by B. D. Riehl
Deliverance loved to participate with their rescued girls in the festival. As they prepared their krathongs, they would speak of Christ as the Light of the World, and how He had come into the darkness where sinners were held captive, to shed light on their souls and rescue them from bondage. Girls were encouraged to write down all of their fears and past horrors, the ones that were hard to release, and tuck a note into a raft to set free on the river. It was a wonderful chance to physically give all suffering over to the Man of many sorrows.
Paul agreed that working on such a project with the Deliverance staff and students could be a small distraction for the group from Idaho. He thanked Pim and asked her to arrange it.
Kiet came in from carrying bags, face grim. “Did you see the cameras?” he asked Paul.
The older man was confused. “No, what cameras?”
***
The two men stood in front of Deliverance watching cameramen set up their equipment and vans on their lawn. “How did they get here so fast?” Kiet asked of Paul, not expecting an answer.
Every major network had arrived, and Paul recognized some big name sportscaster speaking animatedly to their audiences across the world.
Kiet hadn’t expected an answer, but Paul gave one. “Well, Kiet, I’ve always suspected that the groups running traffic had deep pockets, full of politicians, affluent businessmen, and—” he jutted his chin toward the cameras, “obviously media. Why should we be surprised?”
One of the anchors noticed them and came running across the lawn, shouting and waving her arms, “Kiet! There you are! Kiet! Are you ready to fight?”
Suddenly a swarm of suits and notepads, microphones and shouted questions surrounded Kiet and Paul. It was immediately clear that none of them knew of Lydia’s capture or that Kiet hadn’t yet agreed to fight. He dodged their questions, unsure if his answers would put the woman on his heart in more danger.
A sports car, extremely rare for this part of Thailand, pulled onto the street, and the mob was distracted, squinting into the afternoon sun to see who drove.
Kiet recognized Chanarong immediately, as he hoisted his large frame out of the very small car. The anchors now surrounded Chanarong, and Kiet felt Paul grip his arm before he realized he had begun to stride purposefully to his opponent.
Kiet tightened, every inch of him tense and poised, when Chanarong walked to stand next to Kiet and held up his hands to the reporters, indicating he didn’t understand, his eyes commanding Kiet to translate. Kiet took a deep breath and held himself together; sure that no one understood that Chanarong was informing Kiet himself of the terms of the fight as he translated for him:
“We have quite a show for you…” Chanarong boasted. “The match will be at the height of the festival in a couple weeks. We have quite the bet going, Kiet and me.” He laughed. “May the best man win, hey? No forfeit this time, hey? We’ll have serious trouble, hey?”
Kiet was forced to translate to the unaware crowd. Kiet tasted the threat, thick and bitter on his tongue.
Through gritted teeth, Kiet spoke Thai to Chanarong as they posed together for a picture, “Where is she?”
Chanarong made a big show of putting up his fists, while flashing a crooked smile for the cameras. “You worry about the fight. When it’s over, no matter who wins, she’ll be delivered to this pathetic little project you have going here.” He looked at the Deliverance building behind Paul and Kiet, disdain creasing his features.
He turned again for the cameras, eating up the attention, putting on a grand show of sportsmanship by slinging a beefy arm around Kiet. “But refuse to fight again and your pretty American princess will have to earn her keep to make up for the money you lost me.”
Chanarong turned to walk away, the anchors busy reporting back to their home studios.
“And Kiet…” he spoke again, his voice menacing, low, despite the smile plastered on his fat face, “you won’t need to worry about her if you’re floating upriver, hey?”
Chapter Forty
Lydia felt abandoned and alone. She was now sure that she must be above a bar of some sort. The music that pounded beneath her feet would come for hours on end, then would stop for an equal amount of time.
When she connected the rotation of the music between what must be night and day, she began to count. The number for the day would roll around her mind, until she thought she would go mad from it.
