Trafficked: a novel

by Sophia Rey

  “Three bucks? Are you kidding me?!”

  “It’s getting late. You’re not going to be able to sell many more, anyway. Besides, I heard you say you have to get to a recital.”

  He seemed a little annoyed. “Oh, alright. You must have heard me talking to that other customer. Here. Two tickets. That’s six dollars.” I paid him, grabbed the tickets, and headed back to Mason.

  “What a deal!” He smiled and gave me a kiss when I finished telling him what happened. “I should send you to negotiate more often.”

  After the movie, we were deciding what to do next when Mason got a phone call. He stepped away to talk, but didn’t talk long before coming back in a big hurry to leave. “Gotta go, Babe. Sorry. Boss wants me to do some outside sales at the car lot. I can catch you tomorrow if you want.”

  I know he saw the disappointment on my face as I said, “Okay.” I’d been hoping to be invited back to his house for a while and I was hoping he wanted to do that, too. He pulled me in and gave me a squeeze and a kiss, saying he was disappointed, too. But he didn’t seem disappointed as he jogged to his car and sped away. I watched his car disappear before I turned around and started walking home.

  ************

  The next day was Saturday. I hadn’t realized it the night before, but I’d left my coat in Mason’s care and he’d had taken it with him. So I figured I’d just pop over and grab my coat. Mason was always glad to see me, and it would be fun to surprise him.

  When I reached his house what did I see but a big Doberman sitting by the door. I didn’t know his roommates own a dog, I said to myself, thinking it funny I hadn’t noticed when I’d come over before. Ordinarily, with my fear of large dogs I would have just left, but the desire to surprise Mason, and the fact that I’d taken a 45 minute bus ride over there make me change my mind. I hoped his roommate would come out and put away his dog. There was no way I was going to go to the door with that beast sitting there. And foolishly, I’d left my cell phone at home, so I couldn’t call Mason and ask him to do it.

  So I sat on a bench across the street for a while, just watching to see if Mason would come out. The door did open, but a girl about my age walked out and down the street, and no one took the dog in.

  Must be one of his roommate’s girlfriends, I thought. I waited a while longer. Another girl walked out and left. Still, no one took in the dog.

  I still didn’t want to get on the bus home, but sitting here on the bench watching Mason’s roommates’ girlfriends leave wasn’t interesting at all. I remembered that I’d seen a grocery store nearby and decided to go there, grab a sandwich, and take my time eating it. Then I’d come by Mason’s house one last time to see if the dog was gone and Mason was home.

  After my lunch, I decided to try and get Mason on the phone rather than sit across the street again like a scared child. I went to Customer Service and asked to borrow their phone. I was worried he wouldn’t answer because it wasn’t my number, but he picked up after the third ring with a curt, “Mason here.”

  “Hey Mason, it’s me. I accidentally left my coat in your car last night.”

  He broke in before I could continue. “Oh, yeah. I know; I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. Maybe we can see a movie I like instead of one of another chick flick.”

  “You chose the movie last night, remember?” I teased back, smiling inside. Things hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but at least Mason wanted to see me. I pressed on. “Well, I’m actually near your house. Is it okay if I just stop by?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but the hope was evident in my voice.

  Silence. It was weird. I had never known Mason to ever be at a loss for words. After what felt like a couple of minutes, he hesitantly asked, “Um…where are you exactly?”

  The hope was fading as I replied, getting more nervous as I talked. “I’m at the grocery store around the corner. I actually tried to come over earlier, but there was a giant dog in front of your door, so I came over here for some lunch. I didn’t know your roommate has a dog,” I finished, angry at myself for sounding almost petulant.

  Mason took a second to respond, but when he did it sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. “I wish you would have asked before you came. Today’s not a good day to drop over; we’re painting. I’m sorry you came all the way over here. I’ll drop off the coat at your house later.” Then he said something I didn’t expect, “Oh, and don’t tell anyone about the dog. The landlord would freak. That’s a good girl. Bye, Em.” With that, the line went dead and I was left standing at Customer Service wondering what just happened.

