It’s about an hour before I hear the sounds of them leaving. I can’t tell if everyone is gone or not, but the house is so quiet, I figure they’re all out. I look at the window. Would I have had the nerve to pelt the jar of salsa through it? It would’ve taken a good, hard throw. And then I would’ve had to be ready to scream my head off until someone heard me. And what if no one did? Then I’d have to explain the broken glass and salsa mess to Jimmy.
I suppose I could’ve claimed temporary insanity. Although I suspect he’d reward me with a zap from his little stun gun. And it would probably hurt. But would it be any worse than this? Counting the days until Mr. T?
I haven’t given up on God — and I don’t plan to — but I honestly don’t know why this is taking so long. I don’t know how far it will go. And I’m not even sure I can keep myself together during the next four days.
As I pray myself to sleep, just like I do every night, I ask God to help me connect with every single person in this house. And I pray for God to release them from this evil prison where they are being deceived and abused and used by people with no regard for human rights or freedom.
“Please, show them that you can deliver anyone from anything,” I plead with God. “Show them that you have a better life … if only they’d be willing. Open their eyes. Help them to see that you can do anything … for anyone.”
As I’m praying, I get a strong sense that God wants me to become more outspoken — for him. And I decide that for the next few days, probably my last days in this place, I will become bold. With God’s help, I’ll try to be his mouthpiece and tell everyone here that God has a plan for their lives. Who knows, they might respond … or they might get so sick of me that they throw me out. Here’s hoping.
I’m not surprised that the sun’s high in the sky before my door opens the next day. Tatiana looks a little worse for wear, and she smells like BO and stale marijuana smoke.
“Thank you,” I say brightly. “And God bless you.” I hurry to the bathroom, thankful that I made it long enough to avoid using the detestable bucket in the closet. I’ve never been so thankful for something as basic as indoor plumbing.
“God bless me?” Tatiana says as she follows me to the bathroom. Never mind privacy. She just stands there waiting by the sink as I relieve myself.
“Yes.” I flush the toilet. “I’ve been praying for God to bless you.”
“Right …” She just shakes her head. “You’re obviously losing it, Serena. Sorry about that. It happens to the best and the worst of us.”
“No, I’m fine,” I assure her as I wash my hands. “It’s just that I realize you’re probably right. I might not get to come back here after Friday. And I want to be sure to tell everyone in this house about how much God loves them before I go.” I smile as I dry my hands. “Starting with you.”
“Uh-huh.” Her face is pure skepticism. “God loves me? Yep, I can sure feel that love. It’s just oozing all over my life.” She points at me. “And you too, huh? If this is how God loves people, I’d hate to be on his hate list.”
“It might interest you to know that the disciples, the guys who were Jesus’ best friends, all ended up being imprisoned and eventually killed for their faith. But they never gave up believing in him. Just because a person has problems doesn’t mean that God quit loving them.”
She looks slightly interested. “What does it mean then?”
“It means that God allows hard stuff into our lives because he wants to remind us to call out to him for help. He wants us to know that we need him. And then he can deliver us and be glorified.”
“And how exactly is that working for you?”
I hold up my hands. “Hey, I’m not saying I have all the answers. But I figure if I keep on trusting God … if I keep waiting on him … in time he’s going to make a way for me to escape.”
“But what about those disciples who went to prison or got killed? How did they escape?”
I consider this. “They had an eternal escape. They’re in heaven with him right now. Probably having a great time. Life isn’t just here on earth. Eternity is forever.”
She looks doubtful.
“Because you gotta admit, we’re all going to die someday,” I press on with my sermonette, thankful that she’s still listening. “For some, it’s going to end sooner than later. All the more reason to start trusting God right now.” I point at her. “For instance, what if you died tonight?”
She rolls her eyes. “What if I did?”
“Where would you go?”
“To the morgue.” She’s peering in the mirror now, frowning at her pale, pinched face. Can she see how sad and pathetic she looks? Does she have any idea where her life is headed?
“And after the morgue? Where would your spirit go?”
She frowns. “I guess I’ll find out when I get there, won’t I?”
“But don’t you want your spirit to be with God?” I stare into her eyes, which are staring into the mirror with a really blank expression. “After all the hell you’ve been through on this earth, Tatiana? Don’t you long for something more? Something better? Something to hope for? I mean, besides the morgue and being buried six feet under?”
She lets out a tired sigh, turning away from the mirror. “Sure, it’d be great. Except that all that heaven crud is just a fairy tale. And I quit believing in fairy tales after the world kicked me in the teeth a few times.” She leaves the bathroom and I follow her into the great room.
“Millions of people, probably billions even, believe that God is real, Tatiana. They don’t think heaven is a fairy tale. And I believe he’s real too.”
“Well, good for you, Serena. I’ll be curious to see how your beliefs help you when you get handed over to Mr. T this week.”
I know she’s trying to make me squirm, but I’m determined to stand firm. “God will take care of me,” I say boldly, and at the same time I’m inwardly praying that God won’t hang me out to dry on this. “I will never stop trusting him.”
She gives me a dubious look, then pauses to peer out the front window. “What is that?” She moves closer to investigate. I follow and we both stand there watching as a moving truck slowly backs into the driveway of this house.
