TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

  “I’d like that, yeah.”

  Cade sipped her wine. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

  Rachel hesitated, then nodded once and looked Cade in the eye. “My parents divorced when I was twelve, and my dad moved away. Mom, well… all I can remember about my mom after the divorce was her anger and bitterness toward my dad. Those emotions consumed her and she had nothing left for me. And to be honest? She was so angry I was afraid that anger would boil over given the opportunity. I didn’t want my mom to lash out at me like she lashed out at my dad.”

  “What happened?”

  “I ran away. Hitchhiked from Denver to LA if you can believe it. I think back on it now and can’t believe I survived that trip. It was when I hit LA that my vulnerability lit up like a neon sign. It didn’t take long for a cute guy to offer to save me from hunger and sleeping on the streets.”

  “Did you try to leave him?”

  Rachel hiked up her shirt a few inches to reveal several scars slashing across her abdomen. “Only once.”

  “How did you finally get out?”

  “He was killed. Ironically, he was stabbed to death.” Rachel ghosted a bitter smile. “About six months before, I’d heard about a place where girls could find refuge. I hadn’t dared until that night.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “If you’re sure you want to hear it.”

  “I’m sure.”

  After they’d cried, ordered more wine, and finally begun to eat, Cade reflected on how much emotion can be packed into a few minutes of discussion. While Rachel’s story was uniquely her own, it sadly blended with dozens Cade had heard. A young girl’s moment of weakness or desperation, or simply trusting the wrong person, catapulted her into a world she couldn’t escape. A world she began to believe was all she was worthy of. A world girls often begin to believe they’ve chosen. Those were the girls for whom Cade’s particular area of expertise was most valuable.

  “We’re going to get these girls back. In the meantime, I’d like you to get to know the parents. It will help you get an understanding of them before they were taken.”

  “The parents? But I don’t have any experience with that.”

  Rachel’s own story included the not-so-pretty picture of her family wanting nothing to do with her when she finally escaped life on the streets.

  “Because of your experience, you might also be able to begin to counsel these parents as to how their daughters might feel when they’re reunited. You might be able to help them find empathy.” And, Cade thought, you might also find a measure of acceptance from them for yourself.

  Rachel was quiet. A tear slipped down her cheek. Her foot quit shaking. “Tell me how to begin.”

  “I’ll take you to meet Jayla’s mother first,” Cade said.

  That’s when both women looked up and seemed to register Mex was still with them. He’d sat silently for the last forty-five minutes. Eyes closed. Drink unfinished. A small smile now spread across his face.

  The majority of children associated with organized criminal units have liberal access to drugs and other substances that increase their dependency on the crime unit. Not infrequently, the babies of girls who become pregnant are removed and raised either by members of the organizer’s extended family or by others within the criminal network. Once taken away from their mothers, these babies are used to exert even greater control over the prostituted youth.

  —The Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Children, U.S. National Study, by Richard J. Estes and Neil Alan Weiner,

  University of Pennsylvania 2001 (revised 2002)

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  JAYLA

  “Amber, listen to me. You’ve gotta stay tough.” I reach for her hand. We’re standing on a sidewalk littered with cigarette butts and used condoms. The shadows cast by the streetlights are either dwarfed or elongated. All eerie, none looking the way it is in reality. Amber’s real name is LaTisha, but right now she needs her hard name. The name that can help get her through this.

  “I can’t do this again.”

  “You can if it’s what you have to do to survive. To one day be able to claim your babies when this is over and lead a normal life.”

  Amber laughs. “What the hell is normal? I forget.”

  “It’ll come back to you. You have to believe that.”

  “This baby isn’t healthy. I’ve been doing lots of heroin and I don’t think I can stop. If I had this baby, it’d be addicted. It’d be sick.”

  “You can’t know for sure.”

  “Even if the baby would be born fine, they’d take it away from me. Like they did my Krystina. Make me go over quota just to see my own kid.” Amber backs to the wall and slides her bottom to the ground.

  “I can’t do this again,” she repeats.

  “You see any old hookers in our crew?” I ask her as I sink down next to her.

  Silence. “No.”

  “So where do you think they’ve gone?”

  More silence. Then, “I think they were sold off to another pimp or they’re dead.”

  “Or?”

  “Or what?”

  “Don’t you think they might have found their way back to their lives?”

  Silence. “How long you think this been goin’ on?” she asks.

  “You mean girls leaving?”

  Amber nods.

  “A while.”

  “Do you seriously think that many girls got back to their old lives? Their real lives?”

  I can’t answer her.

  “Do you?”

  I begin the lie, but it’s the lie that’s helped keep me alive. “Here’s what I think. I think that you and me have choices to make. Even when it doesn’t feel like we do. And the choice we make every day is the choice that gives us the best chance of getting back to those old lives of ours.”

