Across the Deep

by Lisa McGuinness

  He lifted her and then gagged as the smell of her was too strong to ignore. The blanket fell away, and foggy air blew against her. Frigid and damp, she both couldn’t get enough of its freshness and wanted it to stop because it was painfully cold against her skin. This air smelled different from what she was used to—sharp like exhaust and something tangy. Where was she?

  Through her haze, she saw that they were on a narrow wooden stairway that creaked with each step the man took. Held tight in his arms, Suda felt helpless. As they ascended, the expanse of crisp white walls was broken by a series of large black-and-white photographs of flowers. The focus was close, showing the speckles of nectar on the petals of one and raindrops on another. The peacefulness of the photos lured her in, and she wished she could stop and look more closely—but they went by quickly as each step carried them to the next level of the building. Against her will, her eyelids dipped closed again until loud rapping knuckles jerked her awake. The closed door in front of them was the green color of a young mango, waiting to ripen. Her stomach growled at the thought. A woman, young, with pale skin and hair the color of teak wood opened the door just enough to peek out. The woman’s eyes were light green with a yellowish iris circling her pupils. Her face registered shock—or maybe it was horror—at seeing the two of them on her on her doorstep.

  Still, she threw open the door to let them in, and even in Suda’s weakened state, she thought she saw the woman’s expression change from caution to compassion before she pressed her forearm against the lower half of her face to shield herself from the smell.

  “What’s going on? My God, what’s happened?” Simone instinctively whispered. She recognized the man as a regular customer from the bakery on the bottom floor of her building.

  “I’m sorry to show up like this,” the man began and held out his hand while still supporting Suda with his arms. “I’m Chai,” he introduced himself and began explaining even as he cautiously pushed past her, gently barging into the room as if he’d been there many times. “I can’t take her to the hospital or to the police. I’ll explain later. For now, I need you to try to get her hydrated and fed—not too much, something easy to digest or she’ll vomit—and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Simone’s eyes widened, but she found herself immediately moving forward to help the limp, filthy girl. Her fingers brushed the phone in her back pocket, checking to make sure it was there in case she needed to call for help.

  “I’m not the one who hurt her,” he said reading her look. “I’m trying to save her.”

  “Here,” Simone grabbed a throw blanket and laid it across her couch. “Set her here,” she was frowning at him but wasn’t willing to tell him to leave when a young girl’s life was clearly in the balance.

  He gently laid the emaciated girl onto Simone’s couch. “Here’s the thing, Simone. I know this is a safe house. And I know you can handle this.”

  “I’ve never told you that,” she replied guardedly. “How do you even know my name? What makes you think this is a safe house?” She gave him a blank, noncommittal stare, but her eyes darted to the door as her mind immediately began calculating whether this man posed a risk to the other girls who were staying there.

  He had been a regular customer at Hope Bakery for some time, but aside from general pleasantries while Simone made him a latte or bagged a croissant, they’d never even crossed paths. Simone guessed the man was a police officer or a detective or something with the San Francisco PD because he sometimes wore a badge on a chain around his neck, but that wouldn’t make him privy to the fact that this was a safe house; would it?

  “I know this seems crazy, and I’m sorry to drag you into it.” He spoke rapidly. “As I said, my name is Chai. Chai Swatangsatian. I’m police … undercover. I can’t get into what’s going on right now. I’ve got to go, or I’m going to be in a bad situation. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes,” Simone waved her hand as if shooing him out the door. She could make a good guess because by now, she’d heard pretty much everything in the book when it came to undercover police and prostituted women. “Go.” Her eyes moved toward the door.

  He hesitated at the door.

  “Go,” Simone repeated more emphatically than the first time. “I’ll take care of her, but come back as soon as possible. It looks like she needs a doctor.” She hoped she wouldn’t regret taking him at his word.

  “If you think she’s worse than I suspect, take her to the hospital, and I’ll worry about the consequences later. We can’t let her die when was she clearly so determined to stay alive.”

  “Got it,” she was already moving to the sink, wetting a cloth and filling a glass with water.

  The front door clicked closed, and Simone paused for a moment, thoughts reeling. Just a few minutes earlier, she’d been binge-watching The Great British Baking Show, and now she had an extremely needy girl laying on her couch. Her days of rescuing girls off the street had ended years ago. Now it was mostly official placements from either social services or even the FBI, if young women had been moved across state lines.

  Her eyes took in the emaciated young women, and she shook her head, a cross between heartbreak and fury rising in her chest.

  Suda

  Earlier, Chiang Rai, Thailand

  Warm night air sat heavy and stifling in the small room. Loud, pervasive inescapable music thrummed, as it had all evening, even into Suda’s sleep. Her stomach ached with hunger, yet the very thought of food sent waves of nausea through her. Wafts of lemon grass, garlic, and too many people in a humid room choked the air, and her breath felt stifling and tight.

  Young men, old men, foreign men, cologned men, unwashed men, an occasional woman.

  It hurt between her legs. Her small breasts were bruised. The back of her head throbbed because the last man had repeatedly banged it against the wall when he was done with her, just because that’s what he liked to do.

