Among the Shrouded, page 16
They passed through the den where Chelsea was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by paperwork. She introduced them to one another and then she and Thomas retreated into her bedroom where they could speak privately.
“I can’t believe the men were just talking openly about the trafficking at the restaurant,” she said to him as she threw herself across her bed.
“You’d be surprise what people feel is appropriate to discuss when they think no one’s listening. I could go on for hours,” he replied.
“So tell me about the men,” she said. “What did they look like?”
“They were all well-dressed. Business casual I guess. Slacks, oxford shirts, expensive shoes… you know the type. They all looked pretty generic. One of them had a mustache and one had a scar on his temple that looked like it was a pretty bad gash at one point. Another guy wore glasses. They were thick rimmed, hipster-like. They all had brown hair with modern cuts, styled well. I’d say the youngest was in his early thirties and the oldest was in his late forties.”
“Could you pick them out of a lineup?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Good. So tell me what they said.”
“They were talking about different groups of women and how there were three new Ukrainian women in one of the groups. Apparently one of the girls sold for five thousand dollars last night. The guys were vile and made my skin crawl. I don’t know how you surround yourself with people like them every day, Mia.”
“It takes its toll sometimes,” she replied. “What you heard helps to confirm the woman’s story. It seems we have a thriving trafficking ring set up here in the city. Maybe I can get you in to see the sketch artist at the station and have her get their faces on paper. And meanwhile, we can search here at home through the police database for photos of known sex offenders. Maybe we’ll get lucky and one or two of them will already be in the system.”
“I can do better than that,” he said.
“How?”
“I have two of their names.”
“That’s amazing. How’d you do that?”
“I checked the reservation list and their party was listed under the name Wayne Brookins. One of the other guys paid and I checked the credit card. The name on the card was Frank Guthry.”
She threw herself on top of him and pressed her lips firmly against his, nearly knocking the back of his head into the wall.
“You. Are. Amazing,” she said, backing herself out of his lap. “Have you ever considered detective work?”
“No. Never,” he replied, still recovering from her display of unbridled emotion.
“Come on,” she said, picking up the laptop which was on the floor in the corner of her room. “Let’s see if we can find these bastards.”
She quickly booted up the computer and logged in remotely to the precinct’s database. She entered the names of the men Thomas provided and within seconds, Wayne Brookins appeared before them.
“That’s him!” he exclaimed. “That’s the guy with the scar!”
She read his file aloud. “Wayne Reginald Brookins, born July 18, 1971 in Gaithersburg, Maryland. He’s got a string of solicitation citations as well as a battery charge that was dropped. He has two handguns registered in his name. And his last known address is in Owings Mills.”
“Can you look it up?”
“Yeah, hang on…” She paused, waiting for the map program to upload the address. “Here it is.”
“Big place.”
“Big place.”
Neither of them spoke for several minutes as she tried unsuccessfully to acquire any additional information about the man. Finally, she turned off the computer, knowing the machine would never provide her with the evidence she was seeking. She knew there was only one way to get what she wanted.
“I need to see him,” she said finally.
“That’s him right there on the screen. I already told you that,” said Thomas.
“No. I need to see him with my own eyes. Not a photo. Him. In person.”
“Is this about his aura?” he asked.
She nodded. “I have to see it. I know what the reports say, but I still want to see for myself. I need to know what we’re dealing with and the only way to do that is to see the condition of his soul.”
“I can keep my eyes open at Belinda’s and let you know if he shows up again,” he offered.
“No. I don’t want to be passive. I have to be proactive. I want to go to his house.”
“Are you nuts?” he exclaimed.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But I feel like we might be onto something big here and before I go to my father with it, I need to have something more to go on than heresay from my boyfriend. No offense,” she said, turning to him.
“I’m not offended by the term boyfriend,” he said grinning.
“Thomas!” she said, punching him in the arm, “be serious!”
“I am serious,” he said. “And I don’t like the idea of you going to that guy’s house.”
“I thought you were the one who was always ‘cautiously optimistic.’”
“I’m not at all optimistic about this. The idea of tracking down this guy makes me… whatever the opposite of optimistic is.”
“Pessimistic?” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Very pessimistic.”
“Then come with me.”
“What am I going to do? I’m a pianist and a bus boy. I don’t have a lot of training for this sort of thing.”
“You don’t need any training. You can just be my back up.”
“Don’t you have a partner for this sort of thing?” he asked.
“Yes. But he hasn’t seen the guy before and you have. I could use you there to identify him.”
Although he hesitated, she could see the lines on his face softening. “Fine. I’ll come with you. But only because I can’t stand the thought of not coming with you. For the record, it’s against my better judgment.”
“I heard. You’re pessimistic. Duly noted.”
“So what’s your plan?” he asked.
