The Beginning of Hope: The Highly Anticipated, Mind-Blowing Sequel to the Killing of Faith (The Killing of Faith Series Book 2)

by William Holms

  “I don’t understand why you’re this angry,” I say.

  “I was the one left babysitting you and Colt so she could go out. I was the one who had to go to school by myself because she couldn’t get out of bed. She was always late picking us up. So many times she’d forget all about us. No, I don’t want to see her, and I don’t think you should either. What’s the point?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer.

  “You’re lucky. You have a mom now. She’s been there for you. She loves you. Don’t you think it’ll hurt her?”

  “She’ll always be my mom. I just want to see my real mom before ––before it’s too late.”

  “Not me,” she replies.

  “Grace, I need your help,” I plead.

  “What? How can I help?”

  “I want to go to Thailand.”

  “Hope, what the hell are you doing? You know nothing about Thailand.”

  “I have to do this,” I plead. “I found a ticket for $900.00, and I need some money for a hotel. I can stay at a cheap hostel. Can you loan me $1,200.00?”

  I can tell from her face that she doesn’t want to give me the money. “I can’t… I won—“

  “Please Grace,” I interrupt. We both sit there in silence.

  “No way!” she says not giving an inch.

  “Please,” I repeat. “If you don’t I’ll find the money somewhere.”

  After a minute she says, “Fine,” like she’ll do it but doesn’t want to.

  “You can’t tell Dad,” I beg.

  “Hope no!”

  “He’ll never let me go. He told me to drop it.”

  “He’s right.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell him.”

  “Grace, I can’t lie to Dad. I won’t tell him, but if he asks I won’t lie. Do you understand?”

  “Fine,” I agree.

  “Only on one condition,” she insists. “You have to stay in touch with me the whole time. I have to know where you are, where you’re staying, everything.

  “That’s fine,” I agree.

  We go online and find the ticket I was looking at. When we look closer we realize the cheaper flight takes thirty-nine hours so Grace pays for a ticket that costs $1,300.00 that’s not near as long. I’ll leave and be back before my first day of college.

  – CHAPTER 8 –

  I ’ve flown with my family overseas many times, but this is the first time I’ve flown this far by myself. The plane is gigantic with three seats on each side and four seats in the middle. I make my way to my seat, which, unfortunately, happens to be in the middle of two other people. I put away my carry-on bag and settle in. There’s a large, middle-aged man on my right and an older, Asian man on my left. It’s going to be a long, long flight.

  We first fly to Tokyo and then head to Bangkok. The airport is beautiful. I go to baggage claim, grab my suitcase, and wait in line for a taxi. When I get to the front of the line, a man opens my taxi door. I try several times to give him the name and address of my hostel. A hostel is the same idea as a hotel, but everyone shares one large room. I’ve never stayed at one before, but it only cost me five dollars a night. I figured it’d be fun.

  The driver doesn’t understand what I’m saying––probably because I don’t know how to say the name of the road or the hostel. Finally, I just hand him the paper. Lucky for me, he puts the car in drive and pulls away like he knows exactly where I’m going. I’m so thankful because I wouldn’t have found this place otherwise. So far…so good.

  Traffic is crazy. After driving up and down different streets, dodging cars, scooters, and motorbike taxis, and barely missing several people walking across the street, we finally come to a stop. The hostel is on a busy street. It’s not much to look at. As soon as I walk in, I’m pretty sure I made a mistake staying here. The front double doors are always open because there’s no air conditioning. Two good-looking American-type guys (maybe five years older than me) walk out just as I walk in. They both turn my way as I walk by. There’s no one at the front desk so I ring the bell and wait until an older Thai woman walks up. She hands me a key, some sheets, and a blanket for my bed. It appears, I have to put them on the bed myself.

  Inside my room, there are bunk beds along the walls and one row in the middle. Each bed has a small box next to it to put your personal items and a light for reading. There’s a row of lockers along the back wall to put your suitcase and other belongings. All the bunks appear full so I walk around until I find the only bottom bed that isn’t already taken. I put my items on the desk to claim it as my own.

