She is very smart—much smarter than me. She picked up English at a much faster pace than I picked up Thai. In the end, we mostly communicated in English.
I’ve always felt she has a deep hurt inside of her, but she covers it with a hardness on the outside that makes it possible for her to give love, but she cannot receive love. Tonight, we stay up all night to give Tian and some other girls a chance to sleep. We’re reading scriptures about love, and discussing what it means to love someone unconditionally. She’s never heard of unconditional love, and doesn’t fully understand it. I explain to her that God loves us the same way we love our own children. We love our kids no matter what they do. We never stop loving them. This is the best way I can explain it.
Something I said hits a nerve with her. She puts her head down and covers her face in her hands. For the first time it looks like she might cry, but I can’t be sure.
“Mali, what’s wrong?” I ask. She keeps her head down and doesn’t say anything so I repeat, “Mali, please talk to me. What’s wrong?”
She just sits there in silence, so I put my hand on her leg. I can feel her body beginning to tremble. I put my arm around her, and she lowers her head like she’s about to cry. I lower my head down to comfort her. Her eyes are red, and a teardrop rolls down her cheek followed by another and another, until her eyes release a flood of tears. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her cry. I take her in my arms, and hold her the same way she held me when I was a complete stranger. I gently lay her head in my lap, and I brush her hair with my hand. She lies there and cries, really cries, for the first time. When she’s finally able to talk, it takes her a while to tell me her story.
She tells me how she came to Thailand when she was fourteen years old. I learn the names and ages of each of her children and she describes each one to me. They all seem as beautiful as she is. She tells me how her husband beat and abused her constantly for six years. One time he broke her arm, and another time he broke her jaw and knocked her front tooth out. She tells me how she had another baby that died while she was pregnant after a long night of abuse. I asked her about the police. She tells me how the police never believe a woman over a man.
One night he came home drunk, and slapped their oldest daughter the same way he slapped her so many times. She grabbed a kitchen knife, and stabbed him again and again. He survived the stabbing, and gave the judge all the evidence in her case. The judge didn’t care about the many times he’d beaten her. He didn’t want to hear about their precious little girl who he slapped with all his might. She pled guilty, hoping for a reduced sentence, but the judge was in no mood for leniency that day. He gave her thirty years. She’s been here three years, and hasn’t seen her four kids since the day she arrived.
As she tells me her story, I hold her, and this time I cry. So many times, I’ve cried for myself, but her life is beyond anything I’ve experienced. The only way she’s been able to survive in here is to close off and forget this part of her life. The pain is just too great. I’m the only person she’s ever felt close enough to tell her story.
She’s such a kind, beautiful person. I would have never even noticed her in my previous life. She’s the girl who makes the bed at our hotel, cleans the houses in our neighborhoods, works in the school cafeteria, and cares for our parents and grandparents in a nursing home. I was always so consumed with my own life, and my own problems, that I never even tried to talk to her, much less get to know her or understand her needs. Now she’s the one who has taught me how to survive in this world where survival seems impossible. In the end, it was she who taught me what real unconditional love looks like.
I remember that day in Central Park when the angel spoke to me. There have been times in my life that I questioned if it really happened at all. Now I know that angel was as real as any angel in my Bible. I never told a soul until now. On this day, I described that magnificent angel to Mali, and how the angel warned me of the things to come. The angel told me I had everything to make me happy if I didn’t mess it up. All my life I was given everything, but again and again I messed it all up. This poor woman has been given nothing her whole life other than four beautiful children. Now she’ll never see them again.
– CHAPTER 55 –
Two weeks after Ryan left, I received a letter letting me know he hired an investigator to find Christian. The envelope is full of more photos and cards from our kids. He also let me know that the judge in my case granted the continuance we need. It gives us an additional three months to prepare for trial. Three months seems like a lifetime when you are stuck in a cage. The judge made it absolutely clear that he’ll give us no more time. I can only pray we find Christian before the hourglass runs out.
– CHAPTER 56 –
Forty-two days days after I received his letter, I’m in the middle of my morning yoga when a guard tells me I have a visitor. I know it sounds stupid, but I still hold out a little hope that it’s Christian coming to rescue me. I sit down on the stool and wait. Ryan finally sits down on the other side of the window with a large, legal, box in his hands. He picks up the phone and says, “Hello, Faith.”
“Hi, Ryan. I’ve missed you.”
“I’m sorry it took so long. I flew all the way here two weeks ago to meet with you, but they told me all visitations were canceled. They couldn’t tell me when I’d be able to meet with you. I waited three days, and I finally had to turn around and fly back home.”
“I’m so sorry, baby. This happens all the time.”
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m doing better. The money you put in my account really helps. It allows me to eat a regular meal every day. I’ve learned some Thai, and I teach English to other prisoners. I met a woman. Now she’s my best friend. You would really like her. She’s such a kind person. The food and water you buy are enough for us to share.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” he says with a surprised look. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Mali, and she’s really amazing. She’s from Cambodia, but she now lives in Thailand. She’s in prison for protecting her children.”
