Evil vs. the Angels of Stony Island
by Jim Heaney

I looked over my shoulder at the guy, who were yelling at me to hurry. I walked closer to him and took the ball from his hand.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.
“No.” “After the game, why don’t you stop by for a pop?”
“I can’t,” I said, and tore back to the field, ball in hand. As I ran, I thought about the pop.
I also wondered—had he been watching me?

THE NEXT WEDNESDAY the paper route came around again, and Larry was waiting for me again, offering me a pop again. He waited every Wednesday, always with pop, or candy, or something else I would like. eventually, I started to trust him. He became my special friend, so special that I didn’t want to share him with anyone. He was my secret.
One Wednesday he invited me into his house to look at his fish. By now I was no longer afraid of him. I probably still had a chance to run, but I no longer thought about it. That’s why he knew I’d come into the house. I didn’t know he was going to hurt me. I was still free of the agony that was about to begin. Wednesday was paper day, and also the big day Larry had been preparing for. you see, Larry was a child molester. It was what he did. A painter paints, a doctor doctors, a policeman polices, and a child molester molests children. And Larry’s day for molesting was Wednesday. Trusting, I went inside Larry’s house with him. What happened there changed my life forever.
So now you know my sickness. Watching, making contact, gathering information, securing trust—and when all that is achieved, I sexually assault children, reducing their thinking to a screeching tremor while their bodies shiver with pleasure.
Sure, I know the consequences. It happened to me. Once I was young, full of promise, but there was a man who was my teacher…I’m only pass‑ ing on what I learned.
Besides, being my special friend means he gets treated better than he does at home. And I’m pretty sure he won’t tell on me.
His mother drinks. His father works twelve hours a day in a can factory. Jimmy’s just another kid who needs someone to care about him, and that person is going to be me.
I don’t care about the nun and her precious crucifix that she shoves in my face as if I were a vampire. She won’t be able to prove a thing! None of them can. I know. A molester has to be caught in the act or it’s too hard to prove. The child would have to testify in court and the parents don’t want to deal with it. Everyone decides to forget all about it and go home.
Sex with a child is horrific for the child but a lot of fun for me. Kids feel a combination of trauma and pleasure and this confuses them. They think it’s all their fault. It’s evil because it shocks their psyche forever…but I want Jimmy real bad and if I put out the twinkle in his eye, too bad.
And if there’s a chance of me getting caught, he’ll disappear and never be found.
I think about Little Jimmy all the time. Who knows, he might like it and come back for more. That’s what I’m praying for!



AS SOON AS I LEFT LARRY’S HOUSE, I tried to figure a way to get out of my paper route. I was scared. I needed to survive this and I didn’t intend to go anywhere near Larry the Monster’s house ever again.
Time played a cruel trick on me that week. It was like sit- ting in school watching the clock, only to have the clock stand still until the end of the school day. The minute you walk out the door, time goes so fast it’s a blur. The week after that awful Wednesday time behaved like it was after school—the week flew by because I didn’t want it to. every day I became more afraid of the approaching Wednesday.

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