Winter Flower

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  She sounded so fake I didn’t see how Rick could miss it. He just said, “She’s fine.”

  She gave him a withering look. “She might have food poisoning.”

  He muttered, “If she doesn’t hit her quota for the day she might get fist poisoning.”

  I stared at him with a dull hate that burned, leaving a twisted and tortured thing that was all that was left of me. I’d gladly die if I could somehow take him with me, erase his petty abuse and violence from the face of the earth.

  “Put your seatbelt on, Strawberry.”

  I did, quickly. Rick didn’t say that out of concern … he said it because we were approaching a police car. We stopped at the red light beside the blue and white car with the words Portland Police emblazoned on the side. One of the cops looked over at us, eyes bouncing from Nialla in the front seat to me and back.

  I once thought that if I could just get to a police officer, I’d be safe. I’d been kidnapped after all. All I had to do was find a police officer and ask for help.

  The first cop I met after Rick took me quickly disabused me of that notion.

  Some cops were good, I was sure. That’s what my mom and dad had told me growing up, anyway. But in several different cities, Rick had used me to pay for protection from the cops. Nothing like a sixteen-year-old girl to get a corrupt cop to look the other way. After all, I was just a whore as far as they were concerned.

  The light turned green and we moved on. It was fully dark now, the headlights on the other cars glaring in the darkness. Rick began to talk.

  “Make this guy happy, Strawberry. When he found out you had an appointment already he doubled the rate. Maybe you can get him to give you an extra tip.”

  I shrugged, indifferent.

  He saw it in the rearview mirror. “Both of you are getting out of pocket lately. Fucking burnouts. I should sell you to the Mexicans and get a new stable.”

  Nialla said, “I don’t give a shit what you do anymore.”

  The crack of his hand slapping the side of her face was loud enough that I flinched. He didn’t say anything else.

  Ten minutes later we approached the hotel, one of the thousands of mid-grade anonymous hotels where horny businessmen traveled away from their wives for meetings and conferences. Mostly middle-aged, mostly overweight, they left their wives and kids at home and traveled across the country, ordering up girls like pizza.

  Rick turned into the parking lot just before the hotel. Asshole had been doing that ever since he got the Mercedes. He didn’t give a shit what happened to us, but he didn’t want the police impounding his car.

  I got out as he called, “Be right here at 8:15.”

  I waved a hand at him, acknowledging his order, and pulled my skirt down around my hips. There was no fucking sidewalk, so I had to tiptoe across the damp grass in my heels. Then I walked across the hotel parking lot and into the lobby.

  I had learned long since that the best policy was to march straight to the elevators without acknowledging the front desk staff. As always, the front desk clerk eyed me suspiciously. But he let me pass without comment.

  I clutched my bag close to me, pressed the up button, and waited for the elevator. A man with salt and pepper hair approached and stood next to me, waiting for the elevator. In the reflection of the polished doors I saw his eyes trace the curves of my body. I ought to be used to it by now, but it made my skin crawl anyway.

  The warning bell dinged and the elevator doors opened. I stepped on and moved to the side, expecting him to stand opposite me. But no … this guy was a charmer. He stood no more than an inch from me, both of us bunched on one side of the elevator.

  I exhaled gratefully when the elevator stopped at my floor and I squeezed past him. As I stepped off the elevator, I felt his hand touch my ass and I spun around. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself, asshole.”

  I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned away and looked for the numbers on the walls that would indicate which direction to go. These hotels were mostly laid out the same everywhere, so I found my way almost instantly and began walking down the hall.

  I passed room 506, then 508. I could hear a television blaring in one of the rooms. On Saturday evening, there would be few people as always, but if I did see people they might be wives or kids—business hotels like this had a much higher frequency of families traveling on weekends.

  I kept walking quickly, finally coming to room 522.

  Every time I did this, no matter how many times, I felt a twisting in my gut at this moment. Twice in the past, I’d walked through doors like this and found men with guns on the other side. I’d been raped too many times to count, and it was just a matter of time before one of them killed me.

