Mason's Run

by Mellanie Rourke

  “You’ve made so many friends, Mason, I’m not even sure who I would pick to go first.”

  The audience gasped and I heard several people yelling, “Boo!” toward the back of the room. Weaver’s hand squeezed tighter. She’d seen the pictures of our family as well.

  The video continued unmercifully. I couldn’t breathe. The look of abject terror on Mason’s face was so obvious. I recognized the outfit he was wearing. This was the night the twins had been hurt. This was what really happened at the community center.

  I saw the anger and fear in his face, but the courage, too. A part of me was sick at the thought of what had happened, and angry that he hadn’t told me.

  “No!” Mason screamed, lunging across the desk at Dowling. “I’ll do what you want! Don’t hurt them!” Mason’s voice sounded so broken, tears were falling from my eyes before I even realized I was crying along with him.

  “You seem to be forgetting that you aren’t in charge here, you fucking whore,” Dowling yelled. He picked up the desk phone and dialed a number, when someone answered he looked at Mason and said, “Just to show I mean business… Gavin? Do it.” He said to the person on the other end of the phone then hung up.

  I heard a muffled, “Oh my god,” from the direction of Bill and his friends.

  Mason’s anguished cry from the screen dragged my eyes back to the stage, and the agony in them on the video ripped me apart.

  My eyes sought his as he stood on stage, but they were shut, his face calm, a few silent tears streaking down his face. He seemed almost… peaceful… as the horrific video played, but I could see the hand holding the microphone was shaking slightly. The video continued relentlessly.

  “No!” Mason screamed on screen. “I’ll do what you want! Don’t hurt them!” I watched as Mason lunged for the phone in Dowling’s hand, missing it and ending up with a handful of Dowling’s shirt instead.

  I saw a man behind him, a man I recognized immediately as Bill Conyers, grab Mason and pull him back into a chair. That son of a bitch.

  “Siddown, fucker,” Conyers yelled, pinning Mason to the chair with his arms.

  “See, it’s outbursts like this that make me certain a little demonstration of my power over you is so necessary,” Dowling said, shaking his head and sighing at Mason.

  “Someone on that screen is having an ‘accident’, right now, Mason and it’s All. Your. Fault.”

  I could see the moment Mason broke, the moment when despair took over. All because he knew he couldn’t protect me and my family. Dear god.

  “Aww, he’s crying like a little bitch,” Conyers laughed, his voice scathing as it echoed through the silent auditorium. You could have heard a pin drop.

  “From what I remember, fucking him is even better than fucking a bitch.” Dowling’s eyes gleamed as he leaned forward, his mouth to Mason’s ear, “…and I’ve fucked a lot of bitches in my time... Bill, you said you wanted to try out a piece of ass. His is about the best you’ll ever get a chance at. What do you think, Mason? Should I make you my bitch again?” Dowling asked, as he came around the desk and stood in front of Mason.

  He gestured to Conyers, who wrestled Mason out of the chair and slammed him forward onto the desk. Dowling’s laugh echoed evilly through the hall as the relentless video showed him holding a gun to the back of Mason’s head.

  I watched helplessly as Mason tried to fight, only to have me and other people he cared about tie him down tighter than any ropes could have. Even so, he struggled at first, until I saw Bill tap the screen with the gun in his hand.

  The video caught the unmistakable sound of pants being unzipped and the blow that forced Mason across the desk. Fortunately, for everyone’s sanity, the camera was catching mostly just Mason’s face, and Dowling in the background, leering on as Bill yanked at Mason’s hair to force his head back.

  The pain and disgust on Mason’s face was clear: He tried to pull away from them, his body jerking backwards, bumping the desk or shelf the cell phone was on. The picture wavered a moment and refocused, this time showing more of Dowling’s body, including the handgun he held pointed at Mason.

  The video jumped again, a few minutes having passed, obviously editing out the actual attack on Mason.

