“No! I didn’t flee,” I insist. “I was scared and afraid.”
“Trials in Thailand are very quick. They usually last less than thirty minutes. The prosecutor in your case is ready. Your case is only six weeks away, but your lawyer asked for more time. The judge will probably grant a continuance if you need more time, but you’ll only get one more. You must act quickly. Do you have money to hire an investigator?”
“I don’t know. Christian has money. Did you talk to my parents?”
“I called your parents. I told them you were detained on drug charges and are being held at this facility. I gave them all the information to visit you. Of course, they’re upset. They confirmed that your father had a stroke. He isn’t doing well. I told them how desperately you need money for food and water. Your mother said they don’t have any money, but they’ll try to borrow some.”
Everything they said is true. After I left Ryan, I borrowed money from my parents to live on. I borrowed more money to pay my attorney right before the trial. They bought me a car when mine was repossessed. With the additional medical bills from my father’s stroke, they went through all their savings. They even borrowed money against their small house. I’ll be lucky if they can send money for food. There’s no way they can afford an investigator to travel to Bangkok and back to prove my innocence.
“Mike, I don’t know how I can pay an investigator. Did you call Sharon? She might be able to lend me some money.”
“Yeah, I spoke with her and explained your situation. She asked if she could talk to you on the phone, but I told her she has to come in person because you don’t have any phone access. When I told her the visitation periods are only twenty minutes, she said that she won’t be able to come. I asked her if she can give you some money. She said she can’t right now. She said that you barely knew this Christian guy, and you never should have left with him. She said she’ll try to write you.”
She’s the one person who swore she’d always be there for me. Now when I need her most, she can’t give a penny? “That figures,” I say.
“Ms. Brunick, I believe you. I really feel sorry for you. It’ll take a while to set up your account and get money in it. I’ll put fifty dollars in your account to get you through until your parents can help you. You can buy paper, envelopes, and stamps. You can also get decent food and clean drinking water. It should last a month or so if you’re careful. If you eat two or three good meals a week, you can survive and make it last even longer.”
I can’t believe this man would take money out of his own pocket to help a complete stranger. There are so few truly kind people in the world who are willing to help without getting something in return. His love and generosity are overwhelming. I put my head in my hands and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Thank you so much. You’re a very kind man.”
“Ms. Brunick you have to make it last.”
“I will.”
“How are you doing on exercising as we talked about?”
“There isn’t any room to exercise. I tried yoga a long time ago, but I don’t really remember it. Honestly, I thought I’d be leaving here soon.”
“Ms. Brunick you must find a way to exercise. It’s the key to your survival. I’ll leave you a book on yoga. Many prisoners swear by it.”
“Thank you. I’ll do it. I promise I will.”
“Very good. I’ve done just about all I can for you for now. I’ll check back on you in a few weeks to make sure you’re okay.”
“Thanks again, Mr. Sassen.”
I stand up and go back to my cage. This time I know what’s waiting for me around the corner. He’s right. Each time I’m strip-searched it gets a little easier. Squatting completely naked with my arms spread wide is now the least of my problems.
When I get back, I try to process what I’ve just heard. The airport video was supposed to prove my innocence. I was so afraid security would destroy the video to cover up their crime. Now I learn they have the video, and it proves they didn’t put the drugs in my suitcase?
There has to be an explanation for everything. Maybe the drugs were never in my suitcase. Maybe they slipped the drugs in my suitcase outside the view of the cameras. I can’t believe that Christian was smuggling drugs into the United States, and I got caught up in the middle of it all. Whatever happened, I know he’ll never leave me here. He’ll come back and get me out.
– CHAPTER 49 –
Outside the prison, I thought the years were flying by at the speed of light. Now the days go by so slow at times it feels like time has stopped completely. Some nights last forever. Night after night I must choose between my hopeless thoughts or my nightmares.
I’m now sure I won’t be going home any time soon. It’s all so maddening. There’s never a moment of silence—just endless chatter. The constant strip searches degrade and humiliate me. Day and night, the guards walk up and down the middle corridor running their club along the bars. Bang … bang … bang … bang … bang … bang. It’s like they’re intentionally trying to drive us crazy.
It’s almost impossible to sleep on this hard, sticky cement floor with two lights always shining in your face. The air is hot and humid in the summer with no air conditioning and only one working fan. I hear it’s freezing in the winter. I wake up all through the night because someone is kicking me or putting their smelly feet in my face. I have no hope in here. I’m treated worse than an animal at the zoo.
I don’t have to wait to see the person I’ll be if I don’t get out of here. My future is all around me. I think everyone’s just waiting to die. Suicide is everywhere. If a woman kills herself, they just leave the body as a lesson to other prisoners. One woman in our cell got her hands on a kitchen knife, and slit her own throat. Her lifeless body lay there as the blood drained from her body and slowly spread across the floor. We all yelled, and screamed, and banged on the bars for a guard. They didn’t even care.
She stayed right there on the floor until the next morning. Her face was white as a ghost. Her open eyes haunted everyone. It was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen. Sure, I’ve seen death on television or in movies, but seeing a lifeless, bloody body is so different when it’s real.
