Charlotte

by Angela Rush

  JoAnn and Lisa look worse for wear. I hope I don’t look as bad as I feel, because if that is the case, I will look much worse than they do. Dr. Jones assures me that we all look rough after the long flight and trek through the airport. We finally arrive at the compound. Fear shoots down my spine at the site of armed guards at the gate. They look over our crew and check the luggage section. Our guide assures us that it is just a safety measure and is for our own good. I wish I had looked into this a bit more, done more research. Should I even be doing this? I didn’t realize that we could be in danger from anything other than malaria or some strange jungle illness.

  We spend couple days of in orientation that includes how to stay safe while out in the villages. It appears that there has been an increase in recent months of Americans and other foreigners being abducted for ransom or in the case of females being sold into the sex trade. Doubt fills my mind. Was this really a good idea? Is our safety worth the good we will be doing? After we get out into the villages, I see all the good we are doing, and I stop worrying about the dangers. The people seem eager to tell me their story. Over the next few days, I meet several young girls that are being used for prostitution. They have STD’s, bruises, and broken bones. It is painful and heartbreaking to see them be treated this way. We had been warned that we might encounter such girls. We were told not to interfere, there might be repercussions, but I can’t just sit back and let it happen.

  “Dr. Jones?” He looks up at me as I enter his tent at the end of a long day providing care to the villagers.

  “Charlotte, please call me George.” I nod and continue.

  “I’m very concerned about some of the young girls I cared for today. They need help. Several of the girls are being forced to be prostitutes.” My voice cracks as I remember how the young girl had cried when I examined her and treated her. “I had a girl today that was only 13 years old and she had genital herpes. She wasn’t the only one there were several others. Isn’t there anything we can do?” My eyes pleaded with him to do something to help these poor girls.

  “I have friend that works with the government here. Perhaps they can help the girls.” Dr. Jones walks closer to me and grips my shoulders in his hands. “Don’t worry about them Charlotte. I’ll take care of it.” I manage to pull myself away before thanking him for helping me save these girls.

  JoAnn walks by as I am leaving Dr. Jones’ tent. She scowls at me and I frown back at her. What’s her problem? Probably just as miserable here as I am. The physical conditions are horrible. The days are exhausting and then trying to sleep on the ground in a sleeping bag is uncomfortable at best. Being too tired to contemplate her mood any longer, I head to my tent to sleep.

  A few days later, the girls have been taken away by a humanitarian group. I was assured they would no longer be forced into prostitution. The clinic has been rough today. We have seen double the number of patients today than any day since we have been here. Word has gotten around about American’s giving away medicine and treatments. A young girl of about 12 years comes in with second degree burns on her hands. She reports through the interpreter that she was cooking supper for her family when she spilled hot water on her hands. This happened 3 days ago. Her hands are red, swollen, and blistered. There are several open areas with pus draining from them. She has a low-grade fever. I give her a mild sedative before beginning to clean and treat the wounds. Burns are so painful, and I can’t let her suffer through the pain of cleaning it this first time. After an antibiotic injection and some ibuprofen for the fever, I give the mother 10 days of antibiotics and explain how to give the medicine. Once the mother has been taught how to wash and dress the wounds, we give her the supplies she will need to dress the wound twice a day for 10 days. I inform her we will come back by the village again in a few days to check on her progress before we leave the country.

  Later that night…

  We settle into camp about 11pm local time. As I lay in my sleeping bag trying to relax enough to sleep, I again think of the handsome soldier I met at the airport. I wonder how he is doing and if he is safe. He has been on my mind and in my dreams since meeting him. It’s surprising really. It’s been five years since my husband died and I haven’t once even considered dating, but if I’m honest I would definitely pursue a relationship with him if the opportunity arose. It’s crazy to think like this. I don’t know the man and I won’t ever see him again. I mean what’s the odds, right?

  My sleep is fitful, and I dream again of the worst night of my life.