  “Well, I certainly see now why you missed him so much,” said Conyers, as he rebuckled his belt. “He is better than a bitch.”

  I watched Mason grab blindly for his clothes, his face ashen and silent tears running down his face. The angle kept his body from being exposed, but naked agony was apparent on his face.

  A gasp went up through the audience as they realized what they had just watched. I heard a woman scream and saw Bill’s wife, Adelaide, slumped over in her seat.

  “Stop them!” a voice yelled, and I was already out of my seat before I saw Bill and his cronies running past the front of the stage and toward the center aisle in a bid to escape. I saw Jeri’s foot flash out and trip him as he ran by, a handgun fumbling out of his grasp and onto the floor. I moved as I saw him reach for it, all too aware of the damage he might be able to cause with so many people nearby. His fingers were a mere inch away from the weapon when a booted foot came down hard on his hand. Tobi’s foot.

  Conyers screamed and Tobi grinned as Jeri jumped up and wrapped her arms around him. “I think we know who the real degenerate are now, Bill,” he said.

  Bill made it to his feet and started running down the aisle, but I sprinted after him. My hip hurt, but I’d be damned if I let him get away after what he’d done. He had almost made it to the doors out of the auditorium when I tackled him to the ground.

  “You fucking sonofabitch,” I growled, my fists flying as I pummeled him into submission. Unfortunately, I only got in a couple of punches before the doors in front of us opened, and the tall, middle-aged man wearing the Security t-shirt stood over us, holding a badge in one hand and his gun in the other entered the auditorium.

  “Mr. Conyers, you are under arrest for aggravated assault, rape, racketeering, attempted murder and a whole lot of other shit that’s going to keep you in jail the rest of your life. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

  The click-whir of handcuffs being applied seemed louder than a gunshot. The room went wild, the crowd cheering as he was placed under arrest. After the police escorted Conyers and his friends out, Adelaide Conyers regained consciousness and was helped out of the room by some friends. I couldn’t help but pity her. I sincerely hoped she hadn’t been involved in any of her husband’s crimes.

  Mason stood in front of the auditorium and waited for the police to escort Bill and his friends out. He waited for the noise to wind down and then gestured for folks to take their seats.

  “So, in the eight years since I’ve been writing and drawing ‘Dark Angels’, there have been a lot of guesses, but no one has ever heard the real story of where the idea for the stories came from.”

  The crowd quieted further. Mason sat on a tall bar stool that had been left for him, the house lights still down, a single spotlight shining on his head from above, creating a nimbus of light around his head. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair.

  “What I haven’t shared with a lot of people, is that ‘Dark Angel’ is real.” Nervous laughter ran through the audience, as if they were expecting a punch line. “No, not real, as in, fantasy come to life, but real as in, an Angel rescued me.”

  I couldn’t believe he was doing this. I knew his story, of course, but for him to share it with all of these people… His courage amazed me.

  Mason paused and pictures showed up behind him, pictures of a young Mason, obviously institutional photos. School photos with black eyes, pictures with bruises. There was an audible gasp across the hall as the attendees realized what they were seeing.

  “There are over forty million victims of human trafficking in the world every year. Ten years ago, I was one of those victims,” he said, his eyes g
rabbing mine, holding on for dear life. I felt tears begin to prickle at the corners of my eyes as he started to share his story. I was so fucking proud of him.

  A picture of a woman, probably a little older than Weaver was right now, showed on the screen. Her face looked Native American, her skin a natural golden color, her hair the same blue-black color of Mason’s. The resemblance was so pronounced, she had to be his mother.

  “When I was twelve years old, my mother died. She had been molested by her brother from a young age. She became addicted to drugs as a way to escape. She died chasing her next high.

  Child Protective Services placed me with her brother, the same one who molested her. He viewed me as property. From the time I was twelve years old until I turned eighteen, I was forced into prostitution.”

