Durable Goods

by Patricia Hale

  “Put your dick back in your pants, Marshall,” Jarvais said coming up beside us. “Time to go.”

  Officer Marshall stood and like a new puppy, followed Jarvais to the door. Just before stepping outside he turned back, looked at me and nodded.

  “Looks like he likes you,” Rusty said refilling my glass. “Now I’m gonna see if I like you too.” He came around the bar picked up my glass in one hand and with the other pulled me roughly off the stool and toward the swinging kitchen door.

  I walked behind him beneath pans hanging overhead and remembered the same image in Isaac’s kitchen. How long had I been doing this? Like the other girls, my sense of time was nonexistent. He opened a door in the back corner of the kitchen and we stepped into a makeshift bedroom. A cot stretched along one wall covered with a grimy sheet and stains that said I wasn’t the first girl back here. He sat me on the bed, stood in front of me and unzipped his pants. His penis flopped out, flaccid and wrinkled.

  I looked away, the lump in my throat growing bigger and more painful.

  “Suck it,” Rusty said. He wrapped his hand around the back of my head and pressed my face into his groin.

  I didn’t move. He pulled my head back with his right hand and backhanded me with his left. His ring opened my cheek.

  “Hurry up. I ain’t got all night. I already gave ya two drinks you ungrateful bitch.” His left fist caught my cheek smearing blood over my lips.

  I opened my mouth and gagged as he shoved himself inside. I considered biting down as hard as I could but knew it would only mean another beating and so I performed and I tried not to admit that I’d given in. My eyes watered. I thought I would vomit as he slammed himself against my face. I gagged again, pulled away from him and spit onto the floor. He stepped back, adjusted his pants and wrestled with his zipper.

  “Here,” he tossed me a cloth. “I gotta get back to work.” He walked out and closed the door.

  I lifted the cloth to my mouth and vomited into it then rolled it in a ball and threw it under the bed. I sat on the edge of the filthy mattress and told myself I’d done what I had to. A blowjob didn’t make me one of them, but I knew now why they did it. Survival. And again, I told myself that I was lucky. He hadn’t put his hands on my skin or shoved himself between my legs. And then I started to cry. Griff would never want me again. I shook my head, driving out that reality and telling myself I was wrong. I couldn’t admit to it yet, because the thought of seeing Griff was the only thing holding me together.

  The door opened. Myles stood with his rifle pointing at me. All I could think of was that Officer Marshall had told them about the note and now I was going to die. I won’t save Kira or see Amy or Griff again. A wave of sadness hit me, but with it came profound relief. It was over.

  “Time to go,” he said. “Get your ass outside.”

  I reached for my drink on the bedside table, swallowed it down and followed him out the door.

  SUNDAY

  By my count, which wasn’t exact by any stretch, it had been about two weeks since I’d slipped the napkin with Griff’s number on it to the young cop at Rusty’s. And every night when we went back to the bar I told myself that tonight Griff would walk in the door. Tonight I would be saved, but hope was slipping away and acceptance taking over. Officer Marshall’s allegiance was to the police department certainly not to some whore in a rundown bar in the middle of nowhere. He’d probably thrown the napkin away as soon as he’d left the building.

  Every day was the same. Wake up, eat a bagel and lie on our filthy mattresses until Clive or Myles came to collect us for showers. My teeth had begun to ache from a lack of calcium, my body was no longer my own and nothing I wanted to claim. I detached myself from it and gave it over to the hands and mouths, the fingers and tongues of the men at Rusty’s. I hated every inch of my skin and defiled it every chance I got. I became obsessed with the piece of glass I’d saved from my attempted escape. At night, when we’d return from Rusty’s I’d slide it over my stomach eager for the physical pain, eager to punish myself for what I’d become. When I thought about Griff and Amy the grief was unbearable. I thought instead about the girls at Isaac’s, ashamed of my naïveté toward them. I’d been incredulous that they would call themselves lucky when all they got was a beating and in my ignorance, I’d wondered how they’d ever gotten to that point. Now I too was grateful for black and blue skin instead of a penis thrust in my face or between my legs.