  Maybe it would be tonight.

  I lifted my left hand and knocked on the door.

  Erin

  Sam was eating her fourth slice of pizza. Putting on women’s clothing hadn’t reduced her appetite at all. Cole was pacing at the other end of the room. Every few minutes he would come and sit down next to me and we would hold hands and talk. Then, the inability to do anything would set in, and he would have to get up and pace again.

  Sam’s phone buzzed again, for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past hour. She tapped on her phone with her thumbs, hair dangling down over it. It was surprising really that she didn’t get stuck that way.

  Abruptly, Stan Wilcox sat up straight and muttered a curse. Then he spoke into his radio. “Subject is in the hall, everybody in positions! How the hell did she get past the front door without anyone seeing her?”

  Sam let out a plaintive moan, and all three of us moved to stand behind Wilcox. I leaned close over Wilcox’s shoulder. Suddenly I was second-guessing myself. Should I have allowed Sam to be here? What if something went wrong? Would she be further traumatized? What was I thinking? But I kept coming back to the discussion we’d had earlier. Trauma or not, Sam would never forgive us if we didn’t let her stay.

  My eyes were drawn back to the monitor. To the figure moving down the hall.

  She was walking down the hallway away from the camera. She wore a too-short form-fitting black miniskirt and a sleeveless blue shirt. She walked in high heels, but expertly.

  When Brenna was fifteen, she’d refused to wear heels under any circumstances.

  As she walked down the long hallway, Sam began to let out a high-pitched moan and waved her hands. Cole pulled her to him and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Brenna reached the door and stopped, facing it, maddeningly far from the camera. I couldn’t even make out her face. She lifted her right hand and knocked on the door.

  Thirty-Five

  Erin

  The next few seconds happened so fast I barely saw what happened. In the camera showing the room, Detective Yeltsin walked to the door and opened it. At that moment, two of the police officers opened the door across the hall, charged across and shoved into the room. Seconds later, she was standing back against the wall as Melody Michelson came in from the room next door.

  Sam let out a cry, and Cole yelled, “Fuck!”

  The girl in the room wasn’t Brenna. Now that we could see her face, it was utterly clear. This was the other girl. Laura Felker.

  As the realization came over me, it was like I’d fallen off a cliff, my stomach twisting with nausea, terror sinking over me. Where was Brenna?

  Over the radio, we heard Melody’s voice. “Get Erin down here now.”

  Wilcox said, “Go. Cole, you and Sam stay here.”

  I ran down the hall with one of the police officers, going as fast as I could.

  Then we waited for the elevator. One minute. Two. For fuck’s sake! Finally the door opened, and we rode upstairs. The officer escorted me down the hall, where two more were guarding the door.

  I walked in the door of the room, struggling not to cry.

  The girl who stood against the wall sucked in a breath when she saw me. “You look like Strawberry. You her mom?”

  I
staggered, and Melody took my arm. Forcing my voice through tears, I said, “Yes. I am. Do you know where she is?”

  She looked like a caged animal. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll help. I need to call though, or Rick will know something’s wrong.”

  I looked at Melody, frantic, wondering if this was a trick.

  Melody nodded. “You have a safe word or something?”

  “No, just I’m supposed to call within five minutes. And it’s almost been that long.”

  Melody said to the uniformed officers, “All of you step out except Linley—you can stay by the door.” She stepped back, away from Laura, and waved a hand toward the bed, where a small handbag lay.

  Laura took a small phone out of the bag. It looked weird, with only five brightly colored buttons on it. She pressed one and held the phone to her face.

  “Hey. I’m clear … yeah, everything’s fine. I got hassled at the front desk, but I’m in the room now. Yeah … yeah … okay.”

  She hung up the phone and sat down. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath.

  I sat down on the bed across from her. Hesitantly, I said, “My name’s Erin. Erin Roberts. Brenna’s my daughter.”

