Ordinary Girl

by Pamela Gossiaux

  Cory and his “dad” Roger (who wasn’t really his dad) were arrested. They were part of a group of men who lured girls into trafficking situations. Mr. Sneeder, who I thought was my friend, was a plant in the coffee shop to find out information about me. Like what I told him about not getting into college, and what I want to study, and about my dad dying. He fed this information to Cory, who then came in and “coincidentally” had a lot in common with me. Mr. Sneeder knew the right time to call Cory in; when I was the most vulnerable. The day I was so down from all that was happening in my life, Cory came in to distract me. Once Cory built up my trust, and got me to go away with him, he took me to the house in New York. That was a brothel of sorts, where men paid big money to hook up with women, especially virgins. And after that, we girls were moved on, or sold, to people like Tommy.

  I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for that. But my therapist tells me that it happens all the time. And that I wasn’t stupid. That it was a well laid out plan, a trap. Thousands of kids fall into trafficking every year in our country. Some of them are just ordinary girls like me.

  Mom speaks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Are you ready, Heather?” she asks. I smile and nod. Everybody sings happy birthday to me, and I blow out my candles. Then Mom starts slicing through the cake.

  “Which piece do you want?” she says, although she already knows.

  “She wants the middle piece, of course,” Brittney says. I look over at my friend, who is scooping ice cream.

  Brittney is my hero. She deferred her first year of college, even though Columbia had given her a scholarship. The FBI found out I had been trafficked about the time she graduated from high school. Shortly after graduation, she hooked up with an organization called Hope’s Angels, the one I saw on the brochure she brought with her to the hospital. It’s a non-profit dedicated to finding victims of trafficking and helping them get out. They have a lot of volunteers now and even a board which Brit was recently elected to. Brit works at the coffee shop where I worked but has been taking her weekends and traveling around the big cities of Detroit, Houston, Miami, but mostly in New York, looking for me on street corners, in hospitals, and in motel rooms. There are photos of me up everywhere in these cities, I hear. Jess at the coffee shop has given Brit a flexible schedule so she can take off whenever she gets a tip. And a tip is what saved me.

  Someone had seen my poster and reported me a few months before Brit found me. We don’t know who. Perhaps a cop. Or one of the other girls. Or even a John. So she had been coming to that part of New York every chance she got for the past several months. The night she found me, a police officer had called the number on one of her posters. The partner of the cop who picked me up thought he recognized me, and when he called, Brit just happened to be in town. His call saved my life.

  My friends didn’t give up on me. Instead, they dedicated that year of their lives to finding me. I think of how grateful I am for all of them, and to be here, alive.

  As I blow out my candles, I make a wish. It’s a wish that all of the girls—and there are some boys, too—that all of them out there in this dark world can be found and come home. Safe. To friends and a mom like mine.

  After Brit found me, she brought me home by ambulance, all the way to Detroit. I was malnourished and had very low iron. And I was strung out on drugs. They put me in rehab, and the first few weeks were hell, as I detoxed and tried to regain strength. After a poor diet for so long, the fresh fruit and vegetables they fed me weren’t agreeing with me, and I felt sick most of the time. My body was too weak to heal. I had a nutritionist and drug counselor and a trauma counselor all working with me. It was a long hard six weeks, but then they finally let me come home and switch to outpatient therapy.

  Gracie was so excited to see me she clung to me for days. She kept herself wrapped around my legs while I sat in the house, and she curled up beside me when I slept. She still won’t let me out of her sight when I’m home.

  I told the police here about Tommy and the girls, and they went back and looked around the neighborhood near the hospital where Brit found me but didn’t see anything. So, after I got out of rehab, I made Brit take me back to that neighborhood. We took some police officers with us and drove around the area of the hospital until I saw something that looked familiar. It was the motel. From there I was able to find my way back to the house on Straight Street.

  Tommy was gone, and so were the girls. The place was cleared out. We drove the streets, looking for them, and Brit and I went back several more times to drive around. I even stopped at the motel and asked. Nobody had seen Reg or Serena or Kaitlyn. At least nobody would admit to it.

  We found Kaitlyn’s family. She had been abducted one night while jogging along a park path in New Jersey. They have ramped up the search for her, and Brit’s organization is helping. We will find her. We have to.

  I’m different now. I still have nightmares every night and wake up terrified. I’m afraid Tommy will come through the door, or I imagine a man standing over my bed. I’m still in counseling, and they are doing some REM therapy which works with eye movements. It’s supposed to be good for people who have gone through trauma.

  I started working at a little veterinary office down on Main Street. I get to check in the cats and dogs and weigh them and stuff like that. It’s quiet there, and I love it. It’s only part time, since my therapist says I need to start slow. I’m going to enroll in the community college this fall and maybe take some science classes. I still might be a doctor. But I’m leaning more towards becoming a psychologist who works with victims of sexual abuse. I don’t know yet.