  Picture after picture showed up on the screen. Photos of advertisements, online postings, old Craigslist postings advertising escorts, with Mason’s picture next to them, at varying ages.

  The audience, which had been quiet before, now held its breath as photo after photo flashed on the screens.

  “This was my life, until I finally made the decision that dying was better than the life I was living, and I tried to escape,” his eyes bored into mine. He was talking to me, as if I was the only person in the room.

  “I didn’t get far on my own. Three days,” he sighed, his shoulders rounded a bit as he spoke, his eyes dropping to the ground as if waiting for a blow to fall. “Three days was all it took for him to find me.”

  More pictures appeared, this time so incredibly much worse. They were obviously police photos from after the attack. Mason with his eyes swollen shut from the damage his uncle and Dowling—no, Dreyven, I reminded myself—had caused. His arm in a cast in the hospital, bandages covering much of his body. Clinical reports covered the background behind the photos, detailing his horrific injuries.

  “My arm was broken. I was raped multiple times by multiple people. My skull was fractured. I was beaten almost to death. I would have died, too, except that I was saved by my very own Dark Angel.” The screen flashed to a drawing, a silhouette of a man, a cane in one hand, a smoking gun in the other.

  “My Dark Angel shot and killed my uncle, who was raping me at the time and who intended to kill me when he was finished. My Angel got me to a hospital.” His eyes had darkened, his gaze sinking to the stage as he continued. “I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for him.” He looked up then, his eyes locking on mine.

  “I was so lucky that my Dark Angel found me. Not everyone has one. Many kids are kicked out of their homes by the people who are supposed to love and protect them. Over one million LGBTQ youth experience homelessness every year. Almost half become homeless when their parents discover their sexual orientation. Over one-fifth of all homeless youths become victims of human trafficking.”

  He paused for a moment before speaking. “Those numbers… are staggering.

  The LGBTQ community, as a whole, is more likely to experience violence in our lives than heterosexuals, and even more likely to experience further violence by those who are supposed to help us. Fifteen percent of transgender individuals report being sexually assaulted while in police custody or jail, and this number more than doubles for African American transgender people. Five to nine percent of transgender survivors report being sexually assaulted by police officers.” Mason paused as a photo of Reckner in uniform appeared on the screen. “Another ten percent were assaulted by health care professionals.” He shook his head, as if even he couldn’t quite believe the numbers he was quoting.

  “Dark Angel is a work of fiction, but it has its basis in reality. My reality… our reality. This is the world we live in. But Dark Angel is based on the best of us, not the worst.”

  His gaze swung back to me, and though I knew he really couldn’t see me well with the lights shining in his eyes, I couldn’t look away from him, could hardly even blink. I couldn’t let him relive this nightmare by himself.

  “I was rescued by my own Dark Angel, but there are so many kids out there now who aren’t as lucky as I was.” Mason stood and began pacing.

  “That’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you about a new foundation that I’m starting. This foundation is called ‘Dark Angel Rescue’. Dark Angel Rescue is designed to help anyone, male, female, transgender, cisgender… anyone who is stuck in the web of human trafficking and wants help.

  We will provide support to law enforcement, social services, and other non-profits in helping victims of human trafficking. We will provide direct assistance to escape any situation that is a danger to a victim of human trafficking. We will provide education and job training to assist victims who want to start over. We will provide help and connections for those victims who are addicted to drugs, to complete rehab and escape the vicious cycle that put them on the streets again and again. Legal help to minors who need to escape. But most importantly, we will provide access to mental health services for all those affected by human trafficking, so that they can learn that it’s not their fault, and they don’t have to handle it all alone.”

  “My name is Mason Cameron… Malone. And I was a victim. Now I’m choosing to be an Angel. But I can’t do it alone. Who’s with me?”

  The roar of the crowd was deafening, and without conscious thought I found myself standing on the stage, my arms wrapped around Mason’s shoulders as we kissed and laughed and cried in equal measure.