Bible lessons from her years in church and at Central Valley came upon her, crystal clear. They paired with her madness; she felt feverish and delusional from her chanting.
One. One, one, one, one, one. One Lydia. One Savior. One Jesus. One Spirit. Four hundred years in Egypt minus three-hundred-and-ninety-nine equaled one. The ants go marching one by one, hoorah.
Two. Buckle my shoe. Two, two, two, two. Moses and Aaron before Pharaoh; two representatives of the Lord. Two on the road to Emmaus. Two.
On day three, someone came into the room. The music muffled his movements and Lydia jerked away in fear when she felt hands on her legs. The hands came upon her more firmly, twisting her onto her side, smashing her face into the hard dusty floor. She groaned in her throat, thinking of all that Paul had revealed to them about the deeds done in darkness. Her heart ached, remembering Jay’s hands on her.
She still wore her skirt, having never changed after the market, so disturbed she’d been by the experience in the motel lobby. Now that willowy, modest skirt left her accessible, vulnerable.
Jesus, oh, please, Jesus.
The hands moved down her legs to her ankles, jerking, pulling…removing the rope that held her body tight and curved in on itself. She went still, afraid to move. The binds remained on her hands and feet, although now she could stretch out if she dared.
The music vibrated around her. His hands moved around her face, the back of her head, tugging on the knot in the sash around her eyes. Her breath came in rapid puffs, in steady beat with the music, her heart working in staccato. The sash fell away.
The room was muted, the only light from a dull bulb outside the ajar door. So long had her eyes been held in absolute darkness that she winced, even in such a pathetic glow. She could only see that the walls around her were close, very close, like a closet or something similar. It was empty of everything but her, and the shadowed figure crouched before her. She pressed back against the wall as he placed a small bag before her, similar to the ones that held their dinner in the marketplace days ago.
Had it really been days?
He pushed the bag into her lap and left, closing the door behind him. She waited for a long time, her eyes adjusting to the pale light beneath the door. She opened the bag and found a container with one small scoop of rice, and a bottle of water. Her heart cramped in thankfulness, her stomach groaned. Carefully, she sipped and supped—carefully resisting the urge to gorge.
Four. Just a few bites of rice left. Half a bottle of water.
Five. Her stomach cramped, her thoughts circulating around food and light. Lost in darkness, desperate for clarity. She was going mad in these dim, empty walls. She longed for the man to come again, just to feel another’s presence near her. She drank the last sip of water. She obsessed about the man that brought the food. She needed him to return.
She needed him…
Six. Another visit, more rice, more water. Lydia wanted to weep with relief. She forgot he was the enemy and wanted him to stay longer. He left more quickly than before.
She ate more sparingly this time.
Seven.
Eight. The Lord’s hand pressed heavy upon her.
Lean into Me.
Nine fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.
Self-control. She felt sick with desperation. Guilt-ridden that she so quickly forgot that Christ alone was her Savior, her only God. What did food matter if her spirit was hungry? She prayed hard and fast for verses, sermons, anything to fall upon her. She was pelted, washed anew with thou
ghts of the Lord. Like heavy rain on a cracked, parched land, her soul sopped up His care of her. His presence real and promising. She prayed for the girls working in the bar below her.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve apostles of Christ.
Lord make me worthy, humble me. Mold me. Create in me Your heart, Your will, righteousness and justice. Even here, Lord, show me my worth in You, my purpose before You.
Pray, Beloved. Pray.
She prayed for her sister, her parents, Michelle and Luke. Kiet.
Kiet.
The name roused joy and pain and filled her more than the rest. She concentrated on him. Prayed for him. Not once did she feel the drive to escape, only to pray.
Thirteen. Another delivery.
Sustenance. She thanked the Lord.
Chapter Forty-One
Rescue was everything Suchin had always dreamed it could be, and everything she never expected. It was hard work and she fell into bed most nights exhausted and heavy hearted. Would she ever grow used to this life?
