“He was so mean to you,” Chloe says.
I nod and realize I’m crying harder. Silent tears are running down my face. I wipe them away with a corner of the blanket.
“But Tommy’s not like that,” Chloe says. “Now that you’re here, he’ll take care of you.”
I look up at her. Her wide eyes and pale, round face. She’ll never get it. She doesn’t know what I was like “before.” She will never understand, because she never had a “before.” At least not a good one. Her “before” was worse than her “now.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You’re right.” I wipe my nose on the blanket and pat her on the arm. “Go get some sleep, Chloe. Tomorrow isn’t far away.”
She leans forward and gives me a little hug, then turns to go. As I watch her small frame disappear through my door, I vow to myself that if I ever do get out of here, I’ll come back for her. Chloe will have a chance to know a different life. I won’t let her down.
“I’ll always be here for you,” Brit said.
We were sitting on the playground swings, licking our ice cream cones. It was summer, we were sixteen, and Aaron was working at the local custard shop. He always gave us extra custard when we bought cones. Today we both had chocolate. It was so rich and creamy! The day had been a record-setting hot one, and the evening was one of those warm summer evenings where the air is the same temperature as your skin so you can’t really “feel” the air. I remember how cool the dessert felt on my tongue.
When I didn’t answer, Brit said it again.
“Heather.” She waited until I looked at her. “I’ll always be here for you.”
“You will?” I said. My mom had just come home from her second round in rehab. She was doing well but had lost her job as a nurse, and she’d have to look for work. I was feeling down, a bit depressed really, and was worrying about our upcoming senior year.
“Always,” Brit said. She turned her attention back to her ice cream, licking around the sides of the cone. It was melting quickly in the heat.
“What if we end up going to different colleges that are far apart?” I said. “I don’t have the money to go anyplace fancy, not now that Mom is out of work. You could be in New York, and I could be in….” I was about to say California, the farthest place away from her I could think of, when I realized I probably couldn’t afford out-of-state tuition. “Here,” I said. “I could still be here.”
Brittney laughed. “No, you won’t! You’re brilliant, and any college would be crazy not to take you.”
Her words made me feel better, but only a little.
“What if we do drift apart?” I said, suddenly serious. “People do that. You’ll have your friends. I’ll have mine. You might move out of state and have kids with Aaron—”
“Wait!” Brit said. “We are NOT engaged!”
“Not yet!” I said, and we laughed. Aaron was a nice guy, but I was just kidding about marriage. Who thinks of that in high school?
“But seriously, Brit. Things happen. People drift apart.”
I tried then to imagine life without Brit. Since preschool, we had been inseparable. There were times in grade school when we weren’t in the same class, and it was awful. But we still saw each other at lunch, during recess, and of course, after school. We were in Brownies together, then Girl Scouts in middle school. We took swimming lessons together when we were six and horseback riding lessons when we were eight. We’ve been part of each other’s birthday celebrations. I’ve even traveled with her and her family to visit her grandmother in Tennessee during spring break.
“Hey,” Brit said.
I licked my ice cream again, catching the drips before they reached my hand. Then I looked over at her. Her deep, brown eyes met mine.
“Never. I will never leave you, Heather. No matter how crazy your life gets, you can always count on me to be that one constant. I will always, always be here for you.”
And for emphasis, she held up her left hand, which had that small white scar on her palm. I held up mine, with a bigger, matching scar.
The sun was setting, and its golden rays were shining on her hair at that moment, giving her the look of an angel. I felt a huge swell of love in my heart for this beautiful person, my sister, my best friend.
“Thank you,” I said. And we went back to eating our ice cream and talking about boys, and school, and all the normal things teenage girls are supposed to talk about.
— — —
As I lie there in bed, trying to stay warm, I wonder where Brit is now.
A darkness has settled over me. I’m starting to wonder if maybe my mom’s depression is hereditary. For all of the months before this, I’ve always held out hope, but today I feel like giving up. Giving in.