  That’s the lie—believing there’s a chance. I hang on to it anyway, knowing it for the deception it is.

  I keep talking. “It might feel like we’re giving in at the time, but the longer we can stay alive, the longer we can remember who we are, the better shot we have to have a life after this one. To tell these assholes to piss off.”

  “I wish I had your strength.”

  “You do. You’ve misplaced it for a bit, that’s all.”

  Amber shakes her head. “I don’t think so. If I ever had it, it’s gone now.” A tear slides down her cheek.

  I reach over and wipe it away with my thumb. “Then borrow some of mine until you find it again.”

  “You know what, Cherie, I don’t think I want any. I think maybe this is easier.”

  “What do you mean? What’s easier?”

  “Let ‘em do what they’re gonna do. My life is done. My daughter’s caught in this hell and it’s because of me she’s caught. I can’t do that again.”

  I hate doing this. I do. “You never know, Amber. Tomorrow could be the day you’re free. Maybe one of your johns will be one of those guys who will take you someplace safe.” I hate the lies coming out of my mouth but she has to find something to hang on to. “And if not tomorrow, maybe next week. Maybe before your baby is born.”

  She closes her eyes.

  “You’ve gotta believe, LaTisha. You’ve gotta believe.”

  Amber shakes her head. “LaTisha’s gone.” She stares ahead at nothing. “Amber too.”

  I try to figure out a way to take Amber and me off the track for tonight. I’m afraid to leave her alone. I think about telling Daddy that we’re sick and throwing up. Must’ve eaten something bad. To have him buy that though, we’d have to puke in front of him. Maybe I can find something that’ll make us sick.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” Amber says.

  “What’s that?”

  “Get us a night off.”

  “We’re due.”

  “We’re never due and you know it. Besides, it’s too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve done it.”

  “What are you
talking about?”

  “Just sit here with me, will you? I don’t want to die alone.”

  I realize what Amber/LaTisha has done. I want to call out for help but I know that won’t save her.

  In the end, I can only hold her and try to respect the decision she made.

  And be grateful I can still cry.

  Afterward, I do one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wipe away the wetness on my cheeks, kiss my friend, and then get up and walk away. There’s nothing I can do for her now. Someone will discover her body. Daddy will find out he’s lost a revenue stream, but not from me. Any involvement on my part and I risk his particular brand of discipline.

  Tears stream down my face as I move toward the shadows down the street. I’m not sure if I’m crying because LaTisha has died or because I’m still alive.

  Colorado is known for its mountainous regions and reclusive landscape… Areas which are hidden away from the general population are attractive to traffickers looking for a place to hide potential victims. Many people who are exploited for their labor are often taken to farms that are hidden from roads and cities where other people may report trafficking. … This state brings in people from all over the country for its tourist attractions and destination resorts… which makes it possible to transport trafficking victims to and throughout Colorado without being questioned.

  —Observing Vulnerability to Human Trafficking within Regional Districts in the State of Colorado,

  by Charlotte Anderson, To Fulfill the Requirements of the Senior Honors Thesis, Metropolitan State University

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Come on in, then.” Mary Thomas opened the door wide for Cade and Rachel.

  “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us, Mary,” Cade said.

  She eyed Rachel as she spoke. “You the best hope I have for getting my Jayla home. Course I’d meet with you.”

  “Mary, this is Rachel Hanson. Her experience might be very similar to what Jayla is experiencing. She’s here to support you, and more importantly Jayla, when she comes home.”

  Mary let loose a sob. “Is she coming home?”

  “You know I can’t promise you. You know that, right?” Cade asked.

  Mary crumpled in a chair and closed her eyes. Her entire body quivered. A moment passed. “I know.”

  “But that doesn’t mean we aren’t without resources. It doesn’t mean we aren’t without hope,” Cade said.

  Jayla’s mom flexed her shoulders. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair as she straightened her back. Her eyes opened. “I want my baby home.”

  “That’s where we’re headed. That’s what I want you to prepare for. And that’s why I’ve asked Rachel to meet you. To prepare you.”

  “Prepare me?” The mother’s voice lost all the strength it had held.

  Cade positioned a chair to face the woman. Knee to knee she reached out to grab Mary’s hands. “Look at me.”

  Mary ignored her.

  “Mary, look at me.”

  Cade waited.

  Mary’s gaze slid over Cade’s shoulder. They held there for a moment before finally making that electric contact. The point where everything was honest. The point where pain was a promise. The point where Cade understood any mother would rather die than acknowledge as truth.

  “You understand the daughter you lost won’t be the same girl we find, right?”

  Mary squeezed her eyes closed and held still. Finally she opened them and looked at Cade. She positioned her mouth but nothing came out. Instead of speaking, she nodded.