  I can’t go back to the coffee shop where it all started, even though Brit works there. She says she stays there to be sure no creeps come in to steal girls again. But this fall, Brit is going to Columbia University. She’s going to get her degree in law so she can actively work towards the causes she holds so dear. She wants to start by ending trafficking.

  Sometimes at night, when I lay in bed awake, I think about Chloe and wish she could have lived just a little bit longer so I could have saved her. And because Brit believes that prayer led her to me, I have started praying. I pray for Reg, and Serena, and Kaitlyn. I’m even getting to the point where I can pray for Tommy. My counselor says that when I can finally let go of the hate, I will really start to heal.

  “It’s time to open presents!” Mom says. Jess, my former manager, is grinning. She grabs her present and puts it on the table in front of me. It’s big. I don’t know for sure, but I'm suspecting it’s a cappuccino maker. Jess knows I love my coffee.

  I look around at my loved ones: Mrs. and Mrs. Hudson and their son Timmy. Aaron, Dennis, Jess, Cherise, and of course, Brit. Brittney catches my eye and smiles.

  And I am grateful. I have finally come home.

  THE END

  This book was difficult to write, not only because of the subject matter, but because I had to learn about a world of which, thankfully, I have no personal experience. I want to thank the people who taught me by sharing their own personal experiences. These women survivors who bravely told their stories to me not only filled in the blanks so I could write a factual novel, but their spirit and strength has inspired me. You are my heroines, and I am grateful that you are willing to step out of your comfort zone so that others can be free.

  I also want to thank those who stepped inside Heather’s world as readers:

  Thank you to my first readers: Xanthe, Other Pam, and Sarah for reading the many early drafts until I found Heather’s voice. Your insights helped me frame this story into something that makes sense. And thank you to my husband Duane, who read the very first draft and offered me a man’s perspective.

  To my beta readers: Anna, Emma, Rachel, Rochelle and Robyn. You gave me the perspective of a reader and helped me finish this story.

  A special thank you to Anita Hoepner of Sparrow Freedom Project for her courage, honesty, insight, and compassion. When words fail, art s
peaks. And to Mike Ball of Lost Voices, for his continuing journey to help survivors heal through music.

  I am forever grateful to my husband Duane and my two sons, Zack and Logan, for bringing joy and love into my life. And thank you to my parents, Floyd and Judy, who provided me with a safe, loving home to grow up in. I know how blessed I am, and I hope I never take this life for granted.

  And thank you to God, for making each of us in His image and loving us unconditionally. Even when we’re in our darkest moments, we are His, and we’re never alone. There is always hope. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. – Psalm 147:3

  Victims of human trafficking are controlled by their traffickers through force or fear, and are often lured by false promises of money, stability, or a loving relationship. Girls and women aren’t the only victims; so are men, boys, and transgender people. Also, trafficking isn’t always for sex. Some traffickers want people for labor.

  Identify Human Trafficking Victims

  There are many different indicators that someone is a victim. Here are a few. If you suspect something is wrong, ask yourself these questions:

  Are there bruises or other signs of physical abuse?

  Is the person fearful, anxious, depressed, or showing other signs of psychological abuse?

  Is the person submissive?

  Is the person being controlled by someone?

  Does the person have very few personal possessions?

  Is the person being deprived of food, water, sleep, medical care, or other life necessities?

  Is the person allowed to be in public alone?

  Can the person freely contact friends or family?

  Is the person a minor engaged in commercial sex?

  Does a minor appear to be in a relationship with a much older person?

  Does the person fear his or her employer?

  Is there drug use?

  Can the person leave their job situation if they want?

  Has someone threatened the person's family?

  Do this person have an unusual tattoo that resembles a barcode?

  If you are in danger, call 911 to receive the most immediate response.

  Report Human Trafficking

  If you are a victim of human trafficking or have identified someone you think may need help, please contact the National Human Trafficking Resource Center:

  Call 888-373-7888

  or

  Text BEFREE (233733)

  or

  Chat online with an Advocate

  (Available in English and Spanish)

  https://humantraffickinghotline.org/chat

  This is a national, toll-free hotline, available to answer calls from anywhere in the country, 24-hours a day, 7-days a week, every day of the year. ALL CALLS ARE CONFIDENTIAL.

  Please call to:

  Report a tip.

  Connect with anti-trafficking services in your area.

  Request training and technical assistance, general information or specific anti-trafficking resources.

  Information obtained from Michigan.gov - Department of Attorney General and HumanTraffickingHotline.org.

  

  Pamela Gossiaux is the author of the Russo Romantic Mystery series, and the romantic comedy Good Enough, as well as the inspirational books, Why Is There a Lemon in My Fruit Salad? How to Stay Sweet When Life Turns Sour, and A Kid at Heart. She is also a speaker, writing instructor, and freelancer. She lives and writes in Michigan near a wonderful university town with her husband, two sons, and three cats. Visit her website at PamelaGossiaux.com, follow her on Twitter @PamelaGossiaux, or sign up for her newsletter. For more about human trafficking and Ordinary Girl, visit PamelaGossiaux.com/OrdinaryGirl.