  ************

  I ate some soup. I was in a soup mood after talking to Mason. Something didn’t seem right. Mason was being so evasive, and really didn’t want me at his house today. He had hung up before I could even offer to help paint. And the dog? The girls? Nothing made sense to me. So, I decided to sit on the bench across the street and watch for a bit. Sure enough, in the hour I was there, the dog stood sentinel by the door as three more girls came out of the house. I made a mental note to myself to see how many roommates Mason had ‘cause that sure was a lot of girls for one guy.

  CHAPTER 6

  MASON DID BRING THE coat over the next afternoon, and he surprised me by inviting me over to his house for dinner. If there was anything odd going on he wouldn’t have invited me over, I reasoned with myself. I was glad enough to go, and decided I’d probably better wait before asking him any questions. When we reached his place, sure enough, the walls were freshly painted and there were paint brushes, rollers and paint cleaner lying around. After looking in the fridge, Mason decided that he didn’t want to eat there after all. Instead, he suggested we go to Coffee Black Rock, a local coffee place with a huge outdoor patio and, sometimes, live music.

  “The landlord said we could get some money off our rent if we painted the place,” he told me as we settled in with our cappuccinos. The music from the jazz band meant we were hiding in the corner so we could hear each other. “I spent all day painting and cleaning up after all that mess. I’m wiped out!”

  Uh oh, I thought. This is going to be a short date. But I was wrong. We sat there and talked for hours. About 8:00 we went to the taco place next door, sharing plates of enchiladas, street tacos, and rice & beans. We lingered at the restaurant talking and cuddling in the booth for another hour–and–a–half.

  It was a wonderful date…until we drove home. We had just pulled out after stopping at a four–way stop when a black van came barreling at us, over the 45 mph speed limit, through the stop sign to the left of us and smashed right into Mason’s car.

  I started screaming. Mason was bent over the steering wheel next to me, unconscious in a pool of blood that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He was pinned between the seat of the car and the dash board. I don’t know how long I just sat there and screamed. Someone must have called 911 because an ambulance, a fire truck, and a police car all showed up at the same time. It took them fifteen minutes to extract Mason from the car and put him on a gurney before we were driven away in the ambulance. They tried to make me go in a separate ambulance and I refused, yelling that there was no way I was leaving him and they were crazy if they thought I was. They didn’t argue very long before deciding that it might be easier to check me out to make sure I was alright if I wasn’t screaming and yelling at them. I’d been thrown into the windshield and had a big knot on my head, which hurt like nothing else, but I was awake and nothing was broken so I wasn’t worried about me.

  “Where are you taking us?” My voice started to shiver when I spoke to the EMT. My memory of First–Aid certification told me I was going into shock, but I didn’t care. I wanted – no, I needed – to make sure we were going to the same hospital. Honestly, I needed to make sure Mason was still alive, but I didn’t know if I wanted to face the answer to that question.

  I heard one of the EMTs call, “Pulse?” and the other one yell back, “Thready.” They began hooking him up to multiple contrap
tions, trying to staunch the blood that was seeping from multiple parts of him, and filling his arms with IV’s. Seeing them work over him filled me with another burst of adrenaline. I tried to reach up and hold his hand, but one of the EMTs saw how badly my hand was shaking. “We have shock here!” He was sounding louder with each word. “You got the guy? I’ll take the girl.” He began wrapping me in one of those emergency blankets and put an I.V. in my hand while I watched the heart monitor be attached to Mason and heard his heart beating faintly.

  At least he’s alive. I felt a surge of relief, which turned right into exhaustion. The lights of the ambulance began to dim from the outside of my vision to a narrow point in the center until, finally, the lights disappeared as I passed out.

  I woke up in the ER, being given a bunch of tests: temperature, oxygen level, blood pressure. They examined the massive knot on my head and cleaned the gash I’d gotten from hitting my head on the windshield. Miraculously, they determined that I did not need stitches.

