned, that not a single person in the building even knew my real name...31