  But it didn’t matter as much as it used to. She met the eyes of the men in the bar with an alluring look. At least that’s what she always tried for because she knew it would go better for her if the boss, Gan, thought she was putting in effort. If he saw her looking away or trying to disappear into the corner, she paid for it later. But, really, either way was bad. Just a different flavor of bad.

  Suda was fairly certain she was fourteen when she had started at the karaoke, but she couldn’t be sure. She had been born in the hill country where documentation was sparse at best. Small, skinny, and underdeveloped, she had looked more like she was about ten. And that, in turn, made her more valuable to the men who liked the girls young.

  Four years had passed since she had come to the karaoke, and she was used to the routine. At the moment, she was a little bit drunk, which helped. She both hoped and feared being chosen. The small amount she earned helped keep her brother alive, and at least that was something.

  Suda despised the word karaoke. For Americans, she now knew, the word brought to mind funny drunken singing, but in Thailand the word karaoke was a code word for brothel. More often than not, that brothel was a dingy one.

  She smiled at the men in the bar but felt the weight of weariness inside at the thought of her body being used again. A bleak sense of hopelessness ached in her very core. She was a commodity, nothing more, and certainly less valuable than the wallets and iPhones she observed the clients so carefully guarding.

  Her tired eyes took in the grimy linoleum floor. Cigarette smoke had gradually stained both the walls and the floors a sickly nicotine brown. Loud music pressed in on her from all sides; raucous talking and a brash clinking of barware created a din in her mind.

  She saw Aanwat, the young man who helped the boss, subtly frown and then accept money from one of her regulars. He turned and met her eyes, an unspoken apology held deep within his own as he nodded to her. She stiffened at the thought of what that particular man would want from her. U
sually with men, she could imagine she was somewhere else, but with this one, the mental escape was more difficult because he liked to bring her back to the moment by inflicting pain.

  When Suda was a young girl, her family had taken a trip to a beautiful botanical garden. She often thought of those colorful flowers and of the small, red bridge that had delicate gold swirls etched into the rail as this particular regular, with his protruding belly and brown teeth, did with her what he wanted. The garden had an entire section devoted to orchids, and she loved those flowers the best of all. Some had seemed to grow straight out of trees, the small white blooms peppering the foliage with their elegance. There were pretend tuk tuks—small motorized vehicles—decorated with bright blooms. She could almost feel her mother’s touch as she had lifted her onto the seat of one, and she laughed with delight at her little girl surrounded by flowers—her dark hair shining in the sun. Images of her mother’s smile and of her brother joyfully running across the expansive lawn exploded into the moment, and she smiled at the memory.

  “You like that; do you, baby?” the man asked, mistaking her smile at the memory for a smile of pleasure. It didn’t matter. She didn’t understand him because he spoke another language and the syllables he uttered sounded unintelligible to her. She nodded in an effort to hurry him along.

  And then her reverie shattered as he touched the searing tip of his cigarette against the back of her knees. She braced herself and sucked in her breath, but held her scream. That would have given him what he really wanted. More than sex, he derived pleasure from her pain. He wanted evidence of the agony he inflicted, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. Her pain was the one thing she kept for herself.

  A sense of deep separation from the world crept into her heart. She was no one. She was lost.

  “I’ll be back for you in an hour,” Aanwat had whispered to her when he had shown the man to the door of her tiny bedroom.

  She would try to stay alive that long. After all, what else was there for her to do? Her hope for salvation had died a long time ago.

  “Do you think you can bring some dumplings for me when you return?” she had asked him under her breath as the door was closing between them. The sweet dumplings were the only food she could stomach anymore, and she was so very hungry.

  The men and occasional women who visited the karaoke sometimes bought her food so they could feel as if they were all friends out for fun, but eating their offerings hurt too much because the little dishes they ordered tasted of despair on her tongue.

  “I’ll try my best,” he had whispered, giving her a sad smile to show his regret at bringing that particular man to her room. She knew he would do what he could to smuggle the dumplings to her, but Aanwat couldn’t always do so without calling attention to himself by giving her preferential treatment. Gan didn’t tolerate Aanwat being soft with any of the girls.

  Aanwat

  Aanwat laid back on the bed and stared at the hotel room ceiling. For the first time in years, he deeply craved heroin. It might not solve his problems, he reflected, but then at least he wouldn’t care.

  He thought back to the opium poppy farm where he had grown up. His entire village had been in the heroin business, and most everyone was using—even the children. The parents started them young to keep them complacent. He could see the faces of each of his siblings as they had been then. He was one of seven, and all but he and two other brothers were already dead. And those two were so deep into the drug trade that even he was afraid of them.

  He sighed at the memory of his parents. Both were addicts, and he hated them. He hated all of it. He left in horror after his six-year-old sister overdosed. Even at thirteen, he had known he had to get away or he would be next. It had been difficult to get through those early days without the feeling heroin gave him. His body had itched all over from the withdrawal, and he had been sorely tempted to go back, but at that point, his poverty saved him. Because he had no money in his pockets either to get back home or to spend on drugs, he went through withdrawal alone on the streets.