I don’t even have the energy to think about suicide.
When Tommy wakes us, I get dressed and eat the stale donuts provided. I say nothing on the car ride over to the motel, where I’ll spend the next ten to fifteen hours providing an outlet for someone else’s problems and addictions, and providing an income for Tommy. And us. The girls.
I’m providing for Chloe and Serena, and even Reg.
“Heather? Do you want a tattoo this weekend?” Tommy asks from the front seat. I wonder if he’s referring to the tattoo like Chloe has. The one that marks me as his property. I shrug. Why not? What does it matter.
Tommy can sense a change in me, maybe, because he keeps talking. “How about we get your nails done, too? I know this place, where I take Chloe. You want to go?”
I shrug again. This is the first time he has offered to take me out. The other three girls get special treats from him every now and then, but for me, this is a first.
“Oh, let’s!” Chloe says cheerfully.
“You can come, too,” Tommy says to her. “Maybe I’ll take all four of you. My treat. And we’ll get your hair done. You want to add some color, Heather?”
It’s important for us to look nice. That’s what Chloe has told me. The clients don’t want ugly girls.
I turn towards the window, not answering. I don’t care about any of that. It’s a sunny day today, but cold. February in New York is brutal. The dress I have is sleeveless and the thin coat Tommy found for me doesn’t provide much protection.
As the images speed by—boarded up buildings, people huddled against their walls, a bar, the pharmacy where I bought the pads—I don’t notice any of it. I have gone inside myself today, and it feels nice in here. If I go in deep enough, I don’t even feel the cold. I can’t tell that my knees are shaking, and my teeth are chattering.
Tommy parks the car and opens the back door for me. As we run from the parking lot towards the motel room, I’m almost relieved to get there, to feel the blast of heat inside. He closes the door and leaves me alone to work. I keep my coat on, trying to warm up. I rub my arms with my hands, then take off my shoes and try to warm my feet the same way. It doesn’t do much good, and I don’t have much time. The first man will be here soon.
So I take my coat off and put my kitten heels back on. Then I sit on the bed and try to look provocative, like Reg showed me. Maybe I’ll get a tip. Chloe told me that sometimes, if they’re really happy with you, they leave a tip. I could use some extra money.
Then, as I hear a short knock on the door, and see the handle turning, I retreat back inside myself, to my safe place. And I don’t come out again until I’m back in my bed at the house. It’s a system that works. It’s a system that I’m sticking with.
— — —
But Chloe doesn’t come into my room that night. It’s the first night she hasn’t visited since I got there, with the exception of those nights she was too hurt to get out of bed. And then I visited her.
I wait for a while. Reg comes in and is soon asleep. I hear the men settle down and the muffled sound of Tommy’s television playing in his room. One of the thugs leaves because I hear the front door close. After what seems like hours and Tommy’s television has gone quiet, I get up and tiptoe down the hall to
Chloe’s room. Serena is in there, sleeping. Thug woke her early this morning to work, so I don’t wake her.
Chloe hasn’t come home.
I’m worried, but not overly. Sometimes Reg stays out longer than the rest of us. That’s probably the case with Chloe. So she’s probably okay. I go back to bed and lay there some more, trying to think about where Chloe could be. Eventually, sleep overtakes me.
— — —
“Where’s Chloe?” I say the next morning. We’re all sitting in the living room, sharing some breakfast bars that Thug Two brought in. What I wouldn’t give for some fresh fruit! Reg is smoking her joint while eating, a trick she seems to have mastered. Serena is looking at the floor and is quiet, like always.
Tommy answers me. “She didn’t come in last night.” He has been pacing and keeps checking his phone.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Thug went to pick her up from the hotel, and she wasn’t there. The room was empty. And she didn’t come home last night. I drove around this morning but haven’t seen her.”
“Chloe’s missing?” I say.
