I sit down and attempt to make small talk with him, hoping to draw him out and find out more about where he’s from and what brought him here, but it’s obvious he does not want to talk about himself. He’s still ticked at Tom for bringing those people in here. Using some off-color language, he puts down the basement dwellers, talking as if they’re just animals.
“It’s not like they had a choice about coming here,” I say. “They don’t have any control over any part of their lives.” I sigh. “Just like me … and you too, really.”
“Yeah, well, Tom acts like I have some control.” He changes the channel again. “He puts me in charge and keeps saying things are going to get better. And then he goes and turns this house into a refugee center.” He swears again. “How am I supposed to take care of everyone?”
I consider reminding him that I’m the one who did all the caretaking tonight but then remember those keys in his pocket and that I’m supposed to be winning his trust.
“Anyway, I might as well forget about it. It’s not like I can change anything.” He leans back and lets out a weary sigh. “Hey, I haven’t seen this film in ages.”
Seeing that it’s an action flick with way too much violence, I excuse myself, but I’m not sure what to do. Although I’d love to explore the house to see if I can find a weakness to escape from, I do not want to make him suspicious.
I go into the kitchen and pretend to be straightening things up. And as I take a towel out to the laundry room, I try the door to the garage, hoping that in all the activity, someone might’ve forgotten to lock it. Unfortunately, that is not the case.
It feels strange to be moving around the house at this time of night. But I’m still being careful. I don’t want to draw attention. I’m hoping that Jimmy will forget all about me. Or maybe he’ll go to sleep. Or better yet, he’ll decide to go to his room and get high. I’m thinking if I just lay low, this might be my lucky night.
To kill time, I take a long shower and then just hang out in the bathroom for a while. As I come out, I spot Jimmy still on the couch, still blankly staring at the TV. So I go into my bedroom, where I pace back and forth, trying to make a plan … to figure out exactly how I will make my big break tonight. My opportunities, not to mention my days, are limited. Now if only Jimmy would cooperate with my plans.
To distract myself, I start reading one of Ruby’s books, but it’s hard to focus on the words as I imagine myself sneaking through the house and finding my way of escape. My best plan would be to break free on my own. If I can do that, I will run directly to whichever house looks the safest and I’ll knock on the door, and when it’s answered, I’ll quickly explain my situation and my need for their help and protection. If they’re good people, they will take me into their house. And then I will beg them not to contact the local police. I’ll try to make them understand that could backfire.
But I will ask them to call Mom. I want her to know exactly where I am and what’s going on. After that, I’m sure she’ll call the FBI or whoever investigates crimes involving human trafficking. Because I want it to be handled right. I want for everyone who’s behind this nasty web of greed and deceit to get what they deserve. I want the ones who are trapped here to have the chance to go free — to get help and find a better life.
I feel so hopeful that I’m actually imagining the conversation I’ll have with Mom tonight, when to my complete dismay and disappointment, I hear a noise. I look up to see Jimmy peering into my room, and without saying a word, he slams and locks the door. Just like that, my great escape plans go up in smoke.
Despite my resolve to remain strong, tears of despair slip down my cheeks. Maybe if I’d sneaked around a little more, I could’ve made it upstairs unobserved. Or maybe I’d have found Jimmy sleeping. Maybe I blew it by not being more persistent. This only makes me cry harder. I’d like to say I’m stronger than this by now, but the truth is, I’m not.
Once again, I know my only recourse is to pray and cry out to God. And my only refuge is to keep trusting in God. So that’s what I do. Really, what else can I do? After a while I feel somewhat recovered. Eventually I’m even able to pray, just like I do every night, for everyone in this house.
God, please help and bless each and every person being held here, including the twenty-three women and children now residing in the basement. I’m sure their lives are in much greater peril than my own.
As darkness comes, I sense a familiar nagging voice trying to sneak into my heart again. This is nothing new, and most of the time I can quell this voice by quietly singing praise songs or repeating Bible verses in my head. But tonight I feel so tired … so disheartened and discouraged as I recall the hopeless expressions of the people in the basement. Their helplessness only reminds me of how vulnerable we all are.
This persuasive voice is urging me to question God and to doubt his goodness. It whispers into my spirit, warning me to suspect the worst and to prepare myself for the likelihood that I will never escape my captors. It is telling me that God has turned his back on me … that I am doomed … and that it’s all my own fault for wanting to become a model … and for keeping information from my mother.
Despite the fact that I confessed these very things to God more than a week ago, and I know that God who is faithful and just has already forgiven me, I feel buried in a deep, dark pile of guilt.
Now I dig down, trying to grasp on to my spiritual roots, trying to remember all that I’ve been taught since I was a little girl. For my whole life, it seems, Mom and I have attended the same church — a church that acknowledges spiritual warfare and a church where the pastor tells us to test spirits, claim God’s power over the evil one, and live victoriously with God’s help.
Does that mean I’ve lived my life perfectly since then? That I’ve never made a bad decision or blown it? Obviously not. But does that make my faith any less real? Of course not. It simply means that my faith is being tested. I get this.