  By the time I arrive, it’s after midnight. The flight, along with the time change, leaves me exhausted. I can barely stay awake. All I want to do is take a quick shower and get some sleep. I grab something to sleep in, put my suitcase in a locker, and head to the showers.

  I'm happy to see that women don’t have to share showers with the men. Inside I find two small (not so clean) showers that are barely big enough to turn around in. There’s a small curtain for privacy, but not much more. There’s no towels, washcloths, shampoo, or soap. I didn't even think about packing a towel. The shower will just have to wait until tomorrow.

  With a little effort, I get the sheets on my bed. I spread the small blanket over me the best I can, and lie down. Trying to sleep here is like falling asleep in a nightclub. We’re on the second floor and the windows to the outside stay open to let the cool air in. Well, it also lets all the outside music, traffic, horns, smells, and parties in. Just about everyone staying here is young––mostly students and backpackers––and I’m pretty sure they all came to party.

  The door to our room opens and closes all through the night. Just when I start to doze off I hear “BANG” and some drunk comes in laughing and screaming. This never ends. If it’s not someone coming in, it’s someone going out. Several people forgot to turn off the light beside their bed so their light shines all through the night. One is shining right in my face, so I have to turn to the wall, which is old and cracked, or cover my face with my blanket. I alternate back and forth. A few people seem to be long-term residents. They act like they own the place. They have no regard for others.

  I’m not sure what time I finally fell asleep. I know it was after three in the morning. I’m so tired I could sleep through an earthquake. After only a few hours of sleep, I wake up exhausted.

  My phone rings at eight the next morning. Everyone else is asleep. I go to the bathroom and clean up the best I can. I think about using my shirt for a towel. Instead, I decide to skip the shower. I get dressed and head down the stairs. Every hotel my family stays at has free breakfast, but I don't even bother to ask. I flag down a taxi parked on the street below.

  I made a few calls before I left, but no one could tell me much. Almost everything they did tell me I couldn’t understand. It appears my mom was at the Bangkok Remand Prison after her trial. The man couldn’t tell me if she’s still there or not. I figured I’d start there and go wherever they tell me she’s now being held.

  When I tell the taxi driver where I’m going he seems really concerned. “Remand Prison?” he asks in broken English.

  “Yes, Bangkok Remand Prison,” I confirm. He looks at me like I must be crazy. He probably thinks I’m pretty young. I’m almost nineteen, but I’m short and have a young face for my age. Most people think I’m fifteen or sixteen. After I repeat, “Bangkok Remand Prison” a third time he drives forward.

  As soon as I arrive, I see why the driver didn’t want to bring me here. There’s a giant wall protecting the outside. It’s all white with wire rolled across the top so no one can climb over the wall. Behind this wall there’s another wall that’s even taller and more wire across the top. This wall has little buildings with police everywhere carrying guns. They look like they’ll shoot anyone who tries to escape. The whole thing gives me a terrible feeling.

  Maybe Grace was right. I’m way outside my comfort zone, and this prison is no place for a teenager. I remember everything
Grace said, She’s the one who left. She’s the one who started dealing drugs. She had to know if she got caught she would never see us again, but she did it anyway. Being here - actually seeing this prison - brings it all home. How could anyone, especially someone with a six-year-old little girl, be so stupid? And what am I doing here? I think I made a big mistake. If I hadn’t flown across the world I would have just turned around and gone back home, but I’ve come this far so I figure I might as well see this thing through.

  Inside the prison the heat is unbearable, because there’s no air-conditioning A few ceiling fans spinning overhead. There are signs all over the walls warning people in Thai of one thing after another. The place is just too crowded. I walk up to the reception desk and give them my passport. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m looking for my mom. I understand she’s at this prison.”

  The man says something in Thai and points to his left. “My mom, Faith Brunick, she’s at this prison,” I repeat. “How do I see her?”