“Maybe that’s my new bed,” I say optimistically.
She gives me a withering look, then turns back to the window.
“Is that our hot tub?” Kandy says as she joins us. “Jimmy said we’re getting one before winter.” She yells over her shoulder. “Hey, Jimmy. Come see if this is our hot tub.”
Jimmy wanders out of his bedroom with a sleepy look. “Huh? What’s up?”
“Look.” Tatiana points. “There’s a truck in the driveway. It says Willamette Freight Line on the side. Maybe you should check — ”
“What the — ” And like a shot, Jimmy dashes past us and into the laundry room where he’s fiddling with keys and unlocking the door, which I assume must lead out to the garage. All the time he’s swearing up a storm, and we all cluster in the laundry room to see what he’s so upset about.
“This was not supposed to happen again,” he says as the garage door opens. “Tom promised.”
Seeing daylight as the door rises, I’m tempted to make a run for it, but Tatiana and Kandy are standing in front of me, and all I can do is just watch over their shoulders as the truck backs right up to the opening. And then a skinny guy comes around and slides up the rolling door on the truck, and suddenly a bunch of people pour out.
It’s all women and children. And mostly they appear to be Asian or Hispanic. They’re barely out of the truck when the garage door is lowered and the daylight is blocked out. A large guy is walking toward us now, smiling like there’s nothing the least bit strange about this delivery.
“No, no, no.” Jimmy holds his hands up. “You cannot bring them in here, Mitch. No way.”
“You tell that to the boss man.” This Mitch dude is about a head taller and maybe twice Jimmy’s weight, and he doesn’t seem to care what Jimmy
thinks. He and two other guys are herding the women and children away from the garage door, pushing them toward the laundry room like sheep.
Jimmy’s face is red now. “But Tom promised — ”
“Tom’s the one who sent them here!” Mitch snaps at Jimmy. “Now get ’em out of this garage fast. Tom said to keep them in the basement for the time being.”
“But that’s not fair.”
Mitch raises a fist at Jimmy. “You telling me what is and ain’t fair, little man?”
“But Tom said — ” And just like that, Mitch smacks Jimmy right in the face. Jimmy stumbles backward, and Kandy jumps down into the garage to help catch him.
“Get outta the way,” Mitch yells at us girls. “Let these people in right now before anyone else gets hurt.”
We all back up into the house and into the kitchen, watching as what looks like about twenty or so people flood through the laundry room and into the house. They look as confused and frightened as I feel. They all huddle together in the great room as if they’re afraid to move or speak.
“Come on.” Tatiana waves at the crowd of newcomers. “To the basement, all of you.”
“That’s right!” Mitch yells. “At least Tatiana knows how to follow orders. Maybe we ought to put her in charge of this place.”
Tatiana lets out some colorful language as she herds the women and children toward the door that leads to the basement. Amazingly, no one questions her authority over them. They simply file toward the door and obediently head down the stairs, where for all they know they could be going into a gas chamber — like what I’ve read happened in Auschwitz. They all seem skinny and dirty and are dressed in little more than rags.
Eventually the last of them goes down the stairs, and then Tatiana closes the door and bolts it securely. “There.”
Mitch has Jimmy by the shoulder now, glaring down at him. “Are you gonna question Tom about this, or are you gonna follow orders?”
Jimmy’s nose is bleeding and his lower lip is starting to swell. “But Tom said — ”
“Tom said for me to let my fists do the talking,” he yells into Jimmy’s face. “You really want more?”
Jimmy shakes his head. “What are we supposed to do with them?” he asks meekly.
“Keep ’em here until Tom finds a new place for them. It’s not like we could keep them in the truck. It’s ninety degrees outside. They would be baked to a crisp.”
“How long will we have them?”
“How am I supposed to know? You must’ve heard that the place on the east side was gonna get busted. And Tom’s pretty sure the house in Mallard Park is under surveillance. For all I know, we might have to bring those kids here too. Just until we find the next place or new owners.”
“But you can’t bring everyone here,” Jimmy protests.
Mitch gives him a threatening look and a hard shake. “This is Tom’s business, Jimmy. Not yours. You, my little man, are replaceable. You better not forget it.” Then he releases him so hard that Jimmy falls onto the kitchen floor, hitting his forehead on the corner of a cabinet.
Mitch just laughs. “You kids get all comfy cozy in your big ol’ house and you completely forget that Tom owns every single one of you.” He points to Tatiana. “Now you’re a smart girl. You take care of those people down in the cellar and Tom will take good care of you.”
She just nods, and then as quickly as they came, the three men exit, and the moving truck rumbles down the quiet street. For all the neighbors know, we just had a piece of furniture delivered … perhaps a bed or a hot tub — not a couple dozen human slaves.
… [CHAPTER 14]………………
“What happened to him?” Ruby asks as she and Desiree join us in the kitchen where Jimmy, still wearing a bloody T-shirt, is pressing a dish towel to his bleeding nose.
“Mitch was here,” Tatiana says somberly.
“He roughed Jimmy up,” Kandy adds.
