The Earth Is Full (Child of Deliverance Series Book 1)

by B. D. Riehl

  “I’d say four just to be sure you’re comfortable, but three would be enough. Let’s see.” He looked up to the right, his lips moving silently while he calculated.

  She kissed his chin and leaned into him, cherishing the feel of his solid chest, inhaling the spicy sweet scent of his cologne she had bought him last Christmas.

  “Right. For three a day you would need forty-five bottles, sixty if she wants four each day.”

  Sam became blurry as tears pooled in Charlotte’s eyes. “Really, Sam? Sixty? Are you sure?” she sniffed.

  “Yeah, why? Not enough?” He looked past her into the freezer. “You have three weeks to prepare and it won’t hurt her to supplement with formula.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “We have seventy bags. I don’t even have to worry about pumping before I go.”

  He pulled her to his chest and kissed her soft hair. “Good job, little chipmunk Mama.” He swatted her bottom playfully.

  They talked it over and prayed about it for the next few days. Charlotte couldn’t get over the sick fear of leaving her children for two weeks. Sam urged that this could be an opportunity to learn to entrust them to the Lord. She agreed but honestly didn’t think she had a problem with that. Mostly, she saw an opportunity for Sam and the girls to bond in a very special way and for her to get a kick of spice outside of her humdrum routine. Perhaps she would return rejuvenated, full of joy again.

  As they continued to sleep on it and pray, she couldn’t get past the haunted look she’d seen in Lydia’s eyes the night she’d been caught with marijuana. Something more was going on and Charlotte knew in her gut that Lydia’s soul depended on this trip.

  When Sam was cleared to take vacation and stay home with the girls the entire time, she finally agreed to go.

  Chapter Six

  Suchin was afraid. She had been to the motel and back five times already with customers. She was sore and exhausted, but barely noticed. Her only friend in this place, Nataya, had left with a customer a week ago and had not returned.

  Girls often went missing on Walking Street. Some ran away, some were kidnapped into a different brothel in another city. Mostly, girls that went missing were found dead in ditches around the city. Taking business elsewhere was a serious crime in this community of depravity.

  Some girls liked to believe that those who went missing were rescued, but Suchin knew better. What could girls like them possibly be rescued into? Who of worth would want them?

  It was close to dawn and Suchin watched the door of the dingy back room. She sat in the corner, growing more anxious with every girl that came in. Over a dozen entered, all with the same dull eyes.

  No Nataya.

  When Suchin had first arrived in the brothel two years ago, she was not immediately put on the market. Her first day in captivity, the manager, Lok Lee, had taken her to his room and, over the next several days, he showed her what to do with customers who paid the right price. At first she would squeeze her eyes shut, trying to block out his hot, sour breath on her face. He would strike her then and make her look into his eyes and talk to him—smile at him. It was agonizingly painful, soul crushing. When he had determined she was ready, she was sold to the first customer seeking a young girl.

  Her first night of work was excruciating. Degrading. On her first day in the cramped space tucked into the back of the building, hidden from the bar, she curled into a corner and hugged her stomach. She had never known such pain or emptiness.

  Her father had looked at her the same way, but had not touched her as these men did. He had beaten her daily instead. He once told her that her eyes tempted him to unthinkable acts. He believed he could beat his own sins out of her. Once, a neighbor had slipped Suchin money to buy rice for her siblings. When her father discovered that she had spent money on food instead of giving it to him, he tied her to a tree and whipped her. It didn’t matter that she had used it to sustain the family; he would have wasted it on drugs or gambling. He had died soon after that, leaving her family even more desperate to survive than before. She had never imagined that life could be so much darker, more painful…hopeless.

  And now it was.

  Nataya had crouched next to her that night and gently brushed her tangled hair out of her face. They had remained close since then. Nataya was fifteen, approaching the age where she no longer needed to be kept in hiding. Instead of being a secret in the back, she would be a dancing advertisement out front.