The helplessness is bad enough, but the hopelessness paralyzes you. I have to find a way to deal with my depression. I live with the constant desire to kill myself. Crying is completely useless. I was hoping I would be able to wash myself today, but I didn’t get close to the water trough. I haven’t washed in over a week. I sit on the ground and pull my knees against my chest, lower my head, and cover myself with my arms.
“Why God?” I cry out. “Why did you put me here? I know I’ve strayed. I know I haven’t always been the woman I should have been, but I don’t deserve this. No one deserves this. Please just take me. Take me now. I don’t want to live any longer.”
When I first arrived, I thought I must have been brought here for a reason—that God sent me here for a purpose. Now I know there is no reason. I’m no good to myself or anyone else. It’s all so senseless. I sit on the hard ground crying. I want some sign—a whisper, a thought, or a feeling. I’m looking for anything, but I hear and feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. Maybe God only talks to us once in our lifetime, and my one shot came in Central Park. Maybe God knew way back then that I would be here. Maybe he was trying to save me. God might send angels to save people from whales, and lions, and floods, and fires, but there are no angels in a Thai jail. It’s just me and seventy women crowded in a small, smelly room.
– CHAPTER 50 –
I see no way out of here. I remember Sassen’s words: “Set aside specific times every day for yoga, meditation, and physical exercise.” I know he’s right. I’m physically and mentally dying in here. If I don’t take his advice, I’ll die a slow, excruciating death or simply go crazy.
I have the book he left me. I show the pictures in the book to Mali, and explain how we must take care of our mind, body, and spirit. She’s still waiting for a job so she’s happy to do anyth
ing besides sit around all day. If we’re going to start our yoga sessions, we must first make a little room. Mali talks to the other women, and explains what we want to do. A few move over to give us a little space along the back wall. After everyone leaves for work, our yoga exercises begin.
On our first day, we rest the book on the floor and try to follow along. We begin with the simplest beginner yoga poses called “asanas”, like the downward facing dog, the plank, the triangle, the rising cobra, the tree, the warrior, the forward bend, and the bridge pose. At first, we’re clumsy and have a difficult time holding each pose as we look at the pages, mimic the pictures, and follow along the best we can. Every day, it gets a little easier. We’re able to stretch further, and add more asanas.
The first time I tried yoga, I wanted to tone my body, become more limber, and lose weight for my boyfriend. Now, losing weight is taking care of itself. All I’m trying to do is stay sane in this sadistic world I’m trapped in. I use my hand to block out the things I no longer want—the hurt, the pain, the loneliness, and depression—and push it into the ground beside my foot. I crush it and let it go. When I’m through with the bad, I then reach for the good things that fill me with peace and joy. This usually involves the things in my past life: my kids, my family, and my time painting.
For the first month after I arrived, all I did was cry. When I wasn’t crying I wanted to cry. Yoga actually helps. I use my breathing to slow down my heart rate, go to a place deep inside myself, and discover a calm even in this Thai prison. The book Mr. Sassen left includes meditation and the use of a gaze called “drishti.” It draws awareness, concentration, and intent to bring peace and quiet and self-awareness.
After we finish our yoga, we move into meditating. All talking and chatter stop. We are consumed by our internal examinations of mind and body. As our meditation intensifies, I’m able to leave this place—not physically but mentally and emotionally. I feel myself leave these steel doors and fly outside like an angel soaring over the city. I look at the sky, the sun, the grass, a river, or a calm lake. I see children playing, a bird singing, or the wind blowing through the leaves on a tree. Instead of this deep dark emotional hole, I’m able to mentally escape the hopelessness I’m drowning in. We finish each session lying face-up on our blankets in a state of relaxation and meditation called “Savasana.” This is where I receive energy and blessings and actually reduce my anxieties.
Mali and I start with one hour every day. After a week, we increase to an hour and a half and then two hours. Soon we’re bridging the time between breakfast and lunch or lunch and dinner, even though it feels like only ten or fifteen minutes have passed.
At first, it’s just Mali and me, but on our third day, another woman joins us, on the fifth day two more women join in, and soon we have eight women doing yoga every day. Our little group eventually increases from eight to twenty-one inmates. Everyone joins us except those who are working or are physically unable to participate. Prisoners in the cage across from us also join in. Somehow, even under the most impossible circumstances, I’m able to bring something good to this hopeless place.
Some inmates are so physically and psychologically ravaged that no one will even talk to them. They’re angry at what the world has done to them, so they come looking for the peace they see in us. Other inmates are mentally ill, schizophrenic, and antisocial. They come to quiet the voices that steal their peace of mind. It can be difficult when prisoners first join us. For many, it’s the first time they see their past and the hurt they’ve caused others without resistance or judgment. There are often days or even weeks of tears as so many years of denial slowly chip away.
Every day, before the final bell, I read my Bible and pray. I try the best I can to explain the Bible to Mali, but it’s hard when I don’t understand it myself. I read at least three verses a day, and she listens even though she doesn’t understand all the words. Through yoga, prayer, and meditation we’re able to deal with our depression and anger. As impossible as it might seem, when I finally get out of here, I want to leave a better person than I was when I arrived. I want to do something to help other women. Maybe I’ll teach yoga.