  The night was not as frigid as most and I wondered as I sat in the van beside Julia if we were in the annual January thaw and when exactly had Christmas come and gone? We rattled over potholed, muddy roads and finally pulled into Rusty’s familiar parking lot. I used to count the cars parked and estimate the number of men inside, but I didn’t anymore. What difference did it make?

  We filed inside. Booger was at the table to my right and smiled. I walked past him not making eye contact. Big George was just beyond him. George preferred using his belt and so did I. I walked over and pulled out the chair across from him.

  “Can I sit down?” I asked.

  He smiled and nodded. “Stay there,” he said. “I need a drink.”

  “Get me something too,” I called after him.

  I was halfway turned in my chair watching George collect our drinks when the door opened and Griff walked in. John was behind him and an army of cops followed. I wasn’t sure I was seeing right. I was afraid to move. Afraid that if I jumped up and ran to him he wouldn’t be real and when I reached to touch him I’d wake up on a mattress in Clive’s basement. Worse, I was afraid he wouldn’t recognize me. I was so thin and filthy and bruised. I sat frozen to my chair.

  Clive ran for the hallway near the bathrooms, men on his heels. A shot was fired and everything came to a dead stop. Nobody moved for a second or two and then it started again. Chaos. I still couldn’t move, but the knowledge that it was real was sinking in. And then Griff looked at me. Our eyes held and he came toward me. He knelt in front of me and took my face between his hands and pulled me to him, our foreheads touching, our cheeks wet with each other’s tears and finally his lips on mine. I dissolved against him. He was real.

  I looked up from his shoulder to see police snapping handcuffs on the men around us. John had corralled the girls into one corner and was desperately searching their faces.

  I looked at Griff and shook my head. “She’s not here,” I said. “But she was.”

  “John,” Griff yelled over the noise. “John,” he called again.

  Detective Stark made his way to us. “Jesus, Britt,” was all he said when he looked at me. There were tears in his eyes.

  “She was here,” I said. “We tried to escape, together. We got caught. They sold her. I don’t know where she is.” I started to cry. “I’m so sorry, John, I said. “I’m so sorry…”

  I felt John’s hand on mine. He pulled up to standing and wrapped me in his arms. “Britt,” he said. “You’ve done more than you ever should have. I’m the one who’s sorry. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Across the room the girls were seated at a table. An officer was taking down their information. Julia caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back at her as I slipped out of John’s embrace and into Griff’s. Together, we walked out of Rusty’s.

  A fleet of police cars their lights flashing, were parked in a horseshoe around the front door. I saw Clive in the backseat of a cruiser. He watched me walk past with Griff. I wondered what was going through his head.

  “How’d you know?” I asked, hoping Officer Marshall had found the balls he needed.

  “A cop called me this morning, young guy, new on the force. Said a woman at Rusty’s gave him my number.”

  “Officer Marshall.”

  “Yup.”

  “Took him long enough to grow a pair,” I said. “And now they’ll kill him.”

  “He’s being transferred and more than happy to go.”

  We stopped outside of John’s black Suburban. I leaned against the door and looked
up at Griff. Every time I looked at him I started to cry partly out of disbelief that he was really here and partly because I was already feeling a sense of loss. How could he stay with me after all that had happened? At Isaac’s I’d planned to lie to him. Lie by omission and keep what had happened to myself, but I knew that was impossible now. He’d walked into Rusty’s, he knew what was going on, knew that I was just another whore and had been for weeks.

  “Griff,” I said, the words that were forming already breaking my heart. “It’s okay. You don’t…I mean I understand. So much…I tried not to…but I…they wouldn’t.”