“That’s terrible. Is she getting out soon?”
“She’s been here three years. She’ll be here another twenty-seven years.”
“What? Thirty years?!”
“Ryan, they give such long sentences for everything. One woman in my cell got four years for shoplifting. Another woman got fifteen years for cashing a stolen check. Someone got seventeen years for posting something on the Internet against the government.”
“That’s crazy,” he says.
“Ryan, people get ten years for possessing small amounts of drugs. They consider me a drug dealer, and the Thai government is cracking down on drug dealers. People are on death row for selling drugs.”
“Faith, don’t talk like that. You’re not going to death row. We’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Ryan, after I’m out, I must get Mali out. She has no one helping her. Please, please, please can we help her?”
“Don’t worry, Faith. We’ll help her, but first we’ve got to get you out. Like I told you in my letter, I’ve hired an investigator. He’s made some great progress. Faith, this guy isn’t who he said he was.”
He opens the box. and removes a brown envelope with “FRAGILE” written in big, black blocked letters across the front. He opens the envelope, slides out an 8x10 photo, and holds it up to the window. “Here’s a photo from the airport security.”
I immediately recognize it’s a photo of Christian sitting with me in the orange chairs at the airport. The image is blown up so you can clearly see his face. All you can see of me is my hand resting on his arm. For weeks Christian’s face was clear in my memory, and in my dreams, but with time I’ve managed to forget him. Seeing his face again fills me with such anger that I can’t control myself.
“That’s him!” I shout pointing at the picture. “Son of a bitch … that’s him.”
He pulls out another 8x10 photo of Chris
tian sitting by a swimming pool. I recognize the statue behind him. It’s the infinity pool at the resort we left. “That’s Christian sitting by the pool at the resort we stayed at,” I say.
“Faith, there is no Christian. We checked at the Boat Club. It is private, but there is no member named Christian at all. No one by the name of Christian Mareno made a reservation at the restaurant any time in the last four months.”
“I can’t believe this,” I say shaking my head..
“There was no Christian Mareno on your flight from Austin to Bangkok.”
“So who was I sitting beside on the plane?” I ask.
He reaches into the box, and pulls out another envelope. He opens the envelope, and takes out another paper. It looks like an airline ticket to someone named “CRUZ.”
“His name is Jose Alexander Cruz,” Ryan explains.
“What?!”
“And there’s no business known as “Absolute Business Enterprises” that has a contract to do construction or design work.”
“That’s what Mr. Sassen said.”
He opens another brown envelope. Now he pulls out three 8x10 photographs. In each photo, Christian is sitting with a blonde girl who looks like she’s in her mid-twenties. “This Jose Cruz is not from the United States. From his airline ticket, we tracked him down to Guatemala.”
“Guatemala?” I ask now so confused. “Who is he?”
“He takes out another plastic envelope with a photocopy of his passport. He’s a drug trafficker in Guatemala. There was a time when drug traffickers simply smuggled drugs into the U.S. over the border. They’ve really cracked down on the southern border so it’s cheaper now to buy the drugs in Thailand and fly them directly into the U.S. on a commercial airplane.”
I put my face in my hands, and say, “This is hard to believe. So why me? How did I get wrapped up in this?”
“Our investigator says they prefer the mule—that’s what they call the person carrying the drugs—to be unaware of the drugs. When the person knows about the drugs, they get nervous. They’re more likely to get caught. I don’t know why he was in Austin, but for some reason he thought you fit the profile of an American who they’d never suspect.”
“I can’t believe this. He’s back in Guatemala, and I’m the one in prison?”
“This is what they do. For some reason, he picked you.”
“Why Thailand? Why not go where the drug laws aren’t so tough?”
“The drugs are cheaper in Thailand, and they’re everywhere. The airport is so large that the authorities can’t police every flight coming in and out. Drug traffickers don’t care about the drug laws or the prisons. They’re not the ones going to prison if you get caught.”
“So, we got it, right? All we have to do is show that he’s a drug trafficker and I get out of here?”
“Faith, just about everyone caught with drugs is working for someone else. The real drug dealers never get caught. It’s not enough for you to prove there’s a bigger fish out there. If you cooperate, all they’ll do is reduce your sentence a bit. If you want to get off, you have to prove you knew nothing about the drugs.”
“Doesn’t the prosecutor have to prove I was aware of the drugs?”
“No, not when the drugs are in your suitcase. That’s enough. I told the prosecutor you were set up. He isn’t buying it. When they asked to check your bag, you got angry. You tried to fight them. He thinks this proves you knew the drugs were in there.”
“No Ryan, it isn’t true. I didn’t understand what they were asking me. They grabbed my arm. I just wanted to call Christian.”
“Why did you fight them in the hall?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I was afraid. I was so afraid of what would happen if we left the airport terminal.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but it looks bad.”