After her first meal, Suchin was given a tour of the house she shared with twenty other girls and Pim. Staff members also came throughout the day to help with meals and organization. After walking in the sunshine for as long as she wanted, Moree close by, Suchin toured the rest of the house. The kitchen, the dining room, the family-style room that she was told the girls used in the evening for down time; homework, talks, and games, two more rooms like the one she was in and the large bathroom with multiple toilets and showers. She had never seen anything like it and felt ill-suited for such a life. She could smell stale bar smoke on her skin and wondered how many showers it would take to be clean of the stench of what her life once was.
Suchin had never slept in a bed, only worked in one. Even at home in the village she slept on a woven mat on the floor.
Pim explained that she would be expected to work and pitch in around the house, and Suchin’s heart began to pound. Many girls on Walking Street had been stolen or recruited from small brothels. Was this a trick? After all, she only knew how to do one thing.
Pim went on to explain that she would go to school, learn a trade, and while she accomplished that, she would make jewelry. The sales of necklaces and bracelets and earrings helped pay for the housing, food, and staff. While she was skeptical, Suchin also liked the idea of earning her keep in such an honorable way—especially with a clean bed to sleep in and delicious food to eat. But when Pim showed her some of the jewelry in the room where it was made, Suchin’s mouth went dry. There were long tables in the middle of the room covered in jewelry. Shelves lined the walls around the tables.
Suchin could see by their picture labels that they were full of twine, wire, beads, small carvings, and other supplies. She fingered a finished necklace and her heart sank. Each piece on the table before her was so beautifully intricate. How would she ever accomplish that? And if she couldn’t, would they send her back? They said she would be paid each month for her work and she was immediately downhearted. She would never make jewelry beautiful enough for someone to buy. What would she do then?
After the tour, Pim directed Suchin to join the rest of the girls for dinner. That morning the house had been quiet, the dining room empty, now Suchin entered a room full of lively girls of all ages. They all seemed very close and comfortable and Suchin wondered how she would ever fit in with them.
The room hushed when Pim stepped forward and clapped her hands for everyone’s attention. She introduced Suchin and asked the girls to make her feel at home. Dozens of broad smiles lit up the room and lightened Suchin’s heart a little. She made her way to a table and watched, quietly taking in the atmosphere and relishing the sound of happy chatter and laughter. She rubbed her clammy hands on her legs.
A few girls spoke to her, but most seemed to understand Suchin’s need to soak it all in without words. After a delicious dinner of fried chicken and steamed vegetables, the group cleaned together in a seemingly effortless rhythm, some clearing, some washing, others wiping down tables. Unsure of her role, Suchin went around each table pushing in chairs until everybody cleared out and headed for the living room.
With Pim occupied and Moree nowhere to be seen, Suchin had no choice but to follow the group of girls. No sooner had she stepped in the family room then someone cranked the CD player on in the corner—loud.
Suchin sat on the floor in front of a worn couch and hugged her knees to herself while the girls giggled and danced. She’d never heard the song before, but nodded her head to the rhythm, entranced by the easy way everyone smiled and laughed.
The days melted into each other as Suchin found her routine. She went to school, spoke more freely with her housemates and even helped prepare food for meals. She loved to be in the kitchen. It reminded her of home and how she had helped her mother prepare meals for the family. Many days they had gone without food, but when they had just a few ingredients, her mother could make a feast. On good days, the village boasted of her talent as a cook. Suchin often wondered about her family, hoped they were well.
She fumbled in the jewelry shop and felt tears every time she failed. She was so happy, in constant disbelief of this new life. Was it real? When Suchin made mistakes, she had to fight the instinct to cover her head, waiting for the blow she knew would come. But it never did, and soon she stopped feeling like she needed to cower. Eventually, Suchin stopped fearing that she would be sent away for the mistakes.