“Plain clothes stake out,” she replied.
“Not happening.”
“Come on. It’ll be fine. Tonight, after dark, we’ll drive to his house and park down the street. We’ll see what we can see. If he’s there, great. Hopefully I’ll get a look at him. If not, then we can go back another time or try some other route. Okay?”
“Okay,” Thomas relented.
“What should we do until then?” she asked.
“I have lots of ideas,” he murmured, pulling her into his lap and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.
She felt every nerve inside her body ignite at his touch. She wanted nothing more than to spend the remainder of the afternoon holed up with him, exploring every inch of his aura-less physique, but she hesitated. “Not with Chelsea in the other room. I can’t. It feels weird.”
“Okay. I completely understand,” he replied, holding her at arm’s length. “But if that’s the case, you’re gonna have to keep your distance because I may not be able to control myself.”
“Got it. And the same goes for you,” she said, poking the tip of his nose with her finger.
“It’s a deal.” He stood up and extended his hand to help her up from the bed. “Since we’ve officially succumbed to middle school dance rules, how about dinner? I make a terrific chicken marsala.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll help,” she said, taking his hand and following him out of the bedroom.
They invited Chelsea to join them for dinner but she informed them she was preparing for a special dinner of her own and that Tyler was taking her to the restaurant where they’d had their first date. She assumed Tyler would be presenting Chelsea with the ring they’d picked out together earlier in the week. It was a bittersweet feeling as she hugged her friend goodbye and watched her walk out the door.
As they entered the kitchen, she hoisted herself onto the counter and watched as Thomas picked through the contents of her pantry to find the ingredients he was looking for. She was impressed by the ease at which he moved around the space. He didn’t use a single measuring cup and instead threw, what appeared to be random foods, into the bowl. She stood in awe of him and was beginning to wonder if there was anything he couldn’t do.
“How can I help?” she asked, as he was stirring the sauce.
“Do you have any vegetables we can put with this for a side? Like green beans or broccoli or salad?”
“Maybe,” she replied. She began digging through the refrigerator and found half a head of lettuce and two zucchini. “Here’s what we’ve got,” she said, holding up the vegetables.
“If you slice up the zucchini, we can roast them in the oven.”
“Okay,” she said, pulling a knife from the drawer. “How’d you learn to do all this?”
“All what?”
“The cooking stuff?”
“Mildred is a wonderful cook. Before Dad died, we had a lot more time and money and she would make the most delicious meals. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen watching her. You wouldn’t believe how much weight I gained when I came to live with them,” he laughed.
“For not having a biological mother, you’ve sure learned a lot from the women in your life,” she commented.
She watched as he stopped stirring the sauce and lifted his head to study her from across the room. “I’ve never really thought about it before, but I guess I have. I like to think I’m still learning from the women in my life,” he said, smiling at her. “What about you, did your mother teach you to cook growing up?”
“No. My mom left when I was eight,” she replied, matter of factly.
“Oh, Mia. I’m sorry. How did I not know that?”
“I guess it just hasn’t come up,” she replied. He looked at her apologetically. “It’s okay,” she said, hoping to brush aside the awkwardness of the moment. “It was a long time ago.”
He placed the chicken dish and the sliced zucchini into the oven and joined her at the counter. “Is it okay if I ask you what happened?” he said, brushing a lock of hair from in front of her eyes.
“Yeah. Of course.” She paused, considering Thomas and the most straightforward way to answer his question. “It was me, I think. I happened. I don’t think she could handle my… eccentricities. On top of that, Dad was gone all the time, at the station, working weird hours all day and night. One day after school, I came home and she was gone.”
“Gone forever?”
“Yeah. Gone forever. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No. To be honest, I haven’t looked for her.”
He turned to her and wrapped her in his arms. She laid her head against his chest and realized all at once just how grateful she was to have shared her truth with him. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, being held by a man she barely knew, she felt whole. Not that he was some illusive missing piece that finally completed her, but instead, that he had unknowingly helped to put her own disheveled pieces back together.
It was a humbling admission.
“I guess that makes us kindred spirits in a way, since we were both abandoned by our mothers,” he said at last.
“I was lucky enough to have my dad though.”
“That’s true. And now you have me too.”
“And you have me.”
“That I do,” he replied.
CHAPTER
28
KATE
On the day after the auction, something amazing happened to the fourteen women imprisoned in the basement of the warehouse. They allowed Kate’s hope to spread like an evening fog among them.
“Do you want to know about what is going to happen?” a tiny Chinese woman named Wan asked her as they readied themselves for the arrival of their captors.
“No,” she said reluctantly. “Unless there’s something you can tell me that will make it better.”
“Close your eyes,” called a woman named Uma from the far end of the hall.
“Think about something else,” said Svetlana. “Think about something peaceful, like a sunset.”