So now as I dwell in this dark place, I feel that I have to stand firmer than ever. I cannot afford the luxury of doubt in this vile, oppressive world. More than ever, I must cling tightly to God. And when I’m too tired to hold on any longer, I must believe that God will hold fast to me. God will not let me go … I believe it.
… [CHAPTER 15]………………
Morning comes with sunshine and a slender ray of new hope for the day. Since tomorrow is Friday, I’m believing that the time is near. God is going to have to intervene for me. I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to be faithful. And now I believe that this horrible ordeal will soon be coming to an end. I have to believe it. However, as the morning and my confinement drag on, I feel my faith wavering.
As much as I want to keep a positive attitude, I feel antsy and aggravated — like I want to start slamming my fist through walls. And I even wonder how hard it would be to break out like that. Is it even humanly possible? Or would I end up bloody and broken and so badly messed up that my value would drop and no one would care whether I lived or died?
As the day wears on, so does my patience. Why does it always take so long for Tatiana to come and unlock this door? I so don’t want to use the bucket in the closet. So I bang on the door, calling out for someone to let me out.
To my surprise, it’s Ruby who comes to my rescue. She says nothing as she opens my door, but as I come into the hallway, I notice she has a blackened eye. “What happened to you?” I ask as I’m on my way to the bathroom.
“Nothing,” she says glumly.
I hurry to use the bathroom. And when I come back out, it’s all quiet in the house and Ruby is nowhere to be seen. I’m guessing that everyone is still in bed. This could be my big chance. Once again, I go to the laundry room, hoping that the door to the garage is unlocked, but it’s still secure. I go over to the glass sliding door that leads to the backyard. Not only does it have security bars on the outside, the door itself has some kind of device to keep it from opening.
What would happen if there were a fire? How
would people get safely out of here? And thinking of this inspires an idea. What if I make a fire? What if the smoke alarms started going off and we all had to evacuate? In the scramble, I could take off running.
So now I’m looking around for something to start a fire with. I’m hurrying, rushing back and forth because I’m worried someone will get up and find me before I can set something blazing. But I can’t find a single book of matches or a lighter or even two sticks to rub together.
Finally, just as I’m about to give up, I see the stove in the kitchen. Of course! It’s only a glass-topped job, but surely it can produce enough heat to cause a fire. I turn on a front element and grab some paper towels, and then seeing the liquor bottles, I decide to help things out by pouring vodka onto some of the paper towels.
As the red circle on the stove grows hotter, I decide to make this appear to be an accident. So I lay the nearly empty bottle of vodka on its side with some paper towels wadded up around it, like someone was doing a bad job of cleaning it up. Then I trail some of the towels onto the red-hot circle and suddenly it begins to smoke.
Feeling victorious and a bit frightened — what if I burn the place down with everyone in here? — I turn to make a run for it. Just as I’m crossing through the living room area, Jimmy emerges from his room.
“What’s going on?” he says with a puzzled frown. “Hey, is that smoke I smell?”
I freeze in my steps. “Smoke?” I say stupidly.
“Over there.” He dashes toward the kitchen and, knowing he’s about to witness my failed pyromania attempt at escape, I take off running back to my room. Even with my door closed, I can hear him cussing and yelling. This is not going to go down well. Why did he have to come out just then?
I sit on the mattress, trying to pretend I’m reading one of Ruby’s books, but my brain refuses to focus on the lines of words. My heart is pounding and I know it’s only minutes until I get what must be coming to me. As I’m flipping through the pages, I notice some writing in the back of the book. Very neatly in small letters it says: Ruth McKay, Nampa, Idaho.
At first I wonder who this Ruth person is, and then I remember that Ruby let it slip that she used to live in Idaho. Is Ruby’s real name Ruth McKay? After all, my real name is Simi and they changed it to Serena. Perhaps they keep the first letter of people’s names the same. For some reason this is encouraging.
“Get out here, Serena!” Jimmy opens my door with a flushed face and an enraged expression. “Now!”
I stand up and slowly make my way toward him.
“Move it!” He reaches out and slaps me hard across the face, then shoves me up against the door jam, swearing at me.
Holding my arms over my face, I yell out, reminding him that I’m not supposed to be bruised. Then he slams my back against the wall, and with his face just inches from mine, he screams the worst profanity I’ve ever heard. I’m splattered with his spittle and his breath smells like rotten garbage.
“Get in there and clean that mess up!” He grabs me by the arm and thrusts me down the hallway. “I’ll deal with you later!”
Thanks to Jimmy’s firefighting efforts, the mess is even worse than I expected. Water and blackened ashes are all over the place. I find dirty towels in the laundry room to mop it up with. Just as I’m finishing, Jimmy returns with Tatiana in tow. “I blame you as much as I blame Serena for this,” he yells at Tatiana. “It’s your job to keep an eye on her and she’s out — ”
“I didn’t let her out,” Tatiana retorts.
“Then who did?”
Tatiana glares at me. What does she want me to say? Or not say? I have no idea.
“Who let you out?” Jimmy points his finger at me, jabbing it into my chest.
“I’m not sure,” I mutter. “I was … uh … asleep.”
He raises his fist like he’s going to smack me.
