by Dara Girard
The man nodded. “Yes, but that will end soon.” He glanced down at Helen as if she were a slab of beef. “Let this be a lesson to you.”
He turned and another man closed the door, leaving them in darkness once again.
9
Dr. Eunice Davis draped her stethoscope around her thick neck and sighed as she stepped back from the girl laying on the bed. A heavy-set woman with brightly rouged cheeks and purple eye makeup, she ran her small, box-shaped clinic as efficiently as she could. “The baby’s dead,” she said in a flat voice.
Booker stared back at her unmoved. “Will the girl live?”
“Yes, if we act fast. I’m surprised she’s lasted this long.” Dr. Davis shook her head in sympathy. “Poor thing was too small to give birth I gather?”
Booker shrugged as if he didn’t know about such things.
“You should have gotten here sooner so we could have done a C-section. Never mind. Let’s get her into surgery now.”
He nodded, then left.
When he returned to the van, he saw Pakimi taking a smoke break. He was as skinny as the cigarettes he liked to inhale and edgy as a hen in a fox den. “Gold or brass?” he asked tossing his cigarette on the ground. He crushed it under his heel.
Booker knew the question referred to the girl’s worth. She was golden if alive, brass if not. “She’ll live, but the baby’s gone.”
“Why did you do it? The baby could have fetched a nice price.”
“She can’t afford to have a baby like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anderson got to her.”
“Shit. Isn’t this the third one?
“Yes,” he said in a grim tone.
“Doesn’t the bastard know what these girls are meant for? We can’t have them popping out babies. That’s what the baby mill’s for.”
“I know.”
“He’s becoming a liability. There’s plenty of sweet ass for him to taste, why does he keep messing with our girls?”
Booker sighed. “He said this one came on to him.”
“And you believe that?”
“I can pretend to.”
“What will you do if Chief finds out?”
“He said if I took care of the problem, he wouldn’t do it again.”
“So that’s why you did this? You should have unloaded her. She shouldn’t have any connection to us.”
“Relax, I had my reasons.”
“Your brother is going to ruin things for us.”
“I won’t let that happen. I’ll make sure he learns his lesson this time.”
10
Plenty of husbands had threatened to chop off Anderson’s balls. He was a handsome, charming man of twenty-seven who liked to take what wasn’t his. His mother had named him after an English author she liked to read. But her son hadn’t opened a book since leaving school and preferred to use his charm to get what he wanted.
But when he woke up and felt something pressed against his most delicate area, he knew charm wouldn’t help him. He became instantly wide awake, adjusting to the brightness of the room as his gaze fixed on the gun.
He didn’t dare move, he was even afraid to breathe. He swallowed as he let his gaze trail up the gun to the man who held it. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m here to ask you the same thing.”
“Put the gun away.”
“No.”
His older brother Booker could be crazy, but this was taking things too far. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Anderson swallowed again, licking his lips, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong this time. He was always getting into trouble for something.
“I brought you a gift.” He nodded to something on Anderson’s left.
Anderson slowly turned his head, then yanked back when he saw the dead baby. He glared at his brother. “Have you gone mad?”
“Perhaps.”
“Stop it.”
“This is your fault.”
“Put the bloody gun away and get that thing out of my bed.”
“I thought you should take care of it since it’s yours.” Booker put his gun away before sitting on the side of the bed. “Now do you know why I’m here or do I need to continue to press your memory?”
Anderson scrambled to sit up. “It was an accident.”
Booker shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I mean it this time.”
“You’ve said that before too.” Booker stood. “I don’t think I’m getting through to you. I should just tell Chief how much you’ve cost him.”
Anderson jumped out of bed and fell to his knees. “No, please. I didn’t...I won’t...please...”
Booker blinked, looking bored, then sighed. “You stay away from the merchandise. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t care if you see a girl that makes you rise so high it hits you in the face. You don’t touch her.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” He stood, turned and opened the door.
“Wait, aren’t you going to take…it?”
“I meant what I said. It’s your problem now.”
“You’re a sick son of a bitch.”
Booker flashed a cold smile. “You’re starting to catch on.”
11
Michael Ayodeji was a man who hated to wait for anything so he wasn’t pleased that his inventory arrived nearly two days late.
“What was the delay?” he asked when it finally arrived at his headquarters, a grand palace with imported marble floors and columns. His family residence was twice the size, and the church he owned three times bigger. He sat in a large white chair while all the others were grey and smaller, making visitors very aware of their station in comparison to his.
“Some trouble on the road, sah,” Booker said.
Michael nodded; he prided himself on being a reasonable man. It was a valid excuse, he had to bribe a lot of key people in order for his business to operate unmolested in the day. At night it was even more dangerous. Booker watched one of Chief’s associates look over the girls to count them. He’d told them how many he was shipping and he’d notice if one was missing. Fortunately, Booker was wise enough to compensate for his brother’s mistake.