Tommy shrugs. “She’ll turn up. This has happened a few other times. She goes home with one of the clients, or sometimes one of the other girls. Gets me some dirt.”
Dirt is Tommy’s name for heroin.
“She’ll be fine,” he says again.
But he looks worried. And I’m scared.
I have no choice but to go in to work, because Thug One is driving us to the hotel today, and he’s in a mood. I feel sick inside at what might have happened to Chloe. I look down all the streets we pass and against the boarded-up buildings, hoping to see her small frame. When we get to the hotel, I scan the parking lot for clues. But nothing.
The shift seems harder than usual, and my skin crawls worse with each new man who enters my hotel room. I want to leave, to run and find Chloe, but Thug is standing guard, out in the parking lot, in his car. I wonder what he does in there for so many hours. I doubt he reads.
And if he leaves, there’s always someone else. Always. There’s no chance of escape.
Ever.
Which makes me wonder why no one saw Chloe. But maybe Chloe doesn’t need a guard like I do. Maybe she stays put.
Tommy picks me up from the hotel around 2:30 a.m.
“Did you find her?” I ask as soon as I get in the car.
“No,” he says, and lights up a cigarette. He reaches back and offers me a drag. I refuse.
I scan the streets as we drive, looking, hoping. I see a lot of girls working the street corners, but I don’t see Chloe anywhere.
When Tommy stops the car, I refuse to get out. He’s standing there, holding the door open, waiting.
“I want to go looking for her,” I say. “We have to find her.”
“No,” he says simply, and motions for me to get out.
“Please.”
Tommy reaches inside and grabs my wrist. He pulls me out. “That’s my job,” he says. “I take care of my girls, right?”
I’m not so sure he does, but I don’t tell him this. I let him lead me inside, and I head to the bathroom. I take a quick shower. There isn’t much shampoo left, and I have to add water to the bottle to get any out. My hair feels only partially clean because of this. But I don’t care. My mind is on Chloe.
I turn the water off and am drying off when I hear shouting. Tommy and Thug One are yelling at each other.
“If something has happened to her, Sal, you owe me,” Tommy shouts. “You never should have left the lookout. I’m holding you responsible for this.” And then I hear a door slam.
When I open the bathroom door, I see Thug One sitting in one of the living room chairs with a beer in his hand and a cigarette in the other. Tommy is the one who left. Thug Two is standing, fishing through his pockets for keys.
“I’ll check the alleyways and garbage bins,” he says.
He leaves. His words sink in. Alleyways and garbage bins. Do they think she’s dead? Do they think somebody dumped her body?
“What you looking at?” Thug One growls at me, and I realize I’m standing in the hall just inside the living room doorway. Just staring. Lost in my thoughts.
“Any word on Chloe?” I ask.
“Nope. Boss went to look for her again.”
“Do you think…she’s okay?”
Thug One takes a drink of beer before responding, then he doesn’t even answer my question.
“Go to bed,” he says.
I creep into my bedroom. Reg is out late tonight, so I’m alone with no one to talk to. The night is hot, and the window air conditioner in the living room isn’t reaching the bedroom. I lie on top of the covers and will myself to fall asleep.
I don’t sleep all night, and when I get up, Reg doesn’t look like she slept, either. She has dark circles under her eyes. But she’s her usual stiff self and only shrugs when I try to talk to her.
In the car, I miss Chloe sitting in the spot between me and Reg. Neither of us speak. Reg stares out her window, and I look out mine. Tommy drops Reg off a few rooms down. Then he parks the car farther up and turns the ignition off so he can come and get me out.
But his cell phone rings.
He answers it. I hear a male voice on the other end, but I can’t tell what the voice is saying.
“You sure?” Tommy says.
There’s an answer on the other end. Tommy pounds the steering wheel and swears a violent string of words. I’m in the back seat, but I still cringe deep into the seat, away from his angry voice.
“Bring her to me,” he says. “You know where I am.”
Then he clicks his phone off and gets out of the car.