“Or picking flowers.”
“Or petting a cat.”
“I feel sorry for them,” whispered a woman three cells down from her.
“Why would you feel sorry for them?” Anya asked.
“They don’t understand what it means to love. And I do. No matter what, that makes me stronger than they are.”
“You’re right,” she said as she zipped up the slinky dress that had been delivered to her cell earlier in the day. “We are all stronger than they are because we have loved.”
“And been loved,” called another.
“I don’t feel strong anymore,” said a small voice she had never heard before. “They treat us like animals. Like we aren’t even human. Most days, I don’t even feel like I deserve to be alive. So how can you speak of hope when you have not yet felt the power of their hatred?”
She hesitated, unable to formulate a plausible response to the woman’s pain. She realized, of course, the girl was right. She had been caged and starved, but she had not yet been brutalized. That would change in a matter of hours.
“You are absolutely right,” she said. “But will you consider this? Tomorrow, after I have withstood the same horrors you have experienced, if my hope remains, will you let me help you remember that you are more than what they say you are?”
The cell block was silent. No one dared to move. She held her breath and felt as if the well-being of the entire group hinged upon this one woman’s response.
“He will steal your soul tonight,” the girl said at last.
“Maybe he will,” she relented. “And so what should I do tomorrow?”
No one spoke.
“Tomorrow,” she said finally, “I will take it back.”
With that, the ominous door hinges alerted the women to their keepers’ arrival. Within seconds, the man in the red sweatshirt and his lackey appeared, their side arms holstered visibly on their hips.
“Showtime, Ladies,” he called. “You know the drill.”
She watched as all of the women down the line turned their backs toward their cell doors. Her heart broke for each of them. And as she listened to Lera and Anya being bound, she tried concentrating on a way out of her situation, but her fear was too great and it overshadowed any attempt at rational thought.
Unlike previous occasions, when the women had been transported en masse by van, tonight, as they reached the top of the stairs, several large black town cars were parked inside the warehouse. Two by two, the women were loaded into the cars, but not before their bindings were secured and blindfolds were put in place.
Lera was taken from her side and as she was led away, Kate called to her in Ukrainian, “Remember you are loved.” For her disobedience, she was kicked in the back of her calves, causing her to stumble forward and fall to her knees. She hastily returned to her feet and allowed Svetlana to lead her into their waiting car.
The women were silent on the drive to wherever it was they were being taken. She could think of nothing to say that would make either one of them feel any better about what awaited them at the end of the journey. When the car finally came to a stop, the women were led, still bound and blindfolded, through what sounded like an underground parking garage. Her ill-fitting stilettos echoed loudly indicating the walls around her were made of concrete and the ceiling was quite low. The sound of a small bell and mechanical equipment led her to believe she was being taken into an elevator. Once inside, she relished the sensation of being lifted into space. She imagined that she was rising above herself. Above her captors. Above the hell into which she was about to descend.
When the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open, she was led a short distance before being taken into a room and given her instructions. She was told to stay put and do whatever was asked of her. Someone would return for her at the end of the night.
Her blindfold was removed but by the time her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness and she turned to face her escort, she found that he was gone and she was alone, standing in the center of a lavishly decorated bedroom. She was disappointed to feel that her hands were still bound.
She took advantage of the fact that Mr. V had not yet arrived and quickly surveyed her surroundings. Although it was divided into several more intimate spaces, the room itself was larger than her family’s entire apartment. There was a dressing area housing a tall wardrobe and closet to her left. A small refrigerator and bar stood in the far corner of the room. Behind her was a bathroom as well as a door she assumed was an exit. Without hesitation, she hurried to the door and tried awkwardly to turn the handle with her still-bound hands. Of course, as she had expected, the door was locked from the outside in.
Discouraged but not defeated, she continued to scan the room and noticed there was a large window on the opposite side of the room. The draperies were tightly drawn and she was unable to see outside. She contemplated moving the curtains aside to see if the window would provide a means of escape, but before she could move, she heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the door.
She turned just in time to see Mr. V walking through the door.
She recoiled, taking several steps back and running her legs into the side rail of the bed, bruising her already painful calf.
“Yekaterina, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Mr. V in a voice that made her skin crawl. She watched as he carefully removed his overcoat and laid it on the pants rack beside the wardrobe.
She held her breath, trying desperately to think of something she could say which would convince the man she was undeserving of whatever his intentions were for her. Her mouth was dry and she was unable to speak.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said soothingly as he walked across the room in her direction. “This can be a wonderful experience for us both. I am really hoping it will be.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said finally, surprising herself with her boldness.
“Ah. She speaks. Well, I am glad you aren’t afraid. That’s good because I have quite an evening planned for us,” he said, removing his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. “What shall we do first?”