Chief looked over the suitcase filled with money. Booker waited. He knew the amount was enough so that no questions would be asked. His boss knew his merchandise well and could spot a cheat from a mile. Booker made sure to make the amount a shade more than his boss would expect.
After a long moment he closed the suitcase, nodded to a man to take it away then stood. “Good job.”
Booker nodded. “Thank you, sah.”
He walked down the line of ten girls, his face giving nothing away. His smooth ebony features were as hard as granite, his golden gaze intense. He walked with a limp but refused to use a cane. He stopped in front of the Mosquito. Booker had given the new girl the nickname because she irritated him, but he wouldn’t dismiss that she couldn’t be dangerous.
Chief lifted up her chin and turned her face so that her cheek faced him. “What is this?”
“Sah?”
“I see bruising. Why does she have bruising?”
“She’s a little wild and needs a little extra handling.” He knew better than to mention any details. After they’d left the hospital they’d stopped and allowed the girls to get out and given them some food. They lined up against the van and ate like starving dogs. As he’d passed her, she’d said in a low voice. “Beware the snake.”
He paused then continued to walk away, but couldn’t ignore her words because for the past year he’d had a recurring dream with a snake in it. A green and black snake that slowly coiled around his arm before biting him. She must have overheard him when he’d complained to Pakimi about it. He wasn’t used to a dream repeating itself like this one. He sighed and returne
d to her. “Go on. You have something to say, so speak.”
“Misfortune is headed your way,” she said in a quiet voice, keeping her gaze lowered. “You will suffer.” She slowly lifted her gaze and a bright, wide smile spread across her face. “And I’m glad.”
He slapped her with the back of his hand, harder than he’d ever hit anyone, even his second wife and that cow deserved every strike. But this girl...that smile...it enraged him. He rarely lost control but she’d pierced him. Something about her terrified him. A cold dread enveloped him. Her eyes were too knowing. As if she could see into his thoughts, as if she’d been inside his dream. If he were truly mad, he’d imagine her as the snake.
She was just a child, but her gaze had the wisdom of someone much older.
But he couldn’t fear her. She was nothing. If she were truly powerful, she wouldn’t be here. If she had a gift she’d been warned about her fate. That she’d end up living lower than a goat. He immediately felt ashamed that he’d allowed her to get to him. He prided himself on not being superstitious. He didn’t believe in juju, he didn’t even give God much thought. But something about his dreams did disturb him. Pakimi rushed over to him. “Have you gone mad?” his voice high in panic. “Chief will notice a bruise.”
Booker flexed his fingers. His hand actually stung and that was rare. He felt as if he’d smacked a stone. The girl was powerful in a strange and haunting way. “It should be healed by the time he sees her.” But unfortunately it hadn’t. It had even swollen as if to mock him. The girl defied him at every turn. He’d be glad to see the last of her.
“I don’t care how wild she is.”
He bowed his head in contrition. “Sorry, sah.”
Chief frowned. “How many times have I told you to leave the face alone?”
Booker wisely kept his head lowered, his heart pounding. Chief could be unpredictable. He could leave unscathed or be punished.
“The price goes down with damaged goods and I hate losing money.”
Booker swallowed feeling slightly sick. This could be the end for him. If only she hadn’t made him lose his temper. He bowed his head in contrition. “Sorry, sah.”
“The suitcase wasn’t as full as I would like.”
Shit, he wanted more money. Money he didn’t have. He searched his mind for a suitable reply.
A female voice broke the silence. “It can be covered with makeup.”
Booker resisted the urge to lift his head and see who had spoken. Whoever it was, was now his angel. If only Chief believed her.
“You’re certain?”
She nodded. “Ehen. I can.”
“Then do it. You have ten minutes before they arrive.”
12
It was like something from a dream. A room filled with fine ladies and a gentleman, sweet scents in the air, marble floors and large white columns, a place for princesses. Catherine looked around the room in awe. It reminded her of the hotel where her family had stayed before settling in the guest house. Had her family finally come to get her? They’d been told they were going to new homes. She looked around the room, but she didn’t recognize anyone.
She soon realized that no one was smiling. Why was she here? What did they want? One woman stood up. A fine figure of a woman draped in silk, chocolate dark skin and dark eyes. She slowly walked down the line, then stopped in front of Catherine then nodded to the man.
“Step forward,” he said.
Catherine shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to be adopted.”
The woman laughed, but the man grew angry. He gestured to another man, who grabbed her arm. “I’m not supposed to be here. I have a family.” She looked at one of the fine ladies and gentlemen, wondering why they had turned their eyes away. Surely, they knew this was wrong, surely they knew she didn’t belong here. Why wouldn’t they help her go home?
Booker shoved her into a room.
“What is your name?”