The fifth of November is a day I’ll never forget. I’ve been here for six weeks, and I’m just starting to give up on Christian ever coming back to save me. I believed in him, but now I’m coming to grips with the reality that he used me to smuggle drugs out of the country. He left me to die in this place. I loved him, and I want to believe he’d never do this to me, but that seems so foolish now. Just when I’ve come to accept I was nothing more than a “mule”, the guard comes to my cell and tells me I have a visitor. I go back to the visitation room ready to see Mr. Sassen from the U.S. Embassy, yet it’s not him. Instead of Mr. Sassen, I come face to face with the man I once thought was the love of my life.
– CHAPTER 51 –
The man staring right back at me is the man I thought I never wanted to see again. He’s dressed in blue slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a blue sports coat. He’s nicely groomed with not a hair out of place. I stand in front of him looking as bad as I ever have. He, on the other hand, has never looked better. I’ve never been more shocked and I’m sure he can see it written on my face.
“Hi Faith,” he begins after I sit down, just as sweet and contrite as I’ve ever known him.
The person in front of me isn’t Christian; it’s Ryan sitting on the other side of the thick, dirty glass! I have no idea why he came. He must be here just to see me at my lowest. I haven’t washed my hair in weeks. I’ve only bathed twice—if you can call it a bath. I have chains on my legs and I can’t even brush my hair. I don’t really know what to say. I almost get up and walk out without saying anything.
Be calm and don’t act on emotions.
I close my eyes, lower my head. “Ryan, what the hell are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” he repeats. “I came as soon as I found out.”
I look up sharply. “How did you find out?”
“From your parents.”
This makes no sense. “My parents?” I ask, looking like I don’t believe him.
“When you didn’t pick up the kids, I had no idea what had happened. I thought you were hurt or something. Your mom and dad called to talk to the kids, so I got on the phone. I told them I hadn’t seen you in a couple of weeks, and I didn’t know where you were. They didn’t want to say anything, but I begged them to tell me. They said they spoke to a man from the U.S. Consulate. They didn’t know everything but they knew you were in a jail in Thailand. I’ve spent weeks trying to find you.”
“Why Ryan?” I ask, shaking my head and spreading my arms. “Why did you come? Does it make you happy to see that I screwed up my life so bad?”
“Why did I come? How can you ask that? You’re the mother of my children. You’ll always be the mother of my children. No, it doesn’t make me happy.”
His words are hard to take. “Ryan,” I say, starting to cry for the first time in a week, “I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of. I would never try to sell drugs.”
“I know Faith. I’ve known you since you were just a girl. I know you’d never do something like that.”
I can’t believe this is happening. I put my head in my hands and cry so hard I can’t talk. When I look back up at the glass, I see his eyes are red and filled with tears. The sight of him so emotional makes me cry even more. I’m unable to say anything so Ryan finally breaks the silence.
“What happened Faith?”
“I don’t know what to say because I don’t know how it all happened. I came to Thailand with my boyfriend … a man I thought was my boyfriend. He said he had a big contract here in Thailand to build roads or something. We went to an incredible resort. When I left to go back to Austin, he stayed in Bangkok to take care of business. He drove me to the airport and dropped me off. When I went through security, they grabbed me. They took me out of line, and found heroin inside my suitcase.”
“How
… how did it get there?”
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. I thought it was a random drug search. The security guards were angry because I resisted. I just knew they planted the drugs in my bag, but a man from the U.S. Embassy came and visited me. He said the airport got a call, a tipoff, that I was carrying drugs. He said he watched the video and nothing was planted in my bags.”
“So your boyfriend did it?”
“No!” I say in disbelief. “I mean I don’t know. I didn’t want to believe it, but now my boyfriend, I mean the man who brought me here, is gone and his phone is cut off. The man from the Embassy says there’s no contract, and Christian has no company doing business in Thailand.”
“So is this guy from the Embassy helping you?”
“He’s been a big help. Before he came, I had no idea what was going on, but he says he’s done all he can for me. He says I need to hire an investigator or something.”
“Faith, this is crazy,” Ryan says, shaking his head with his hand on his forehead.
“I know it’s crazy, but you have to believe me when I tell you I didn’t do it.”
We briefly sit in silence until he continues. “Faith, what are you going to do? You have to find this guy?”
“I know, but I just don’t know how. There’s no phone here, no Internet … nothing. I’ve written my parents, but they can’t help. I’ve written Sharon, but she doesn’t respond.”
“Faith, your dad’s not doing good.”
“I know, I know.”
“Your parents are talking about selling their home to help you. I told them I’d come and find out what’s going on. You have to tell me everything about this guy. I’m going to get you—”
“I can’t,” I say, cutting him off. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Faith, I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
“What?!” I stare at him in disbelief. After everything we’ve been through, he still loves me?
The Killing of Faith: A Suspense Thriller You Won't Soon Forget. (The Killing of Faith Series Book 1) Page 27