Suchin’s favorite part of each day was in the evening. They always were full of laughter and dancing. The girls didn’t speak much about their past lives. They spoke a lot about their different dreams and aspirations. It amazed her how many admitted that they had felt as apprehensive as her when they first arrived. They all seemed so put together, so happy and confident; Suchin had a hard time picturing any of them as insecure as she.
Mostly, they talked about a man named Jesus. They spoke of His rescue of them, how He changed their lives and how they were so happy to know Him. Suchin wondered if she was the only one that had been rescued by Dugan and Moree. Why hadn’t this Jesus come for her? They spoke about talking with Him that day; why hadn’t she met Him yet?
The scariest part of her new life was the counseling sessions she attended with a volunteer from Australia named Jane. Jane had red hair that wasn’t curly, but wouldn’t lie flat, and Suchin often wanted to poke her fingers into the high, wild peaks. Jane was loud, but her eyes were soft. She wouldn’t let Suchin get away with shrugging in response to questions. Jane wanted Suchin to talk, to work out her past and face it boldly, promising to be by her side the whole way.
Finally, Suchin felt brave enough to ask why she was the only one not rescued by Jesus. Why had she not met this Man that the other girls were so enamored by?
Jane pursed her lips together, and Suchin felt that she had crossed a line she shouldn’t have. The counselor cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped lightly between her knees. Jane’s eyes shimmered and Suchin was alarmed until Jane’s face split into a wide grin.
“Suchin, you are such a smart, insightful girl. You are right when you talk about Jesus and how He has rescued the girls of Deliverance. Jesus is the only Son of the living God, and He can rescue you too.”
Suchin felt goose pimples break over the surface of her arms. Living God? Rescue? She’d already been rescued. “You speak in riddles.”
Jane explained that God had made the world, each creature, each human. He spoke the stars and sun and moon into existence and breathed life into the very first man. She explained about the Garden of Eden and Adam’s wife, Eve. The way she said that part was beautiful:
“…not that Eve was given to Adam as a reward, but as a gift, a friend, a partner.”
Suchin liked the story…until Jane told her of Satan and his shrewdness and the sin committed by Adam and Eve, and their desire to be gods themselves. How God had to send them from the garden so that they wouldn’t eat of the Tree of Life and be stuck i
n sin forever. He foretold of a deliverance from their choice, and Jane told her of Abraham and his belief, his mistakes as well as his faithfulness. Then she told of Isaac and Jacob, Joseph and Moses, and the Israelites.
Over the next few days, Suchin eagerly looked forward to her appointments with Jane. She learned about the prophets and Job and all God did and promised to do. Her eyes grew wide when Jane told her about the conception and birth of Jesus. The more she talked about Jesus, the more Suchin believed she had met Him before.
The day Jane described His crucifixion, Suchin cried.
And she knew.
He was the man she dreamt of the day she was rescued. The bleeding Man by the ocean. The one who looked at her like a cherished, precious jewel. But she was confused, heartbroken. If He was dead, how could He have rescued the other girls? How did they talk with Him? Perhaps He had died before He could rescue her. She was devastated. Now she would never know Him.
Jane leaned forward and wiped the tears from Suchin’s eyes and with a trembling voice told her of Jesus’ triumphant resurrection, and Suchin fell to her knees in astonished thanksgiving.
It was then Suchin knew that Jesus had been the one to hide her from the man in the police uniform that night. She knew. And believed.
And was frightened.
A God as holy and true as He, how could she ever be in His presence? She wanted to cover her head in shame.
From then on, she listened whenever Jesus was spoken of, but couldn’t believe what Jane and others told her: That He loved her, He wanted to be her God, and that she was designed to worship and glorify Him.
Suchin knew that she was not worthy, and she could only stand back and watch His work from a distance. As much as she longed to draw close to Him, she knew what she was. And that she would be happy just soaking in His presence through the others who spoke to Him daily and read His word aloud on occasion as they learned to read.