“My name is—”
“Six months and you still don’t understand?” He poked her in the forehead. “Are you stupid? You don’t have a name. Not anymore. And you will do as you’re told if you want your family to live.”
“My family lives far away from here.”
“But you have a grandmother and aunt who don’t. What about them?”
She felt her heart grow cold. They’d never mentioned them before. How did they know? Would they really hurt them? She thought about Helen and knew they would.
The man nodded, pleased by her silence. “Good. Now you’re beginning to understand.”
“But--”
“You don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t think unless the thoughts are shoved into your brain. You are no longer a person, but a thing. The sooner you accept that the easier it will be.”
She sucked in her lips and boldly stared back at him, silently saying the words of her heart, I’ll never accept that.
He narrowed his eyes and his mouth thinned. “I should gouge your eyes out. You will look down, you will do as your told or you will suffer more.”
She kept her voice soft. “Snake. Bite.”
He raised his hand.
“Not the face!” a woman said, entering the room. “I just finished fixing your mistake, don’t force me do to it again.”
“This one is worthless. We should tell—”
“And why would the sun worry about a mosquito? Don’t worry.” The woman who’d spoke up earlier, sat down and smiled at him. “Let me talk to her.”
“You won’t get far.”
The woman kept her smile in place and waited for Booker to leave. Once he was gone, she turned her attention to Catherine. She was an attractive woman with dusty skin, high cheekbones and eyes as hollow as caves. Catherine knew the woman could smile, but doubted she’d ever had a genuine emotion of kindness in her life. As she’d put makeup on her face, her touch was cold, her look even colder and that same look pierced her now.
“You’ve had it easy up ‘til now. But if you’re not careful that could end.”
“I don’t belong here,” Catherine said. “If you want money I know my dad will pay. Just...” she let her words fall away because it was clear the woman wasn’t listening. Instead the woman stared out the window as if Catherine hadn’t spoken at all.
“How old are you?” she asked in a soft voice, her gaze still focused on the window, a russet colored cloud slowly sliding past.
“Ten.”
“And have you ever been touched?”
“Touched?”
A cynical smile twisted her lips. “No, you haven’t.” She turned and fixed her hollow gaze on Catherine. A look so dark and deep, Catherine felt as if she were dragging her inside to an awful place. “Creatures like you rarely have a choice, but here is your last one. If you don’t behave, you’ll end up with men like that—” She nodded to the door, referencing to Booker who’d left. “Breathing down your neck and thrusting himself between your legs—every moment of the day—and at night. And they’ll rub you raw until you feel dead inside. Do you want that?”
Catherine thought of Helen and what a man had done to her. “No,” she said wanting to sound brave, but her voice cracked.
“Then you will follow directions and do what we say. We’re better than most. You’re lucky to be with us. Now repeat that.”
“Repeat what?”
“How lucky you are to be with us.”
Catherine took a deep breath. “I am lucky to be with you.”
“Good. Now smile.”
Catherine plastered on a grin.
“That’s better.” She patted Catherine’s cheek, then pinched the bruised flesh under her fingers, making Catherine wince until tears of pain filled her eyes. “And don’t make me ever repeat this. You will behave. Understood?”
“Yes.”
She released her and smiled. A genuine smile, as if she were a teacher and Catherine her star pupil. “Now make me look good. Or you wil
l see the bodies of your grandmother and aunt scattered along the roadside before I slit your throat.”
13
Six years later, Maryland, United States
The moment she saw the police, she knew. She’d been enjoying a lovely luncheon at the club that winter afternoon when they approached her table. Maureen had seen that expression before. Although she’d been dreaming, hoping, praying for years to have the police show up at her door. She didn’t expect them like this. That glint of pity and sorrow in their eyes. They came with news of death.
It was already two months into the new year; it still didn’t feel fresh as it carried the battered, ash soaked remnants of the previous year—2001. She lived in a nation that would never be the same again after the horrors that had happened in Pennsylvania, Washington, DC, and New York. She was still trying to come to terms with the new world in which to raise her son who asked so many questions she couldn’t answer and now this...
“Just tell it to me fast,” she said. “Where did you find her?”
She’d expected a call from the embassy, since Catherine’s disappearance was an international issue. One of the officers hesitated, an older man with a scruffy brown mustache that seemed to move on its own. “May we speak somewhere more private?”
She took a breath, although her lungs felt like they would burst. She’d give Catherine a wonderful funeral. She’d give them a chance to say goodbye. Maybe this would help them feel like a family again. In the last six years she’d felt as if she were sleepwalking. And that even though they were together they were apart. Perhaps now she could feel as if she could live again. “Of course.”
Once she’d lead them to a private suite and they were seated she waited.
“Ma’am, it’s your husband.”
“My husband?” No that was wrong. She must have misheard them.
“Yes.”
“Has he been in an accident? Is he injured? How bad?”
“Is there someone who can be with you?”