  He turns to a woman behind him who comes to the desk. She speaks just enough English for me to barely follow along. “Hello,” she says with a smile.

  “Hello,” I reply thankful she’s here. “I’m Hope Brunick. I’m here to see my mom, Faith Nicole Brunick. I understand she’s here.”

  “You see prisoner?” she asks.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Faith Nicole Brunick.”

  “Visit around corner,” she says pointing to my right. I take back my passport and gather my purse. Before I walk off she says, “Must register.”

  “What?” I ask making sure I heard her correctly, “Did you say I have to register?”

  “Register today…. come tomorrow,” she says.

  I could find almost nothing online about my mom, the prison, or the procedure I must go through to visit someone. This is my first snag, but it’s not a big problem. I haven’s seen my mom in thirteen years. One more day is no big deal.

  I go to another window. and a man gives me the form you have to fill out to see someone. It’s all written in Thai so I’m completely lost. I go back to the woman who speaks English and plead for her help. I think she feels sorry for me. She leads me through every question on the questionnaire and helps me to answer.

  There are some items I don't know the answer to, but I make it through all the questions. They want my name and all my background information – including my criminal history. Next, it asks about my family. Finally, they want to know who I’m here to visit. I answer what I know:

  Name: “Faith Nicole Brunick”

  Date of Birth: February 27, 1974

  Offense:“Drugs”

  Date of Conviction: I don’t know

  Once I’m finished, I hand the paper back to the man at the counter. I walk out the door where a line of taxis is waiting. There, I did it. After all these years I’ll finally see my real mom.

  After he drops me off, I walk down the street and buy a beach towel and some other things I’ll need for my stay. It’s almost three in the afternoon when I get back to the hostel and everyone is sleeping. Those same people who left their lights on all night, now remember to shut them off. I want to scream as loud as possible and slam the front door open and shut ten or fifteen times. I want to shake them and laugh or sing by their bed. Instead, I lie down and take a nap. I have to catch up on my sleep.

  I wake up after eight, grab my new towel, and go down the hall to take a nice, cold, shower. I put on a little makeup and walk out the door to do some sightseeing in Bangkok.

  The woman at our hostel gave me a walking map. She circled a street called “Khaosan Road” nearby my hostel. I walk down four blocks and know exactly when I’ve arrived. It’s unlike any street I’ve ever been on before. It’s almost nine and already everything’s crazy. The first thing that catches my attention is the hundreds (if not thousands) of bright signs, billboards, electric lines, and hanging laundry. Most of the signs are in Thai, but I recognize a McDonalds, Burger King, and KFC.

  The next thing I see is the mass of people. Up and down the street (and the intersecting streets) there are stores, bars, restaurants, massage parlors, tattoo shops, and strip clubs. The street is packed with students, backpackers, families, travelers, diners, shoppers, salesmen, monks, and sightseers. It’s so crowded that it’s scary. I stand against a wall a little out of the way to people watch. I mostly want to protect myself from the crowd. Several people come by wanting to sell me something or take me somewhere. It’s total chaos!

  When I started it was day, but now the sun is going down. I stood by the wall long enough that night sweeps over the street like a dark cloud. The signs and billboards light up the entire street. The neon lights rival anything in Vegas. Nighttime here is busier than daytime in most other cities. More and more people keep pouring into the streets until the crowd overtakes everything. The music (that I could barely hear earlier) is now cranked up to high. It’s playing everywhere. People are partying, singing, and dancing, like it’s New Year’s Eve.

  I decide to walk down and check things out. I don’t take five steps before people holding signs, books, and pamphlets trying to sell me everything imaginable confront me. Some want to book me a tour, some want me to eat or drink at their restaurant, some offer “best massage, best massage.” One guy after another advertises a Ping Pong show. “What’s a Ping Pong show?” I finally ask one of the guys what it’s all about. I can’t believe my ears. Surely he’s kidding. Women actually take ping-pong balls, and other things, and—well never mind. I shake my head in shock at the thought of it. Needless to say, I skip the Ping-Pong show. The Thai massage, however, sounds great.