  “It’s amazing that that’s the only injury you sustained,” said the ER doctor as she finished up. “You’re pretty lucky.”

  “How’s Mason?” This was the fiftieth time I’d asked the question since waking up in the ER.

  “I’m afraid your boyfriend’s not quite so lucky. He took the full brunt of the hit. We don’t know the full extent of his injuries yet.” She was speaking in a gentle way, as though I was fragile and needed protecting. Part of me appreciated her approach, but the Aspergers part of me wished she’d just tell me the facts so I could organize my thoughts. “When a body gets hit with that hard of an impact, there’s a great chance that there can be internal bleeding. They need to check to see if any organs like the heart, spleen, lungs, or kidneys were damaged. That’s going to take some time.”

  Mom arrived, looking scared. When she saw me she ran to me and grabbed me in a big hug and started crying. “Are you alright, Em? Where are you hurt? What happened?” The questions kept coming. I didn’t think they really required an answer; she just needed to ask them. I let her talk with the doctor, then they released me. Mom and I sat in the ER waiting room while they worked on Mason, trying to find out how he was.

  Finally, after hours of waiting, his doctor told us that Mason had two broken femur bones and a massive concussion. “He’s almost as lucky as you are!” Mason’s doctor looked proud of himself. “His legs were only broken in one place and the swelling in his brain is already decreasing. We didn’t detect any internal bleeding, and we were able to stitch up his wounds without much trouble. We’re going to keep him here for a few days, to make sure his legs don’t require surgery and that his head wound doesn’t turn around, but that’s just standard procedure. All signs point to a full recovery.”

  I wanted to see him as soon as possible, but I didn’t want to seem too anxious. “Have you contacted his parents?” I asked. Mom and I had given the hospital intake staff the name of Mason’s uncle, who was the only relative of Mason’s I knew. And I only knew about him because Mason worked at his car lot.

  “Yes. I called his uncle and he helped me contact Mason’s parents. They asked if he was going to survive, and when I told them yes, they said they couldn’t see coming down then.” The woman at the reception desk had a puzzled look on her face.

  “What’s the matter?” Mom asked her.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just odd that they’re not coming.” She shook her head. “In my experience people want to get here as fast as possible when they find their child has been hurt badly in an accident like this. But, you know. I’m sure they have their reasons.”

  I nodded in agreement, but inside I thought it was odd, too.

  ************

  The next morning I sat with Mason in his room as early as I could. I’d wanted to stay overnight, but the hospital staff assured me that he wouldn’t be waking up till the next day since they’d put him in a medically induced coma while he regained some blood and the swelling in his head went down. About ten he started to stir. “Oh, my head,” he mumbled groggily. “Where am I?”

  “The hospital.” I took his hand. Mason was awake! I kept my excitement of seeing him awake quiet and spoke in quiet tones.

  “The hospital?”

  “Yes. We were in a car accident.” The doctors had told me that he might have temporary amnesia. I was ready to explain the situation to him.

  Mason looked down at his legs and saw the two large casts. “That doesn’t look too good.” He looked distressed.

  “They said you’re lucky. Each leg is broken in only one place. That means only a few weeks of recovery before you go to physical therapy.”

  “Physical therapy? That sounds like fun,” he said sarcastically.

  “It’s not all bad. I asked them for a list of places, and there’s one right near an ice cream place. If your insurance covers it we could go to physical therapy together and then treat ourselves to a cone…kind of like a little date.” I’d been planning that speech all morning.

  “That might make things tolerable,” he admitted, giving me a weak smile.