  The last few weeks, Suchin had noticed Nataya had become increasingly withdrawn. At first Suchin thought her friend was just dreading the change. The room was cramped and hot, but out on the street, a passerby would grab at Nataya, call to her, and she’d be forced to pretend she enjoyed every degrading minute of being on display. Nataya had also become one of the women that lured men into the club to purchase girls like Suchin.

  Nataya would stare at nothing, deep in thought. Her eyes had changed, but Suchin couldn’t figure it out. Something about her pensive mood frightened Suchin. She knew of some that committed suicide when the darkness became too much.

  Suchin thought hard about the last time she had seen her friend. They had been dancing that night in a private room in the club. A special group had come and wanted the works. Lok Lee had waited until most of the men arrived before he brought out the younger dancers like herself. His was a constant game of selling and hiding—arranging and sorting—giving customers what they wanted while working to protect his business from rare but threatening undercover agents or other entrepreneurs out to steal his merchandise.

  Suchin’s eyes narrowed as she tried to remember that night. An older man had approached Nataya. Nothing about him struck her as different, but he had not spent much time in the room before approaching her friend. Nataya had seemed to recognize him. They left immediately after he slipped money to Lok Lee. Regulars weren’t unusual. In fact, many men would treat the girls like their girlfriends and Suchin had thought nothing of it at the time.

  Now she wondered.

  The door opened and Lok Lee stood in the frame. He turned to speak to someone behind him and held out his hand. A man placed some bills in the open palm, and the manager stuffed them in his pocket before turning back to the room. Lok Lee scanned the cluster of girls, looking for someone. Suchin’s heart sank when his beady eyes stopped on her, and he snapped his fingers. She stood and walked as she’d been taught, feeling dirty when he nodded his approval. The man behind him stood in the shadows. Suchin couldn’t see his face. When she approached, bowing, she was surprised that he looked not at her but behind him in the empty hall. Maybe he was afraid to be caught. But if he wasn’t a regular, why had he requested her?

  She rose from waiing to him; his face turned toward her and became clear in the hazy glow from the hall light. She didn’t recognize him—just another slightly balding man with a pudgy belly and sweaty complexion.

  He indicated that she should follow him, and they walked through the maze of the brothel. He led her through the front of the building and onto Walking Street. A few doors down was a motel that sold rooms by the hour, but the man walked past it. Suchin hesitated for a moment. Where was he taking her? He slowed his pace and turned questioningly to her. She forced a smile and quickened her step.

  He weaved in and out of the crowds. Pairs of middle-aged, unattractive men, arm in arm with beautiful, scantily clad Thai women were everywhere she looked. Few noticed them; those that did, turned their faces away. No one enjoying the pleasures offered in this place appreciated the reality of how low the depravity truly sank.

  Finally, her charge turned to a motel she hadn’t been to. It didn’t really matter, they were all the same: Filthy. Cheap. Full of patrons that paid for a chunk of her soul and left it buried in the rumpled bed sheets, discarded like trash.

  The man stopped at a door and knocked. When the door opened, she began to tremble.

  Chapter Seven

  The three weeks between lunch at Chick-fil-A and the long plane trip to Cambodia p
assed in a blur for Lydia. True to their word, her parents made sure Lydia had no life whatsoever. She was allowed to go to school Friday mornings to turn in her work and collect the next week’s assignments. Her parents talked it over for a few days and forced her to quit her job at Got Your Back. “We don’t like Zanna’s influence on you,” they said. “You’ll thank us someday.” Doubtful.

  Her mother had arranged for her to work at a small emergency care clinic, sorting files each morning. It was tedious, boring work. When she returned home in the afternoon, there was a list of things they expected her to have done by the time her mom arrived home from work: make dinner, clean kitchen, weed front flowerbed. Slave labor, penance for her sins.

  They kept careful tabs on all that she did, even keeping her phone with them, forcing her to ask permission to use it when she wanted to make a call. Not that she had anyone to call after she had been forced to quit, which had ticked off Zanna. Ethan had riddled her phone with angry texts until her father discovered them and called to tell him to back off. Her parents had systematically killed off her only two friends in the entire world.