  Mason had decided to stop running.

  33

  Mason

  When I chose to stop running, I had no way of knowing the things that would be set into motion by my decision.

  I’d flown back to Akron with Jarreau and his men, but I’d repeatedly assured them that Lee would be at the airport, since I obviously couldn’t be seen arriving at the convention with the cops without arousing suspicions. It was just the universe laughing at our best laid plans when I realized that Bill had told the committee I had canceled.

  I didn’t have Lee’s number on my new cell, so I found the number for the dojo and got a message to Mama K and Mama D. Lee arrived just in time to save the day, again. My hero!

  Conyers and his two buddies were arrested at the convention, only a little worse for wear. Conyers’ hand was going to require surgery where Tobi’s boot had crushed his fingers and he might need facial reconstruction after the massive damage he had taken, first from Weaver, then from Lee’s fists, but at least he was alive.

  Law enforcement used the information Tobi and I provided and raided Dreyven’s hideouts. They found hundreds upon hundreds of files, including recordings and photographs of the children Ricky and Dreyven had trafficked through the years.

  Over a hundred of the videos found were of children being tortured and killed while being sexually assaulted. I’d sobbed for hours when I’d heard. Most of the victims identified had happened sometime after I'd escaped from Ricky. All those children had died, because I'd been a coward. If I'd stood up to him sooner, they might still be alive.

  “Stop it,” I heard Lee say as I stared at the fire.

  “Stop what?” I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant. Lee always knew when I started to spiral into guilt and depression for not reaching out sooner.

  His eyes glittered in the firelight and he pressed a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

  “Focus on the ones we saved,” he said. “Never forget the ones we lost but focus on the ones we saved.”

  I nodded, knowing he was right, but the guilt stayed with me. Jarreau’s team had found and rescued almost forty minors from Dreyven’s establishments, both girls and boys, ranging in age from seven to seventeen. Fuck. Seven years old. Social services was still in the process of trying to reunite the kids with their families, but some of them didn’t even remember what their last names had been before Ricky took them. We were hoping that DNA matches would help reconnect them with their loved ones.

  Some of the children were incredibly fragile, emotionally speaking, and it would be
a long time before they would be able to live anything approaching a normal life. My heart broke as I looked at their pictures, one after the other. I had to keep reminding myself that at least now they were safe, I was safe. Dreyven would never hurt any of us again.

  Dreyven had been extradited back to Milwaukee, but he hadn’t lived long enough to go to trial. Inmates didn’t take kindly to cops to begin with, much less child molesters. The day after his case hit the national news he was found beaten to death in his own cell. It just so happened that the uncle of one of the Milwaukee kids had been doing time at the same prison. While officials had their suspicions, no proof was found. Frankly, I didn’t think anyone really cared. I knew I didn’t.

  The other two men were being held at separate facilities and Conyers was being held in solitary, for his own protection.

  The response I’d gotten from the fans at the con was not what I had expected. We had been packing up the booth when a woman approached me. She had been watching us for several minutes before she approached us and it was kind of beginning to weird me out. I thought Lee sensed my unease, because he was sticking close to the booth. We were just beginning to load up one of the carts with boxes of comics to take out to the Jeep when she finally approached me.

  “Excuse me. Y-you’re Mason, right?” She asked. “Mason Cam-Malone?”

  I felt myself tense. No one had called me “Malone” for almost ten years. I nodded at her and felt a sudden warmth at my back as Lee walked over and placed his arm around my waist. I shot him a smile then directed my gaze back at her.

  “I’m Mason Malone,” I acknowledged.

  She nodded. She was an older woman, late fifties, maybe? She looked soft and warm, her ash brown hair liberally streaked with gray and gentle blue eyes glanced around nervously.

  “I… I’m sorry for interrupting your work…” she began, “But I wanted to say thank you for what you did today.”