  He’d had a hard time finding a job, not only because he was a skinny, undernourished kid but also because helping on the farm wasn’t a skill needed in the city of Chiang Rai. He spent more than a few nights hunched down in doorways, trying to remain out of sight. Then Gan found him sleeping outside of the karaoke one morning, and his troubles were over. Gan put him to work.

  Aanwat pictured himself then, a scrawny kid, sweeping the floor and doing dishes. He’d been proud though. He had work. He earned some money, and pretty soon Gan let him sleep inside at night. And there were girls. Beautiful girls to watch. He didn’t dare speak to them then. Their faces were prettier than any he’d seen. They wore make up and fancy clothes. They got to sit at tables and drink and eat with customers who came in. They sometimes danced on a small stage so men could see them and choose the one they wanted. Aanwat liked to take a surreptitious peek at them then. He would pretend he could choose one as well.

  By the time he was eighteen, he’d moved from sweeping the floor to bigger and better things. Not only did he get to run errands for Gan, he got to negotiate the price with the customers who wanted to go with one of the girls. Over the years, he had come to recognize the regulars. And the girls openly talked about what the different men wanted from them. So, Aanwat knew when the men came to him for a price if he should charge extra for the kind of thing they liked. Not that it helped the girls, but Gan would get more for what they wanted.

  Then one day in walked Suda. Well, walked in, he reminded himself, wasn’t really the right way to put it. Gan had her firmly by the upper arm, but her feet were two paces behind, so she came in, but anyone could see that it was not what she wanted. And there was a sadness hiding behind her determinedly blank expression. He couldn’t tell how old she was, but he could see that she was younger than most. She looked scrawny just like he had when he’d arrived. He guessed her to be around thirteen or fourteen. She was lovely even then, and he knew they’d get a high price for her first night. He realized he didn’t like the thought.

  The other girls had already been working when he’d arrived, and he hadn’t really given their lives before they’d been there any consideration. He’d been happy to be able to work near them with their fancy high heels and short skirts. But Gan had been talking about needing more variety. Someone younger for the men who liked that. And it looked like he had found what he wanted.

  “What’s her story?” Aanwat had asked.

  “Aunt needed some money,” was all Gan said.

  “Where’s she from?”

  “A hill tribe. Doesn’t matter which one; they’re all the same to me.”

  Aanwat clenched his jaw to make sure he didn’t utter a word in response. Gan knew well enough that Aanwat, too, was from a hill tribe.

  “How old is she?”

  “No papers. She doesn’t even know. Old enough, though, I’d say.”

  Aanwat looked down at the floor.

  “She looks pretty young. Are you going to wait a while?”

  Gan laughed and then said, “I need a return on my investment.”

  It was four in the afternoon when Suda had been brought in, and a few girls were milling around, having a drink before the evening got going.

  “Nah Sa,” Gan snapped at the one who made the most money for them. “Come.” He waved her over. She got up and walked to them, looking curiously at Suda.

  “What do we have here?” she asked.

  “She’s new,” Gan gestured toward Suda, looking at her appraisingly. “She’s skinny, and her clothes are ugly. Get her cleaned up.”

  Aanwat watched the new girl, and he noticed a tear slide down the corner of her eye.

  “No crying, girl,” Gan snapped at her. “You’re lucky to be here. And you’ll do what we say, or you’ll be beaten so badly you’ll wish you were dead.”

  Aanwat looke
d up at Gan.

  Suda’s eyes went wide, and Nah Sa took her hand. “Come,” she said. “I’ll get some clothes for you.”

  Aanwat’s eyes followed them to the door that led upstairs. “How much should I ask for her?” he asked.

  “I’ll negotiate this one,” Gan told him. “I have someone in mind.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s none of your business, who. You just need to make sure the bar is full and there are plenty of drinks on hand.”

  Aanwat went about his business with one eye riveted to the door, waiting for Nah Sa and the new one to walk back through. When they finally did, he could tell from the young girl’s puffy face and red eyes that she had been crying. She was so small, she looked like a child to him. Her long hair had been taken out of the braid she’d been wearing when she’d arrived. It now hung below her shoulders and was curled at the ends. Her skinny legs were exposed below the miniskirt she now wore, and the tight top she had on allowed the eye to see that she had barely developed breasts. Her tiny feet were in high heels, and her instability revealed that she was not accustomed to walking in them. Her eyes were rimmed in eyeliner, and Na Sa had colored her lips a shade too red for her young face, making her look like an overly painted doll.

  Nah Sa presented Suda to Gan, and Aanwat heard him question Nah Sa about her.

  “Did you tell her what to expect?”

  “Yes,” Nah Sa assured him.

  “Did you tell her what happens to girls who resist?”

  “I did,” she said, looking at the floor, remembering what had happened to her when she resisted the first customer who paid for her.

  Gan turned to Suda and lifted her chin, “I don’t want to have to beat you, but be assured, I will.”