  By the time she and Charlotte boarded the plane for Cambodia, the first leg of the trip, she was ready for a break from the mundane, lonely routine. Charlotte was a mess from saying good-bye to the girls. She sniffled most of her way across the world, and Lydia hoped she would perk up once they got there.

  The group consisted of herself and Charlotte; Patsy Porter, who had been on the trip once before; Pastor Mike; Michelle and, to Lydia’s astonishment, Luke.

  When Lydia had done all she could to comfort Charlotte, she gave up and pulled out a book. Within moments, Patsy tapped on her shoulder and asked if she could trade seats with Lydia for a few moments. She agreed and slipped quietly into Patsy’s empty seat next to a snoring Mike.

  She watched as Charlotte nodded at something Patsy said and wiped a handkerchief under her eyes. She folded the cloth over and over and shook it out. Charlotte was often busy with her hands when she was upset. She gave Patsy another nod and watery smile before the women bowed their heads together.

  Lydia rolled her eyes. She glanced to her left across the aisle and saw that Michelle was watching Lydia from Michelle’s seat next to Luke. Luke wore headphones, dipped his chin to the rhythm in his music, and tapped his fingers on his knees. Michelle gave her a small smile, but Lydia turned away before she could speak with her. When Patsy was done, she switched with Lydia again. Charlotte grinned at her as she reclaimed her seat; Lydia noticed her face was now full of peace.

  “Well, whatever that was all about, I’m glad she got you to chill out,” Lydia observed.

  Charlotte gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “She understands how hard it is to leave the girls and Sam. Patsy’s been my mentor for a long time, especially in preparation for this trip. She helped me put together little gifts for the girls to open from me each day that we’re gone.” She leaned her head back in her seat, more relaxed now than she’d been for the first ten hours of travel.

  “So what did she say?” Lydia asked.

  “She just reminded me Who is really in control, and that fear and anxiety is like telling God He’s not big enough.”

  Lydia curled her top lip. “That sounds mean. Like you’re a bad Christian for being sad.”

  “No, she wasn’t being mean, Dee. Just reminding me that He is in control and He deserves my trust.”

  Lydia didn’t understand, but was too tired to probe further. The rest of the flight she and Charlotte dozed and finally disembarked in a very humid evening in Cambodia. They were instructed to find a taxi, which turned out to be a large open truck with benches that lined each side of the bed. Lydia was too tired to take in much. They checked into the Deliverance campus and were shown to their rooms.

  When Charlotte opened the door, Lydia followed her in and dropped her small bag on the floor between the identical beds, the only furniture in the small space, and collapsed into the one on the left. Sleep permeated her every thought, and the world went still.

  ***

  A deep fog engulfed Lydia. She heard a light rap-rap-rap, but couldn’t fight her way to it, nor did she want to. The fog was like a heavy quilt, pushing her further and further into darkness. It was terrifying and wondrous. Suddenly the fog peeled away. The cloud beneath her shook mightily.

  “Lydia!”

  “Mmmhhmm.”

  “Lydia, we’ve got to get ready.” Her sister hadn’t woken her in years.

  At least she doesn’t still sing that annoying song—

  “Good morning, Sissy, how are you?”

  Ugh. Spoke too soon.

  “I hope you’re feeling fine! I’d kind of like to say that you really make my day, and life with you gets better all the time!”

  She’d forgotten how much her sister’s voice annoyed her in the morning. She had also forgotten the words to that song. Was it just her imagination, or did Charlotte stumble a bit at the end?

  Lydia peeked one eye open and squinted against the bright room.

  “It’s a beautiful day in Cambodia!” Charlotte spoke in a singsong tone.

  “Oh! My! Gawsh! You’ve got to stop singing!”

  Charlotte smiled, “How else can I annoy you enough to get you out of bed? We have to meet the rest of the team in 30 minutes, and I thought you would like time to shower. If you sleep any longer, you’ll battle jet lag the entire trip.”