“Leave her alone,” Tatiana says in a blasé tone. “You know she’s supposed to look good for her date with Mr. T tomorrow.”
Now Jimmy turns to Tatiana and slams his fist straight into her face. I’m so shocked I let out a scream. “Get out of here!” He swears at both of us.
I head back to my room, but hearing a scuffle I turn around to see that Tatiana is fighting back. Is this my big chance? I run back, hoping I can help Tatiana against Jimmy. We can pin him down and —
I freeze when Jimmy’s stun gun appears. He’s got Tatiana by one arm, and before I can say or do anything, he presses the Taser into her neck. She lets out a scream and instantly begins to shake, falling to the floor, where she continues to tremble violently. I run to her side, worried that she’s having a seizure, and then her body goes limp.
“Help me pick her up,” Jimmy commands. But I feel like I can’t move, like I’m in shock. What if she’s dead?
I put a hand on her arm, peering at her pale face. “Are you okay?”
“Move it,” he growls. When I look up, I see his Taser aimed just inches from me. “Or you wanna be next?”
He grabs her bare feet. “Get that end,” he commands. I’ve barely gotten ahold of her lifeless arms and he’s already dragging her down the hallway. I stumble to keep up. “You two are bunking together.” He swears as he releases her on the bedroom floor, letting her drop with a heavy clunk. Then he slams the door and the dead bolt snaps shut.
I get the pillow to tuck under her head and, noticing that she’s trembling slightly, I remember the treatment for shock. I get the blanket from the bed and lay it over her. At least she’s alive.
Now I sit on the floor and close my eyes and pray that she’ll be okay. I have no idea what kind of damage a stun gun can do, but between her tremors and her clammy, pale skin, I’m concerned. However, if she needs medical attention, I know she won’t get it. All I can do is pray.
After what seems a long while, she slowly regains consciousness, and when she’s able to sit, I offer her a drink from my water bottle. She’s still a little disoriented, but her senses gradually come back to her. And she begins to quietly call Jimmy all sorts of profane names, saying how much she hates him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt because of me.”
She shrugs as she leans back against the wall. “I shouldn’t have let Ruby unlock your door in the first place.” She touches the red Taser mark on her neck and winces. Then she feels her lower lip that is badly swollen.
I offer her the water bottle again and she takes a small sip. “What did you do anyway?” She peers curiously at me. “Jimmy said you were trying to burn the whole freaking house down.”
So I explain my futile plan. “I wanted the smoke alarms to go off … so everyone would have to evacuate.”
“And you could run away.”
“Yeah.”
“And seriously, how far do you think you’d have gotten?” she asks in a hopeless way.
“Home.”
“That’s optimistic … if not delusional.”
“I have a plan. I think I could accomplish it. My mom would help me.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky to have someone who cares about you. Not everyone is so fortunate.”
I peer at her, wondering once again what brought her here. “Even if you don’t have a real home to go to, wouldn’t you rather be free … wouldn’t it be better than living like this?”
She glares at me. “Free? Are you really that stupid?”
“Freedom is stupid?”
“Do you honestly think there’s any place we can go and be free anymore?”
I nod. “Sure. Why not?”
She waves her hands in exasperation. “Because they are everywhere.”
I know she means Tom’s associates, but I’m still confused. “But you move away … go to another state.”
“Aren’t you from another state?” she says.
“Yes, but — ”
“But you just don’t get it, do you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean this is big busines
s, Serena. Big money-making business. In the Portland metro area alone, there are probably thousands of people connected to guys like Tom. They trade us around like livestock. And if something goes wrong or if someone runs away, the thugs work together. They help each other.”
“You make it sound like they rule the world.”
“They rule the underworld. And the underworld rules the rest of the world.”
“That’s probably how it seems to — ”
“That’s how it is! The sooner you get that, the better off you’ll be. And then you won’t go around trying to burn down what is probably the best place you’ll end up in.”
Now she’s agitated and on her feet, pacing back and forth and swearing like a sailor again. It’s clear I need to change my tactics if I’m going to get anywhere with her. She’s so hopeless. Somehow I’ve got to convince her that there’s a way out of this slavery racket. I’m trying to remember what the woman who spoke to our school said about human trafficking last year. Surely she had answers. Suggestions for ways to end the madness.
“What about safe houses?” I ask suddenly.
“Huh?” She pauses in front of the window, staring out the same way I do much of the time. “What are you yammering about?”
“Safe houses,” I say. Besides trying to bring human trafficking to our attention, I now remember how that speaker wanted to raise money for safe houses. So surely they must exist … somewhere. “Those are places where girls like you or Ruby or Kandy or Desiree can go to get help. Places where you’re protected and given new identities, and I’m sure they have counseling and stuff.”
“Right.” She turns around with a scowl. “And they probably hand out money and new cars and paid vacations to Honolulu too.”
“Okay, I’ll admit that I don’t know that much about safe houses. But I do know there are good people out there. People who are ready to lend a hand. Even my church would help out if someone really needed it.” Now I tell her about how our church has assisted homeless families and women in abusive relationships. “I’m certain they’d help with girls caught in trafficking too.”
Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) Page 12