  “I’m Nialla…” She looked at me and blinked and her eyes watered. “No. My name’s Laura.” Her face worked, and I realized that she had a nasty bruise forming on the left side of her face. She closed her eyes, and a tear started to fall, and then another. She wrapped her arms around herself and tucked her face down, then sucked in snot.

  “Sorry,” she said, demonstrating a degree of self-control and repression I didn’t think I’d ever seen before.

  “It’s okay,” Melody said. “Listen—I’m with the Human Trafficking Task Force in Portland. We’re here to help.”

  “Cops help? Yeah, right.”

  I leaned forward, reaching out for her hands. “Please. Please. I just want Brenna back. I want her free.”

  Laura closed her eyes. “Okay,” she said. She fished in her bag and brought out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. She inhaled the smoke deeply. “Tell me more.”

  “We thought Brenna was coming—but really the plan stays the same,” Melody said. “You give us the address where you were staying. We have a SWAT team standing by. They’ll move in and take down your trafficker and free Brenna.”

  “Rick,” Laura said. “His name’s Rick. He’s dangerous. Brenna was coming to this appointment, but some guy called and really wanted her. He said he’d pay double, and all Rick gives a shit about is money.”

  My stomach turned. He’d pay double. For my daughter. I knew, of course, I already knew, but the rage was overwhelming.

  “She misses you, you know. She told me the other day she found one of your flyers. It really broke her up. But she’s … I don’t know…” Laura shook her head. “She’s given up.”

  Given up? “What do you mean?”

  “Lately, she just seems … at the end of her rope. At the end of her strength. I’ve been afraid she’s going to kill herself, so I made a plan. An escape plan.” She stared at me then shook her head.

  “Your idea won’t work.”

  My stomach sank.

  Melody said, “Why not?”

  “Rick checked us out of the hotel earlier. After we finish our appointments, he’s planning on leaving Portland. He’s got a girl he’s picking up, her name’s Kaylee. She’s thirteen. He was planning on getting her, picking us up, and leaving town.”

  Melody asked in an urgent voice, “Where are you going?”

  Laura shook her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t, Rick never tells us.”

  My mind was racing. If we couldn’t get the SWAT team, and this Rick guy left town with Brenna and another girl—thirteen?—where would they go? We had no idea. She’d be lost again.

  “We can’t let them go,” I said.

  Melody looked at me then at Laura. In a gentle tone, she said, “Laura, can I bring in the FBI agent who has been searching for you and Brenna? He’s right upstairs, with Brenna’s father and sister. I think we need to get him in on this.”

  “Sure. Bring whoever you want.” She looked around for an ashtray. This was a nonsmoking room, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Instead, I got up and filled a plastic cup with water and brought it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Five minutes later, Agent Wilcox entered the room without Cole and Sam. I wondered if they had to arrest Cole to keep him from coming down here.

  “Miss Felker, I’m Agent Stan Wilcox. I’m with the Child Abduction Response Unit of the FBI. I’ve been looking for you for a long time. Brenna, too.”

  “Hi,” she said. She looked frightened. How old was she? Twenty? I wanted to hug her, for as long as she needed. I thought for a second about the witch of a mother she had, who would say she’ll burn in hell with all the other whores. This poor, poor girl.

  Melody said, “Stan, we’ve got a problem. They’ve already checked out of their hotel. She’s getting picked up from here and they’re leaving town.”

  Wilcox frowned. “All right … we’ll get them when they come to pick her up.”

  “No!” Laura said in horror. “Rick will fight … he’ll shoot. You’ll get Brenna killed! You can’t!”

  Jesus Christ. I felt confused and frustrated.

  “Laura,” Melody said.

  “No. I’ll go back. And I’ll find a way to call you. Brenna’s supposed to be faking sick. She’s been doing a good job of it, all day. Our plan was to make Rick stop at a rest stop. We’ll go in the bathroom and borrow someone’s phone.”