  He put his fingers beneath my chin and raised my face to his. “I love you,” he said. “I never should have let you do this. Whatever happened is over. It’s all over. We’re together.” He pulled me against him and buried his face in my hair. “I thought I’d never find you.” His voice cracked. He opened the back door of the Suburban. “Get in. There are enough cops here to handle this. They don’t need me.”

  I sniffed back my own tears, wiped my cheeks and was suddenly painfully aware of how I looked. My sheer blouse, wild uncombed hair, bruised body. “I’m sorry, I…” I looked down at myself. “I’m filthy and dirty and, and…”

  He put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my forehead. “When I walked into that bar and saw you sitting there, no one has ever looked more beautiful.”

  He took a grey wool blanket from the back of the Suburban and wrapped it around me. I leaned against him and we sat in the quiet and watched the arrests being made and the girls being loaded into a police van, taking their first step toward home. Beneath my ear, Griff’s heart pounded in his chest.

  John opened the front door and climbed in. Revving the engine, he turned to me. “I know there’s a lot to discuss, but you need rest before we start. He looked me up and down. “Looks like you need this too.” He tossed a gray sweatshirt that read CID into my lap from the front seat.

  I smiled and pulled it over my head. “Thanks, John,” I said.

  “But you did see her?” he asked.

  “More than saw her. We were together for…I’m not sure, but maybe a week or more. She’d been at Isaac’s and was sold to Clive. That’s where I found her.”

  “Is she,” his voice broke and he cleared his throat. “She’s okay?”

  “She’s strong and careful. She wants to get home. That’s why Isaac sold her. She kept trying to escape.” In the rearview mirror I could see the hint of a smile on John’s face, the proud father. “She feels terrible about what she’s done and what she’s put you through. She loves you.”

  He nodded, sniffed and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. “You sure as hell look like you need a good meal. I don’t know what’s open this time of night, but we’ll find something.” He put the car in drive.

  “Just no bagels,” I said and settled in against Griff. Something sharp dug against my thigh. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the shard of glass I’d held onto for so long. Leaning toward the door, I pressed the button, lowered the window and tossed it into Rusty’s parking lot.

  FINDING KIRA

  MONDAY

  John offered a stop at the nearest ER, but I declined. After a plate of bacon, eggs and waffles, he drove the six hours back to Portland. I knew he was champing at the bit for information, but he kept his questions broad and I was grateful. John’s an experienced interrogator and it didn’t take a genius to see that I was barely holding it together. The details would come soon enough.

  The first thing I’d asked for once my stomach was full, was a shower. The second thing was sleep. At Griff’s apartment under a hot spray of water and camouflaged by steam, I braved an inventory of cuts and bruises.

  “You okay?” Griff called through the door. “Need any help?”

  “I’m okay,” I answered.

  There was nothing I wanted more than to feel Griff’s skin on mine, but that would have to wait until I could hide myself from his full view beneath a blanket or in a darkened bedroom. But it was morning now and the sun was streaming through the window. He’d cringed at the yellowish, blue skin beneath my eyes, remnants of Clive’s fist. There was no way I could let him see the extent of violence on my body, some of it by my own hand. I walked into the bedroom with his terrycloth bath sheet wrapped around me, but it wasn’t big enough to hide the toe print Myles’ boot had left on my chest.

  Griff was sitting on the bed and started to get up when he saw the bruise. “Jesus.”

  I held up my hand. “Don’t say anything, please. I can’t talk about it now. But I will. Just let me sleep first. Tell John to come over this afternoon.”

  Griff nodded and moved toward the door.

  “And Griff,” I touched his arm as he passed. “Will you call Amy?”

  “Of course,” he said and closed the door behind him.

