Who's Who of Horrors: An A-Z of Loathsome Lives

But then Pop was always full of shit. This guy had gentle brown eyes, a sensitive face. Cindy liked him instinctively. She started to stagger towards the van, and he jumped out and ran to her, held her. "Christ," he said in horror, "you're hurt. Want me to take you to a hospital?" "No," Cindy sobbed, "it's not that bad. I was raped, but-but all I want is to get away from this place. I want to get to Los Angeles, to my mother." He lifted her into his arms. "That's where I'm going," he said, "L.A. You can sleep in the van. Just relax, don't worry. You're okay now. You're okay…" Cindy vaguely remembered him laying her down on a mattress in the back of the van, covering her with blankets. She slept soundly all night, and it wasn't till the next day that she got to know Pancho. He called himself Pancho, though he was obviously not a Chicano. He was just a pleasant average American young man who'd decided to drop out. He lived in a commune in Los Angeles where all the members worked at some craft and pooled their money for food and rent ...»