  “But Jayla, for all that’s happened to her, will still be your daughter.” Cade paused. “Do you believe that, Mary? She will still be your little girl. She’ll still be your baby.”

  Tears streamed down Mary’s face. “How do I—”

  “That’s why Rachel’s here. She can help you understand what your daughter has been through. That’s important. You’ve never needed to know anything more than you need to know this. But even more importantly, she can help you understand what Jayla is going to require from you when she gets home. The space. The time. The unwavering belief that while your daughter has been forced to take part in acts many would consider sinful, your daughter is not a sinner. That while she survived because she could be sexual, it wasn’t her choice. It was only a matter of survival. Her survival. Your baby’s survival.”

  Mary looked at Rachel for the first time. Really looked at her. “You did this? You lived it?”

  Rachel’s eyes were downcast. She shuffled in her chair. Finally she lifted her face and looked Mary in the eye. “Yes, ma’am. I lived it, and I survived.”

  Mary closed her eyes, but the tears slipped out and slid down her face anyway. Her jaw clenched and her lips worked to hold in her pain. Finally, she opened her eyes and held out her arms. “Come to me, baby. Come to me.”

  Rachel twitched and hesitated, then skidded to her knees in front of the woman she’d just met. The two embraced and all other sounds were washed away by sobs. Cade knew that for Mary, the tears represented a need to nurture her absent daughter, and Rachel was releasing years of self-punishment and doubt.

  Cade gave them a few minutes. “I should get back. Are you two set for now?”

  Mary had already moved to the kitchen to prepare a light snack for her and Rachel to share. They would probably talk for hours. In the end, Rachel would not only know more about Jayla, she would feel the acceptance of Jayla’s mom.

  “We’re set,” Mary said. “Just bring me back my daughter.”

  Much later that night Cade and Rachel sat in the suite at the Ritz-Carlton, searching for all of the answers and not finding many.

  “Mary made me feel special,” Rachel said.

  “You understand that while it’s mostly based on positive emotion, part of it is based on guilt, don’t you?”

  “Guilt?”

  “Regardless of whether or not Mary Thomas’s actions played a role in her daughter’s abduction, she’s bound to feel guilt. After all, keeping her daughter safe was her responsibility.”

  “She had something to do with Jayla being taken?”

  “We can’t know that. But think about this, even if she was negligent, is her anguish any less? Not at all. If anything, it’s more. There might be a part of her that will transfer the feelings she has for her daughter on to you. You’re going to have to deal with that if it happens.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Right now, nothing.”

  “Okay. But I can’t just sit and wait.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Tomorrow I want you to talk to the parents of Alexis Halston, the same way you talked to Mary Thomas.”

  “Oh, no. I can’t possibly speak to them.”

  “Why not? In truth, they’re no different from Mary Thomas. They’ve lost a daughter. You can be their bridge, too.”

  “Bridge? They own the bridges. They own everything.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “What are you talking about? I can’t bring them anything they can’t already access.”

  “You might be surprised, Rachel. My gut tells me that the information you can provide will be far beyond what Steven and Adele Halston might have access to. Let’s play it by ear, shall we?”

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Mrs. Halston, thank you for agreeing to see us today.” Cade said after introducing
Rachel.

  “Do you have information regarding my daughter?” Adele Halston, anorexically thin before the ordeal, looked cadaverous. The smell of booze drifted from her body like something sick or dead.

  “No, I’m sorry we don’t. But we are working on a few things we believe will provide leads. We should have something in a couple of days.”

  “Who is she?” Adele nodded toward Rachel. “Why is she here?”

  “Rachel is uniquely qualified to help Alexis when she returns home.”

  “How?”

  “That’s Rachel’s story to tell you, but because of her experience, I think you should talk. Is your husband home?”

  “He’s not here. I want you to tell me how this girl can help Alexis.”

  Cade looked at Rachel and nodded.

  Rachel took a breath. “I was forced into prostitution when I was fourteen. I know how—”

  Adele Halston physically shrank away. A guttural, animal-like sound came from deep inside the tiny woman. “No.”

  “Mrs. Halston, Adele,” Cade reached forward and placed a hand on the thin shoulder. “This is important. You want to give Alexis everything she’ll need when she gets home, don’t you?” Cade didn’t wait for an answer. “Rachel could be part of that.”

  “No. Get away. Leave.”

  “We’ll go. But you should seriously think about what Alexis will require, not what you’re afraid of.”

  “How do you know what I’m afraid of?” Adele Halston sat taller.

  “I know about Samuel. I know how devastated you must have been to lose your little boy. How frightening and suspicious the world became to you. How you’ve lived in different levels of fear and pain for all these years, moving through life like a ghost.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Now you have a chance to make sure Alexis gets what she needs. You have a chance to be the mother you can be, and the one she deserves.”