“Was that about Chloe?” I ask as he opens my door, and I stand.
He nods. I look into his eyes. His face is red, his eyes set to a steely brown. “She’s dead.”
“What?” I don’t think I’ve heard him right.
“Dead. She got chopped. Somebody dumped her, and Franco found her body in a garbage bin.”
“No,” I feel my knees starting to buckle, but suddenly Tommy has me. He holds me up and pulls me towards the motel room.
“I need you to get in here before you pass out,” he says. He beeps his keys, locking his car, then half pulls, half carries me to the motel room.
“Not Chloe,” I say. The horror of what has just happened is sinking in. Chloe isn’t coming back. Someone has hurt her. Killed her. And I have lost my only friend.
Her pale, round face comes into my mind. So young and so sweet. So confused. I think of her offering me food. Painkillers. Drugs. Anything to take care of me. And encouragement. Even if her help was misguided, her heart was in the right place.
Who will sit with me at night while I fall asleep? Who can I confide in?
“No,” I say, sitting on the motel bed. I feel tears spill down my cheeks.
“I’ll see you in ten hours,” he says.
“Tommy, don’t go,” I say. I’m crying for real now. “I need to see her. I need to see her body. I have to be sure.”
Tommy frowns, and for a moment he waivers. Then he shakes his head. “No. You need to work, especially now that I’m down a girl. And clean yourself up. You’re a mess.” He reaches over to the nightstand and throws a box of tissue at me. Then he shuts the door.
I blow my nose.
The doorknob turns, and I think that Tommy has changed his mind and come back. But it’s not him. It’s a dark-haired man in a business suit, with a subtle shadow of beard on his face.
“I can’t,” I say, as he closes the door behind him. He tosses a wad of cash on the bed. “My friend just died.” I am crying harder now. Surely, he’ll have some compassion on me. I wait for him to say something, to pat me on the shoulder maybe. But he takes his suit coat off and throws it across the chair near the door. Then he starts unbuckling his pants.
“Yes, you can,” he says. “And you will. I’ll get what I paid for, one way or another.”
And he do
es. I give in to him because it hurts less that way. And as soon as he’s done, as soon as he’s leaving, I pull my dress down over my legs and jump off the bed. I run to the door and look out. There’s Thug Two with his car parked next to Tommy’s. They’re looking in his trunk.
Surely they wouldn’t really be looking at a dead body in the parking lot, would they? Or maybe they would, because nobody in this part of the city cares. Death is rampant here. Violence is the norm.
I push the John out of my way and run towards them, the gravel and cold blacktop cutting into my bare feet.
I’m crying as I reach the car, and there she is. Chloe. Her body, crumpled into the trunk. She’s wearing a white dress with pearls sewn across the neckline, one she looked so pretty in and much older. And it’s stained with blood. Chloe’s blood. Around her neck is a huge bruise where someone choked her. And there’s a stab wound in her side where her dress is torn. That must be where all the blood is from.
Tommy tries to push me away, but I see it before he can. I see the horrible marking running down the length of her left arm, just below the tattoo of Tommy’s name. Someone has cut a word into the flesh of her arm. A message for Tommy. It reads: REVENGE.
— — —
I don’t remember much more of the day. Tommy tells Thug Two to “take care of me” as he slams the trunk lid. “Then take care of her,” he says, nodding to the body in the trunk. I can’t think of it as Chloe anymore.
I fight Thug Two, screaming and trying to beat him with my fists. He’s much stronger than I am, and twice my size, and he picks me up and carries me to the motel room. The door is already open, so he carries me through and throws me on the bed, kicking the door closed behind us.
“Pull yourself together!” he yells. But I can’t. I can’t stop crying, and I’m hysterical. I am wailing and trying to stand, but he keeps pushing me down. He’ll probably beat me. He’ll probably kill me, but I no longer care, because my only friend in this world of hell is dead, and now I’m utterly alone.
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