  It’s 3:02 am. Something isn’t right. What woke me? I roll over and my husband isn’t here. Did he leave for work already? I didn’t hear the phone ring, calling him in early. Getting up I head for the bathroom. Unease plagues me. I need to go downstairs. As I descend the staircase. I see him lying on the floor of the hallway. He is face down and vomit spreads out from his body. Quickly I roll him over trying to clear his mouth. I shake him and shout. “David! David! Answer me, please!” No response. I feel for a pulse, he isn’t breathing. I run for the house phone and call 911 as I race back to him to start CPR.

  “911 what is your emergency?” the dispatcher asks. It’s a very small town and everyone knows everyone.

  “Carol, I need an ambulance now! I’m starting CPR on my husband. Please tell them to hurry.” Throwing the phone to the floor not bothering to hang up. I begin to compress on his chest. There’s no need to give her my address as it will show from the caller id on the system. Carol knows me. I work at the local hospital and have a private practice clinic in town. She knows where I live.

  As I work feverishly to bring him back, I begin to plead with God. Please bring him back to me. I know I don’t deserve him. I have been so absorbed in building my career that I have neglected him. I had been feeling the need to do things that I wanted. I have been a wife and mother since I was 17 years old. I had been feeling like I deserved to get out and live a little now that the kids are entering adulthood.

  I know that I will never be the same. He has been my world since I was 15 years old. He’s all I’ve ever known. He has been my only lover. The father of my children. What will I do?

  It seem to take forever before the ambulance arrives. Terry enter the house and he pales at the site before him. James doesn’t look much better. Sweat is dripping from my face onto David’s bare chest. My hair is as wet as if I had just stepped out of the shower. My arms are aching so badly, but still I do my best to keep compressing his chest. Willing the blood to pump and restart his heart. The smell of vomit is strong in the air. Despite my fatigue, I begin to spout off orders.

  “Terry get a line started. I’ll get him on the monitor while you do compressions, James.” I can’t stop to think about what is happening. If I do, I’ll lose it. I have to stay in clinical mode. It’s the only way I am going to make it through what is to come. In the back of my mind, I know it’s too late. He color is bad and if I’m honest I can see lividity where he had lain on the floor before I rolled him over, but I don’t want to see that. It would mean admitting that he is gone and not coming back.

  Once we have him ready to go and on the stretcher, I follow them out the door. Climbing in the back of the truck, Terry eyes me but doesn’t say anything. They aren’t going to tell me no. I see the fear and confusion in their eyes. I am too clinical, too focused. Not reacting like a normal person would at finding their spouse lying dead on the floor. I have emotionally checked out. James calls ahead to the ER to tell them to be sure the doctor is there on arrival that a code is in progress. Trying not to think about the implications of what he is saying, I relieve Terry from compressions. Knowing what is happening, I refuse to face reality at the moment. Doing what I always do when the shit hits the fan, I go on auto pilot, doing what needs to be done, emotions turned off. They can come later when I am alone.

  Arriving at the hospital, the staff takes over. Jenny, a nurse at the hospital pulls me back from the stretcher as they move it into an ER room. They continue working on him. The
ER doctor, Dr. Carter barks orders after getting report from the medics. My friends and colleagues work tirelessly to revive him. It feels like I am in a dream. Is this really happening? As I watch them, push drugs into his body and compress on his chest I know that it is futile. He died in our hallway. He is gone.

  Eventually I come to myself and stop the horror unfolding in the ER. “Stop!” I shout. “Please…just stop.” Dr. Carter, my friend and co-worker declares time of death 4:34 am. Damn we have been at this for an hour and a half. It seemed like only a few moments. I really had checked out. Thanking everyone for trying so hard, I receive hugs from all the staff. I refuse to let the tears fall. I head out to the nurses’ station and grab the cordless phone. It’s not time to fall apart yet. Our children need to know their father has left us for a better place. In shock I wait as the phone rings several times, before I hear Sara answer with a sleepy, “Hello?” This is going to be harder than anything I have ever done.