  ************

  A few weeks later began a series of physical therapy appointments to which I took the bus, and met Mason, who hired a Lyft. It’s really easy to get to know someone who is, kind of, your patient. I’d meet Mason at his Lyft ride, get the wheelchair out of the trunk, and help him into the physical therapy office. We’d into the PT appointment, which consisted mostly of PT aides who’d follow notes from the actual physical therapist saying which exercises Mason needed to do. I would encourage him while he did his best to get through the exercises. I could see doing the exercises was painful for him, but he did them because he wanted to get back on his feet. He wasn’t one who liked to sit home alone, brooding in his house.

  For eight weeks, we followed this routine, and after that Mason got an x–ray to see how he was doing. The doctor recommended three more weeks of physical therapy. Outwardly, Mason groaned. Inwardly, I had mixed feelings. I felt sorry for Mason, who had to undergo three more weeks of torture, but inwardly I was pleased to continue our mini dates three times a week. I enjoyed knowing I would see him before, during, and after therapy. I like routine. It’s part of being autistic. That’s what Mom says, anyway. But I think, for me, part of it was knowing I would see one of my favorite people, for sure, three times a week.

  CHAPTER 7

  I’M TELLING YOU, DONNA. I don’t think I can take it much longer.” I could hear my parent’s voices from my bedroom. My dad sounded really upset. “It’s getting worse and worse.”

  “I don’t see how it can get much worse than what you told me last week when you said that the BHT on the green unit was almost choked to death by those girls,” Mom challenged.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what happened to me and you can see which thing you think is worse, though they’re both pretty awful. Last night one of the little angels asked me to open the bathroom door for him. All the doors are locked so the kids can’t go off somewhere and harm themselves. So I grab the keys from the lanyard around my neck and try and open the door, but the keyhole’s jammed with something. One of the kids put gum or glue in there, I guess.

  “So I phone Devante, the lead BHT, and I tell him about it. But while I’m telling him about it one of the boys sneaks up behind me, rips the keys off my neck and runs down the hall with them. He locks another boy in the quiet room and takes off so I can’t get him out. The boy who’s locked in the room has suicidal tendencies, so I rush over to make sure he’s alright. But when I look in I see him slashing himself with a razor blade!”

  “Hold on,” Mom interrupted. “He had a razor blade?”

  “Everything happened so fast, I thought I was going to lose it. Anyway, this kid’s slashing himself and these other kids are running around with my keys and hiding them who knows where and laughing at me because I can’t find them. They’d just shut themselves in their rooms and closed the doors, which they’re not supposed to do, when Devante finally
show up. Devante had another set of keys so he let the guy out of isolation. Turns out he wasn’t bleeding badly. The kid was just trying to mess with me, giving himself some superficial cuts with a very dull razor blade to make himself look more suicidal than he was.”

  “Devante unlocked the other kids’ doors and jokingly told them to get out of their rooms. It was no joke to me. Those kids are out of control.

  “Then, and this is the worst of it, Devante tells me that I need to ‘maintain my composure,’ and that I should have had control of the situation. I’m tellin’ you, Donna, I felt like punching him. ’This is more your fault than mine,’ I told him. ‘We’re always understaffed over here. You put me on this unit – the most acute unit in the place – with only one other brand new staff member. What’s going to be done to these kids who plugged up the key holes and ran off with my keys?’ You know what he says?”

  “What?”

  “‘We’re a therapeutic facility, not a prison.’ Basically that means these kids won’t have any consequences for anything they do.

  “’Well, I think something needs to be done when I’m just about to punch somebody,’ I told him. ‘I want off this unit!’ Devante told me that wasn’t possible. I had to stay there because we were short staffed. What a bunch of BS. I get no support there. If this stuff had happened to Devante he would have shut down the units and made the boys stay in their rooms for the night. But he won’t back me up. He just has a little talk with the boy about how they need to have respect for staff. They won’t listen because they get away with whatever they want to do. I told him I couldn’t wait to leave Gardens.”

  Mom must have given him a shocked look because I heard him say, “Don’t worry Donna, I won’t leave until I get something else. I don’t know what I’m going to find, though. With working all the holidays that pay time–and–a–half I’m making about $25.00 an hour.”