“What about the video. Isn’t it clear when they found the bag that I was shocked?”
“They think you’re acting; that it was all a big show.”
“Don’t they know? Now that we know his real name, don’t they know him and what he does to innocent people?”
“They’ve never heard of him. Even if they did, the prosecutor doesn’t care. You were the one caught with the drugs.”
“Then what do we do?” I ask. “How do we prove I didn’t know about the drugs?”
“We have a plan,” he explains as he picks up another photo of Christian with the same blonde girl. “Her name is Jordan Cook. We believe she’s the girl he’s now using to smuggle drugs out of Thailand.”
“Does she know?” I ask.
“We don’t know.”
He pulls out two more photos. These photos are of Christian, or whatever his name is, wearing dark sunglasses and sitting with this same blonde girl at some type of sandwich shop. “We got these photos from the airport security video just three weeks ago. This girl was sitting with him right before she got on a plane headed to the United States. We believe her suitcase was full of heroin.”
“I get it, Ryan, he’s a drug smuggler. She’s the next stupid girl. How does that help us?”
“Our investigator is an ex-NYPD police officer. He’s tracking her down in New York or wherever she lives. He’s going to pay her a visit with a group of police officers. They’ll scare her into helping you. They’ll show her the photos we have and threaten to arrest her for drug trafficking if she doesn’t cooperate. We’ll get her to wear a wire. Hopefully we’ll get Christian to admit what he did to you. If she comes to Thailand and explains how he planted the drugs in her bag without her knowing it, and if we show the judge the photos of you with him at the same airport along with the video of you when the drugs were found, the judge will have to let you go.”
“I understand. I get it. But will it work?”
He takes in a big breath and lets it out. “We’ve gone over everything. There’s no simple answer. It’s our best chance.”
“It has to work. I can’t tell you how terrible it is in here. I couldn’t survive in here if it wasn’t for my Bible, yoga, and meditating.”
“How? How can anything change where you are?”
“Ryan, I used to spend all my time focusing on what I didn’t have or how I was being treated by others. I had so many voices telling me how unhappy I was. I literally worked myself into a deep funk when I actually had so much to be happy about.”
“Wow!” he exhales with a look of complete surprise.
I stop to think about my words. I’ve spent months reading and studying these things, but this is the first time I’ve actually spoken these truths to someone else. I want to get it right.
“Ryan, most of our suffering comes from a desire to have the things we don’t need. We throw away the very things in life that make us happy, and chase after the things that steal our joy. I spent my entire existence serving my own desires. I wanted more money, a bigger house, a nicer car, new clothes, more kids, and just more stuff in my life. I was conditioned to believe that these things would actually make me happy. I spent more money than you ever knew because I was looking for … I don’t even know what I was looking for. Now I dream of simple things—a hot bath, spending time by a river listening to birds sing, talking to my mom and dad while they’re still alive, simply holding our babies in my arms again, or just sitting on a toilet with the door closed!”
“I can’t believe this is you talking,” he says.
“I can’t believe it’s me either. By eliminating our selfish desires, we free ourselves. It’s not complicated. All I had to do was play with our kids, walk out our back door and feel the sun shining on my face, listen to the birds singing in the trees, sit on a riverbank and just appreciate the wonderful world around me. Through yoga and meditation, I’m able to simplify my life. and focus on more positive things.”
“And what’s that,” he asks.
“I’m still alive and I’m healthy. I have Mali. I have my children. I have great memories,” I explain. I put my head do
wn. “And I have you.”
Ryan has a look of admiration on his face like I’ve never received from anyone before. Not because I’m pretty, or sexy, or because he wants to be with me, but because he truly admires me. The next step in my new life of self-awareness is to be honest with myself and with others. I have to confess and ask for forgiveness; something I was never been able to do before. This is the hardest part. I have to be real. Somehow, I have to get all the words out, and lay myself bare for Ryan to either forgive me or leave me forever. I lower my head and try to muster enough courage to begin.
“Ryan, when I met you, I was so broken. You gave me the unconditional love I always wanted. I was never able to give you the same love in return. For that, I’m so sorry. My pride always got in the way. I took the hurt I received and paid it forward to you. I was controlled by my emotions, especially fear. You see, I loved you, Ryan. After Jake, I thought I could never love any man again, but I really loved you. Honestly, it scared me. I was so afraid that one day you’d see me—the real me—and fall out of love with me. Then I’d never be able to recover. So I tried so hard to keep my love for you locked deep inside me. Over time it gave me, in some twisted way, the security that I needed.”
When I look up, he’s staring right at me like he’s hypnotized by my words. His eyes are turning red. I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind. “Ryan, I’m not saying it’s right. I just want you to understand that I’m not nearly as strong as you think I am.”
For a brief moment, neither of us says anything. I don’t think he’s ever heard me talk like this before. Even I didn’t know I had it in me.
The Killing of Faith: A Suspense Thriller You Won't Soon Forget. (The Killing of Faith Series Book 1) Page 29