  I don’t have to walk far (they’re everywhere) before I come to a small cart with a man selling the most bizarre assortment of insects and animals on a stick. There are frogs, grasshoppers, cockroaches, worms, and other insects I don’t even recognize. You can even eat a bat if that’s your thing. They’re all fried, seasoned, and sitting in a serving pan like you’re at a buffet or something. You can get a bunch of insects in a paper bowl or just eat a few on a stick. I watch four guys all take some poor, fried, and not so little, scorpion and crunch it in their mouth like it’s a cracker. They follow it up with the beers they’re holding and a bunch of high fives.

  A guy who looks about twenty-five or so comes up beside me and says, “You should try one.” He looks and sounds American or Canadian. He has dark hair and tan skin. He’s clean-cut and dressed pretty nice. He has on white pants, a solid black silk shirt, no socks, and black shoes. A gold chain hangs from his open shirt. He has an accent, but speaks the best English I’ve come across since I got here.

  Just the thought of eating an insect grosses me out. I shake my head and say, “No thank you.”

  “You’re in Thailand. You have to try something,” he shouts over the music

  “No way!” I shout back.

  “What’s your name?” the guy yells.

  “Hope,” I answer.

  “What,” he screams even louder.

  “Hope,” I yell. “My name is Hope.”

  “My name is Paul,” he says. “Where you from?”

  I lean towards him and shout, “California – I go to Stanford.”

  “Stanford, no way. I graduated from NYU. I live in New York.”

  “I love New York,” I shout.

  The guy reaches in his pocket and pulls out a handful of Thai dollars. He pays the vendor and gets a small grasshopper on a stick. He tries to hand it to me and says, “Try it… it’s good.”

  “Gross!” I shout pushing his hand away.

  The next thing I know the four guys who just finished their scorpions join in. They want me to try one of the insects as much as the guy selling them. Paul takes a shot and hands one to me. “Eat it and then drink this,” he says.

  “It’s good,” the four guys shout, “just try it.”

  I’m not sure where everyone came from, but a small crowd of mostly guys circle around me and start chanting, “virgin, virgin, virgin
.” The more I refuse, the louder they chant. Now a few more join in. They’re clapping and everyone has a cell phone pointed at me like I’m an A-list celebrity or a sports star, and they’re about to record the big event. Some are holding their drinks in the air waiting to toast my accomplishment. A couple of guys to my right are offering me shots if I eat the grasshopper.

  I can’t believe what I’ve walked into. The group circles around, and I’m stuck in the middle. All their efforts are focused on me. Now a grasshopper seems like the best option. It looks a lot better than the other insects on the menu. I feel like I don’t really have a choice.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I shout looking to my left and my right. The group has grown to about twenty people. Paul hands me the long stick with the fried grasshopper on the end, so I reach out and take it.

  The chanting stops as everyone waits in anticipation. I take the grasshopper and hold it to my nose. It actually has a nice, Asian smell. I touch the grasshopper to the tip of my tongue – all I taste is the seasoning. What the heck am I doing? I pull away and yell, “I can’t.”

  I try to hand it back to Paul, but he pushes it back at me while I shake my head in protest. The entire crowd starts yelling, “Do it…do it…do it,” in perfect harmony.

  “I can’t,” I yell.

  The crowd immediately starts chanting, “Yes you can….yes you can….yes you can.”

  It all seems inevitable. I think these people will burn this whole street to the ground if I stop now. I take a deep breath. Without thinking about it, I put the whole grasshopper in my mouth and chew as fast as I can. The entire crowd erupts like I just won the gold at the Olympics. I chew the poor grasshopper until it’s all gone.

  There… it’s over! The four guys all pat my back. Paul hands me the shot of tequila. I tilt my head back, take the shot, and wash it all down. Everyone continues clapping and cheering. Next, I'm holding another shot that burns my throat when I take it down. The party rages on. I’m sure it never stops.