  I lay between the sheets relishing the sensation of soft cotton on clean skin. I wanted more than anything to have Griff here beside me, to tell him every detail of my time away from him, but I was so afraid of the outcome that I was postponing the conversation. Once he knew the truth of how my body had been violated I’d be repulsive to him and our life together would be over. He’d said I was wrong about that, but the adrenalin high we were both running on now would wear off and when it did reality would set in. Then again, if I didn’t tell him the truth right up front, he’d imagine the worst and he’d be right.

  He was rustling around in the kitchen. I slipped out of bed and walked naked across the plush, bedroom carpet, took a deep breath and opened the door. He must have heard me because before I made it down the hallway, he appeared. I stood before him with all my wounds in full view, even those I had created myself. He didn’t speak, nor did I. He approached me, keeping his eyes on my body, not my face. I turned my back to him, disclosing in full detail my time with Isaac and Clive as well as the ribbons of scars from Edward. When he was close enough to touch me he raised his eyes and looked at my face. His cheeks were wet.

  “I’m a mess,” I said. “And the inside’s worse. I’m not going kid myself into thinking I’m still desirable to you. So let’s part as friends. You don’t have to love me.” And with that I lost it. I covered my face with my hands and my body convulsed with grief.

  He laid his hands on my shoulders and pulled me against him. “Forgive me,” he said. “I never should have let you go in there. Of course I love you. Nothing could make me leave you, especially not this.

  “But I’ve done things…I couldn’t…I tried not to, but…Griff, I’m the one that needs forgiveness.”

  He took a step back and looked at me. “Britt, whatever happened, whatever you did, you did to survive. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be standing here. What you did kept you safe until you could find a way out, until you could hand off that note. What you did got you out.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight against him. We stood in silence, holding on, crying into each other’s shoulders and then he led me to bed. He tucked me in and then went to the other side, stripped down and got in beside me. I pasted myself against him wanting to feel every inch of his skin on mine. His hands washed over me cleansing away the brutality. His touch was salve to my wounds and would heal me one layer at a time.

  When I woke up Griff was gone. I lay still listening to voices coming from the kitchen. It was Griff speaking and then I heard John. I tossed back the covers. I’d made him wait long enough. From the bottom drawer of Griff’s dresser I gathered the stash I kept there, a sweatshirt, tee shirt and pair of jeans.

  They both looked up as I walked into the room. I pulled out a kitchen chair and joined them at the table. “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  I took them through my days at Isaac’s. I told them about Ruth and that she’d been the one to mail Kira’s postcard. John said she’d told him the same thing when they’d picked her up along with Isaac. And it was Ruth who’d told them everything about Oracles of the Kingdom and had given them Stebbins.
r />   “Where is she now?” I asked.

  “At the women’s correction center in Windham. She’ll stay there until the trial, but she’s been forthcoming about everything that went on at the farm. She’ll get a deal.”

  Isaac and Stebbins were in the Fort Kent jail being held without bail until their trial dates. According to John, Rose had also been somewhat helpful, but still held an allegiance to Isaac. Isaac and Stebbins weren’t talking, at least not yet.

  Things got vague after leaving Isaac’s. No doubt Lucas had connections at the border since I’d crossed without papers. I had no address for Clive’s. I only knew that the house had to be near Campbell’s Bakery, but I told them I thought I would recognize it. I still had the picture in my head of those basement steps and the locked front door that Lucas had taken me through. Ruth had told them about Lucas. As the middleman, he had most likely transported Kira again after Clive sold her. All hope was riding on Lucas, if we could find him and if he would talk.

  “Even though Lucas doesn’t live at the house, there’s got to be information inside that will help us find him.”

  “The Grand Falls police are working on it and they may have notified the Canadian Security Intelligence Service since women were taken over the border. There’s no street address in Clive’s name so it’s taking time to locate the place.” John said. “I asked Chief LeBlanc to let me know as soon as they have something. Needless to say, Clive isn’t talking.”

  “What about the girls?”

  “Scared of repercussions if they say anything.”

  “Can’t say I blame them.”

  “We’re heading back up there in the morning,” John said.