  I am jerked wake sometime around 2 am to the young girl that I had seen earlier in the day at clinic with burns on her hands. She is frantic and is motioning for me to follow her. Through broken English I learn she wants me to come see about her friend that is injured a short distance away. Being half asleep still and not thinking clearly, I rise from my sleeping bag to follow her. I should have recognized something wasn’t right about the situation. A guard should have seen us leaving and questioned me about where we we’re going. No one stopped us as I grab my jump bag and head into the jungle with the girl.

  We run through the jungle for several meters. The path is barely visible, and I wonder how the girl knows where we are going. Branches from the trees and ferns growing along the path seem to reach out and grab me as I run past, leaving abrasions and cuts on my skin. Shit! This was such a bad idea. What was I thinking? I should never have left the camp without telling someone where I was going. As I begin to think I should turn back, I’m shoved from behind as I pass a cluster of trees. I hit the ground, hard. Pain shoots through my body as the air is expelled from my lungs. A large man is suddenly on top of me pinning me to the ground securing my hands behind my back.

  “What the hell!” I exclaim loudly once my breath returned to me. Struggling to get out from under the man, I only seem to worsen my situation by angering the man further.

  “Shut your mouth, bitch! Don’t fight me or you will regret it.” A menacing voice growls in my ear.

  Realizing I’m in deep shit, fear takes over and I begin to buck and kick trying to free myself. My jump bag is heavy and it’s weighing me down besides the brute that is trying to tie my wrists together with zip ties. He becomes enraged at my struggling and hits me hard in the head with butt of his gun. It takes two licks before the world goes black.

  Waking to a massive headache with nausea and blurred vision, I feel confused. I haven’t had a migraine in ages. Why now when I’m in a foreign country in the middle of nowhere? There is no way I can handle clinic today with the way I’m feeling. I need to let Dr. Jones know and see if he can get me a shot of Toradol and some Zofran. The ground under me is hard and damp. I must have gotten out of my sleeping bag during the night somehow. My eyes refuse to open, something is not right. My face is swollen and stiff. My arms are bound behind my back in a very uncomfortable position. Suddenly it all comes rushing back to me. I was attacked in the jungle in the early morning hours. Where am I now? Who attacked me and why? What happened to the little girl?

  The sound of voices nearby catches my attention. It’s hard to make out what they are saying. I think it’s Spanish they are speaking. Why have these men taken me? What do they want? Stay calm and don’t panic. You need to be able to think clearly; I tell myself. My hands are still tied behind my back and it’s hard to see anything. I need to figure out a way to get loose so I can escape. Raising up into a sitting position, nausea hits me hard and my stomach empties of all its contents in a few short minutes. However, my stomach continues to lurch, and I dry heave for what seems like an hour. The voices outside have quieted for the moment.

  The darkness comes again. Waking sometime later I wonder if I have a concussion or a head bleed. If it’s the later, I won’t have to worry about what they are going to do to me. I will succumb to coma or death soon. Given the fact that I continue to wake from time to time, it’s most likely not that bad. I don’t think I’ve had a seizure because I’m not wet in my groin like I have peed myself. Sometimes it sucks to have medical knowledge. Ok I have to think, plan, get my act together and get my ass out of here before they come for me again, but I hurt so much. My fingers are numb, every muscle in my body hurts, and I’m so tired.

  As I lay in the dirt my mind drifts to my children. They won’t know what happened to me. Sarah and Justin have lost so much already in losing their father. I hate for them to go through this again. I am so proud of them. Justin recently graduated from the state police academy. He had gotten a degree in criminal justice from the University of Kentucky and then entered the academy. Sarah has followed in her mother’s footsteps by getting a bachelor’s degree in nursing. She is working at a regional hospital in the intensive care unit. I’m so proud of them. Neither has gotten married yet, but they will someday. Now, due to my foolishness I will never see my grandchildren. Why did I have to be so stupid? I knew better. We had been drilled to never go off by ourselves especially while out in the villages. And what did I do? Went off by myself with a stranger, no less and got myself beaten and kidnapped. Stupid, stupid, stupid! My angst is interrupted by the sound of footsteps and voices coming near. A metal door screeches open and I’m hit by a blinding light. The searing pain from the sunlight causes my eyes to scrunch together tightly. A shadow blocks the light. It’s a large man with a gruff voice. He’s yelling at me in Spanish. I only catch a word or two. I wonder if it’s better if they don’t know that I can understanding any Spanish so I weakly mutter “no speaka Spanish.”