  Wilcox shook his head. “Too dangerous. I don’t have any tracking equipment and we don’t have time to get any.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “You can’t shoot it out with Rick. He’s fucking crazy. He’d kill Brenna for the fun of it.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed. This girl—this woman—was offering to go back into hell in order to protect Brenna. I had to fight back tears. I opened my eyes and said, “Let her take my phone. We’ll silence it, but leave location tracking on.”

  “Erin…” Wilcox said. “I don’t see how—”

  “We can track my phone. That’s how Cole found Sam when she got attacked.”

  Laura nodded. “I can do that. Just make sure it can’t go off or buzz or anything. If Rick finds it…” She shuddered.

  I took out my phone and silenced it. Then to be sure, I went to the settings and turned off vibrate mode too. “Call me,” I said.

  Wilcox sighed. “All right…” He dialed.

  My phone lit up but didn’t make a sound.

  “Can you make the screen all the way dark?” he asked.

  “Close,” I said, dialing the brightness down all the way.

  I looked up at Wilcox. “Can you call Cole down here? So we can make sure he can track the location?”

  Wilcox nodded, but he looked dubious.

  Laura took the phone from me. Reaching into her purse, she slid the phone in between the seam and the outside. She shook the bag.

  “Can’t see it,” she said. “But it’s hard. If he touches my purse, he’ll know.”

  Melody asked, “How often does he do that?”

  She shook her head. “Not often. And he’ll be distracted tonight. With this girl Kaylee, I bet he won’t even look at me. He’s always like that with the new ones, and especially the young ones.”

  The young ones. I wanted to vomit. I wondered how many women’s lives this man had destroyed. I could hear Stan saying, Both girls were shot in the back of the head with a large caliber pistol. They were executed.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, trying not to start crying. “You’re putting yourself in danger.”

  She shrugged. “I’m always in danger. But I want you to get Strawberry out. She’s…” Laura closed her eyes. “I love her. And I’m afraid of what will happen.”

  I don’t know why, but impulsively I said, “Can I give you a hug?”

&nbs
p; She sniffed hard and nodded. I carefully moved over to the other bed beside her and put an arm around her. She took a deep shuddering breath, and then sniffed again, while tears began to roll down her face. “I’ll try to help her. I will. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him back then, back when he picked her up.” Her voice was a light almost extinguished. Sad and quiet and understated. But she shook as she said the words.

  I looked over at Melody. Her eyes were glassy.

  When Cole and Sam came in the room, Melody walked over to them and began speaking in a low tone. Explaining what was happening, I guess. I couldn’t really hear over Laura’s sob’s. I slowly stroked my fingers through her hair and whispered, “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

  Brenna

  It was still early for me when I left the hotel, but the exhaustion and stress of pretending to be sick was wearing on me. I was pretty sure this was my last appointment though. Rick was in a hurry to get out of town.

  I felt sick. The client I’d just come from had hurt me, twisting my nipples so hard I cried out in pain. I barely cared what happened to me anymore, but at least Nialla’s plan was worth a try. Maybe we could run for a while before he found us and killed us.

  A drop of rain hit my face, then another, as I walked across the parking lot and back to the sidewalk. I dialed Rick. He answered right away.

  “I’m coming out now.”

  “Go down to the gas station and wait for me. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Fine. Fucking walking in the mud with no sidewalk in heels. Why didn’t they put sidewalks in neighborhoods like this? The gas station looked like it was a hundred yards away. I walked that way, finally giving up and taking my shoes off.

  I finally got to the gas station and waited near the ice machine. A couple minutes later Rick drove up in the Mercedes.

  The eighth grader, Kaylee, was in the front seat next to Rick. Jesus. She had no idea the hell she was in for. None. I walked over and climbed into the back seat, behind Kaylee. I didn’t want to be close to Rick.

  Before he could even tell me to, I got the money out of my purse and passed it to him. Three hundred and fifty dollars.