“And dropped off a bunch of people,” I say quietly.
“A bunch of people?” Desiree looks into the great room. “Huh?”
“They’re in the basement,” Tatiana explains.
“Why’d Mitch bring them here?” Ruby asks.
“Because one of Tom’s sweatshops got closed down last week,” Jimmy tells her.
“But why here?” Ruby persists.
“Because this is Tom’s house and because Tom didn’t have any other place for them.” Jimmy leans over to spit some blood into the sink. “Even though Tom assured me this house was going to be different.”
“Yeah, he promised this house was going to be special.” Ruby frowns.
“Since when has Tom kept a promise?” Tatiana says bitterly.
“Get over it,” Jimmy says. “Besides, you girls need to get ready. The ride will be here at seven. And you know how it goes if you’re late.”
Seeing the time, the girls scurry away, and now it’s just Jimmy and me in the kitchen. “What about those people? Down in the basement?”
“What about them?” He scowls as he throws the bloody towel into the sink.
“There were children with them. And they all looked pretty hungry.”
“So?” He touches the lump rising on his forehead and winces.
I hurry to get some ice out of the freezer and wrap some of it in a paper towel, then hand it to Jimmy. “That might keep the swelling down.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you care if I take them some food?” I ask cautiously.
He shrugs. “Whatever.” He trudges over to the couch where he turns on the TV.
Feeling like I’ve gotten the green light, I grab a laundry basket and quickly load it with everything I can find, which isn’t really much. And when I’m done, I’ve pretty much cleaned out the food supply. I even put in the jar of salsa Tatiana confiscated from me. I figure these people need it more than I do right now.
I glance over to where Jimmy is slumped on the couch. He is so oblivious to me that I almost wonder if I could make a break for it. Although without the keys in his pocket, it would be almost impossible.
Not wanting to disturb Jimmy from his funk, I try the doorknob to the basement and am surprised to discover the double-keyed dead bolt is unlocked. Do the people down there realize they could get out and come up here? Not that it would do them much good. Although I’d think with their numbers alone, if we really made a plan, we might be able to overpower Jimmy and the others. Except that he has that nasty little stun gun — and who knows what other weapons he might have. Still, it’s something to consider. But first these people need food. If we’re to stage a rebellion, they should be in better shape.
I carefully make my way down the steep stairs. It’s so quiet that I almost wonder if they’ve escaped somehow. But then I see them. It looks like they’ve divided into two separate groups. The Hispanics, who seem to outnumber the Asians, are clustered in the couch area where some of the children are hunkered down in front of the TV. The Asian group is gathered over in the bed area, whispering among themselves.
I set the basket of food on the coffee table, and I can see the eager interest in their eyes, but no one makes a move. “This food is for everyone,” I say slowly. “To share.” But I can tell by their blank expressions that they don’t understand. “Does anyone here speak English?”
An Asian girl who appears to be about my age comes over. “I do.”
So I explain that this is all the food I can get at the moment. “You’ll have to make it last. And everyone will have to share.” She translates for me and I learn her name is Lek and that she and the others in her group are from Thailand.
Now I decide to try out my Spanish. I’ve had three years and apparently it’s sufficient because the Hispanic people nod gratefully. I tell them that I will try to help them but I can’t promise anything. “You’ll just have to be strong,” I say to Lek. “And pray to God to send help.” Then after I try to say the Spanish version of this, I see more nodding. And some of them say “sí” and “amen.”
“Can you get dish?” Lek cups her hands, pantomiming sipping. “To drink?” she says hopefully. “We have water.” She points to the bathroom.
“Yes.” I nod eagerly, promising to return with some cups.
I go back to the kitchen and hunt around until I find a package of red plastic cups as well as paper plates. I also take a roll of paper towels and a can opener and a few other things that might be useful down there. Then, feeling inspired by their sweet gratitude as I deliver these items, I want to help even more. So I go up and down the stairs numerous times, taking towels and soap and a box of bandages as well as some sheets and blankets I find in another linen closet. I even scavenge some extra pillows from the sofa upstairs. I want to do all I can to make these unfortunate people comfortable while they’re here. After the jaded cynicism I’ve witnessed in this house, their enthusiasm and appreciation is refreshing.
“Are you down there, Serena?” Jimmy yells from the top of the stairs.
“Yes.” I hurry back upstairs.
“You want me to lock you down there with the refugees?” he asks in a grumpy tone.
I shake my head. “I was just trying to help them.”
“Well, I’m locking up. Now.” He snaps the dead bolt closed, removes the key chain, then drops it in his pocket where I hear it jingle.
I vaguely wonder how difficult it would be to get my hands on those keys. Especially if he and Kandy were totally wasted like I imagine they must be about half of the time.
As I go into the kitchen, I notice that it’s past seven now. “Didn’t your ride come yet?”
He nods. “It came and it went.”
“But you didn’t go?”
He points to his face, which still looks a bit gruesome. “You think anyone wants to deal with this ugly mug?”
“Oh …” I shrug. “So the girls are gone then?”
“Yeah.” He goes back to the couch and, reaching for the remote, starts flipping through the channels. “It’s okay. I could use a night off.”
Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) Page 11