  The man proceeds to kick me in the ribs several times. Having no way to defend myself with my arms behind my back, I take the full force of every kick. It hurts to breath. He has bruised or maybe even broken some ribs. God, I hope my lung isn’t punctured. Again, it sucks to have medical knowledge. The man begins again in English this time.

  “You are going to pay for your meddling, bitch. You should never have messed with our girls. You high and mighty Americans come in here and think you can tell us what is right and wrong! Those girls are ours! We will do with them what we want. It’s what they are born for, to be whores, and serve my men. They are our women and you have no right to take them away and hide them from us. Where are the girls?” I don’t respond. He kicks me a few more times. “Tell me, bitch. I know you know where they were taken. Where. Are. They!” When I continue to refuse to answer, he growls in frustration and gives me another couple of kicks to the stomach and ribs. “Since you decided to take from us, we will take you instead.”

  In my present condition, I’m unable to respond. My lungs don’t have enough breath to speak and it’s hard to think clearly right now anyway. The man, Asshole is his name in my mind, grabs me by the hair and drags me outside. I try to push myself along with my feet to decrease the pain in my scalp. They pick me up and throw me in the back of a jeep. Asshole and his companions, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, climb in and we head off into the jungle. I’m not sure how long we travel, because I drift in and out of consciousness. Suddenly I’m jerked awake by rough hands grabbing me by my shoulders and legs. I’m dragged out of the jeep and carried to small metal building with a stone floor. The men throw me to the floor with a thud and exit the little shed. The door closes to the sound of a lock clicking. I wonder if my colleagues have alerted the authorities. Is anyone even looking for me?

  The days blur together as the beatings and moving from place to place continues. The men talk over me in Spanish, not knowing I can understand them. I learn that not only are they in the sex trade, but also are involved in drugs and weapons. I need to get away. Struggling with my bindings
only causes more pain. As I am faced with the futility of my situation, I let my mind wander back in time. Remembering the day at the airport when we were heading out on our trip I think of the man with startling green eyes and briefly relive my encounter with him.

  As I turn to leave, a gentle pressure is on my arm. An electric shook seems to run up my arm into my chest and the heat of his hand warms my arm. I look up into the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. The man smiles at me and says, “Thank you for taking the time to remind us why we do this. It means a lot to me and my men.” “You’re very welcome.” I reply with a smile. I can’t say much more because this gorgeous man has stolen my breath away.

  If only I could have stayed in that moment forever. I have let my mind think of the man often over the last few weeks since it happened. He has haunted my dreams, too. I wonder what his name is and if he has a family waiting for him. It’s crazy to daydream about a complete stranger, but he stirred something in me that I thought had died years ago. My fantasies of him are the only thing that keeps me going through the days that follow.

  My captors moved us several more times. I have no idea where we are or how far we have traveled from my base camp. Finally, we reach what I assume is our final destination, as it has been several days since we last traveled in the jeep. I’m kept in a shed with a dirt floor. There are no windows, so I am in the dark most of the time. It is unbearably hot during the day and very cold at night. They bring me water several times a day, but it is brown and gritty. It has made me sick; nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea has weakened me. My hands have been released from behind my back, but I’m kept restrained by chains on my wrists and ankles for most of everyday. I’m rarely released not even to eat or use the bucket in the room. My clothes are filthy and torn. Sores have erupted on my skin and I smell to high heaven.