  Lydia pulled the covers back over her head, not caring one bit about jet lag. She had never been so tired in her life. Sleep beckoned her like a siren from an ancient myth; it would not be denied.

  The bed bounced lightly.

  Nor, it seemed, would peaceful sleep be granted.

  “Come on, Lydia. We’ve got work to do. Why don’t you hop in the shower, and I’ll get you some coffee?”

  “Coffee?” Although the blankets muffled her voice, Charlotte was amused by the little-girl hope in the teenager’s voice. “They have coffee in Cambodia?”

  “Of course they do. But I also brought some sugar packets, instant coffee and happen to have bottled water right here. It won’t be a latte by any stretch of the imagination, but it should do the trick.” When the lump of blankets remained still, Charlotte twisted her mouth, and then sighed dramatically.

  “You leave me no choice…You arrrrrreeeee my—“

  The covers flew off the sleeping giant and landed on the floor in a dejected heap.

  “All right! All right!” The wild-haired-blond stumbled across the room and rummaged for her toiletry case. She grabbed a pair of capris—one of three pairs her mother had bought for the trip, insisting she could not wear her regular clothes—and a Deliverance Volunteer T-shirt that had been supplied the night before. She headed for the door, hesitated, and squinted back at Charlotte.

  “Down the hall on the left,” Charlotte pointed.

  Lydia grunted again and shut the door behind her.

  Charlotte laughed and patted herself on the back. “Atta girl, Charlotte! You woke the sleeping giant!”

  Lydia found the shower room in the Deliverance dorm empty. Steam on the mirror proved that others had been there just before her, and she was grateful for the privacy. She walked the row of curtained shower stalls, chose one near the back, and twisted the handle. A squeak from the bathroom door stopped her from undressing in the open. Michelle stepped in and gave Lydia a wide smile. Lydia briefly lifted the corners of her mouth.

  “Better enjoy your shower,” Michelle remarked. “I hear this will be the last one for a few days.”

  Lydia averted her eyes. Wonderful.

  “Did they tell you not to open your eyes or mouth while you’re showering?” Michelle asked.

  Lydia stared at her.

  “The water here isn’t filtered. You don’t want to get amoebas, right?”

  Lydia turned cautiously toward the spray behind the curtain and unconsciously hugged her arms around herself. “Right.”

  Michelle laughed a light, encha
nting sound that echoed in the bare room. “See you downstairs, Lydia.”

  Michelle retrieved a towel hanging from a hook on the door and left. The instant the door shut, Lydia stripped off her pajama pants and kicked them away while she tugged her shirt off. It got stuck on her head, and she hopped around until it came free. She took a deep breath, gripped her soap in her hand, squeezed her eyes and mouth shut tight, and plunged in.

  ***

  At breakfast, the group met Paul Jones, co-founder of Deliverance. “These three days in Cambodia we will introduce you to the families that have become the heartbeat of our organization,” Paul explained. “It’s important to begin here, in this place of poverty and desperation. I think it’s hard for us to imagine why this country continues on the way it does; why corruption is rampant without any obvious effort to stop it. Some of you may be familiar with Cambodia’s history, but for those of you that aren’t, I’ll give you a brief overview:

  “In the 1970s, Pol Pot, a tyrannical leader, led Cambodia to civil war and millions of men, women, and children died of disease or starvation. Countless others were tortured, or executed, many in the Killing Fields, which you will tour tomorrow. Lawyers, doctors, the highly intelligent—anyone that would have had the capacity to fight back in any way—were immediately snuffed out. Most of the people you will meet here may not have been alive when those things happened, but they are victims. The actions of the past have crippled Cambodia, making her dependant on outside support. Even their most famous tourist attraction, Angkor Wat, is under the watchful care of other organizations around the world.

  “Eventually, we hope Cambodia will get back on her feet, but right now the wound is very raw, the government corrupt, the widows and children are suffering. And because of their poverty, they are vulnerable to traffickers that either trick them or steal them to work in brothels often on Walking Street.” He leaned forward in his chair with a sad smile.