by T. K. Leigh
Her father died fighting against the customs her brother was too eager to embrace.
The sound of loud footsteps grew closer, bringing Laila back from her memories. All the women tightened their hold on each other, fearful of what would greet them on the other side of the door. Keys jingled and the door opened.
Relief flooded through her when Landon stood in front of them with one of his guards, another American.
“It’s okay,” he assured them in their native language. “They’re gone. You’re all okay.” He beamed his brilliant smile at them, then found Laila’s concerned eyes.
The idea that anyone would put his life on the line to keep her alive was completely foreign to the way of life she had grown accustomed to over the years. She had been led to believe she didn’t matter, that she didn’t have any worth, that no one cared whether she lived or died.
But Landon cared. He was a complete stranger, yet he found it in his heart to keep each and every one of them safe from harm. Because of Landon, they each had a reason to keep going. If they gave up, all his effort, all his sacrifice would have been for nothing.
So they carried on, returning to their usual routine. They woke every morning before the sun, as they had been accustomed. It didn’t matter they no longer had to prepare meals and clean before the men of the house rose. They did so partly out of habit…partly out of fear.
As the days stretched on, the other women assured Laila that everything would be okay, but she could see the concern in their eyes. They were worried for her, but also for themselves. If she could be found, what about the rest of them? Were they at risk, as well?
Just when they had all but forgotten about the incident and began to breathe again, Tariq and Waleed came back with more men, voices Laila recognized as belonging to people from her village. Her neighbor. Boys she grew up with who were barely old enough to be called men. Her uncles. They had all come for her.
The women crowded together, hugging each other, mumbling prayers as guns fired in the background.
“I know you’re hiding the girls!” one of the men said, his voice loud, demanding, brutal.
“What girls?” Landon shot back. “You were here just a few weeks ago and found nothing! What makes you think you’ll find anything this time?”
“Because, this time, you’re outnumbered.”
“That’s still not going to make people appear out of thin air.”
Shots rang out. Laila buried her head against her legs, trying to warm herself. Catching a glimpse of her stomach, she shuddered at the idea of raising a child in a world of hate.
It went on for hours. Finally, in the dark of night, silence fell over the clinic. The women held their breath, nervous expressions on their faces as the sound of footsteps grew louder and louder, just like the night a few weeks ago. They prayed it was Landon on the other side of the door again.
Tension rolled off each of their shoulders when he entered the room with another one of his guards.
“It’s okay,” he said. “They’re gone.”
But unlike a few weeks ago, there was a weariness on his face. Dried blood was caked on his boots, his knuckles scarred and dirty. His hair was disheveled, and cuts were visible on his lip and brow.
Laila hoped no one had died protecting them. Her life wasn’t worth more than any of the staff who had vowed to keep them safe. She could end all of this right now. She could just go home and face the consequences of her actions, sparing the lives of the rest of the women here. It was careless of her to stay and put everyone at risk. These men wanted her. She needed to make this sacrifice to save everyone else.
Standing from the tile floor, she went to her bed and opened the chest beside it that contained her things. She began to fill her bag with a few mementos…photos, a book, a journal and pen. She paused when her eyes fell on a tarnished gold locket. Opening it, she stared back at a photo of her mother and father, wishing with everything that they were still here. She’d do anything to feel their love surrounding her, to hear her father’s stories, to listen to her mother’s beautiful singing voice.
“What do you think you’re doing?” someone said. Laila spun around.
“I…” She adjusted her hijab, ensuring it covered her hair, and lowered her eyes. Years of subservience had taught her to always lower her head when being addressed by a man.
“Laila, look at me,” Landon said softly, his Pashto remarkably good for a westerner.
Pulling her lip between her teeth, she gradually raised her head and met his eyes. She’d only been at the shelter for a little more than a month. She’d spoken to Landon on occasion, but always avoided his eyes. Now, as she looked into the brilliant blue hue for the first time, she saw something she hadn’t in months, if not years.
Compassion.
Grace.
Humanity.
“You can’t give up.”
“I’m not—”
“I know what you’re thinking. You can’t. I’m going to help you.”
“How?” A tear fell down her cheek. “Those men…” She looked at the door that acted as a barrier between the girls and the rest of the world. “They’re not going to stop until they get what they want. They believe I’ve dishonored the family name, and the only way to restore it is to kill me. They don’t care how long it takes. They will keep coming for me, killing anyone who gets in their way. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
“So you’re just going to give up after you’ve gotten this far? You’ve made it through the most difficult part. You had the courage to run, to be free. Don’t stop now. You need to keep fighting.”
“For what?” She shook her head, looking at her surroundings. While she was lucky to have all the luxuries in life she’d never been afforded — running water, heat, electricity, a soft bed, sufficient clothing — it was still a prison. She could never leave. “This isn’t living. All of us, every single one of us, will never be safe beyond these walls. We’re stuck here. We ran to save our lives, but we didn’t realize the second we left, we died anyway.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” He ran his hand over his face. “I can help you. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll get you somewhere safe. Somewhere you’ll never have to worry about them finding you. Somewhere you can walk the streets and play with your baby when he or she arrives. Somewhere he or she doesn’t have to worry about being subjected to the same customs you have.”
“How?”
Landon placed his hand on Laila’s arm and she jumped from the contact. For years, every man’s touch had been unwelcome, unwanted. But this didn’t cause her pain. It was warm, kind, caring. It gave her hope. Hope that her life didn’t have to end. Hope that there was more out there for her. Hope that Landon would follow through on his promise.
He smiled. “You leave that up to me.”
~~~~~~~~~~
A FEW WEEKS LATER, Landon nudged Laila awake in the middle of the night.
“What is it?” she asked groggily.
“Come with me,” he said in hushed tones, giving her a knowing look.
Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she raised herself from the bed and started to grab a few things. She knew this was it. She was leaving.
“No.” Landon shook his head. “I’m sorry. You have to leave it all here. You can’t bring anything that can connect you to who you were.”
“Who I was?”
“Yes. From this moment forward, Laila no longer exists. Okay?”
With a heavy heart, she followed Landon out of the room in which she had spent the past several weeks. She looked over the rows of beds, all of the women sleeping as peacefully as they could. She had only known them for such a short time, but they were like family. She wondered if she would ever see any of them again.
Hours passed as Laila rode in the back of a truck, hidden by stacks of fresh produce and bread. Finally, the truck came to a stop and she heard the sound of a door opening and closing. She remained on the floor, covered with blankets. Landon
had instructed her not to move. She had no problem following his orders. It was better than the alternative. She heard muddled voices and tried to make out what was being said, but they spoke English.
After what seemed like an eternity of listening to her own heartbeat and trying to steady her breathing, the door opened. A few seconds later, the blankets were pulled off and she looked into Landon’s caring blue eyes once more. He held his hand out to her and she took it, allowing him to help her up.
Emerging from the back of the truck, she took in her surroundings. A one-level building sat several hundred yards away. Around her was nothing but sky and miles of paved runways. Just off in the distance was a large airplane being loaded.
Landon turned to her, placing his hands on her arms. Without saying a word, he planted a loving kiss on her head, then jumped back into the truck, peeling away, leaving her alone with a woman she’d never seen before. Her features almost reminded her of Landon’s, and Laila wondered if they were related. Then again, most Americans looked the same to her.
“Where am I?” Laila asked.
“Kandahar,” the woman explained, “but not for much longer.” She gestured to the airplane as its engines roared to life.
“Where am I going?”
“Somewhere safe where no one will be able to find you,” she answered, placing her hand on Laila’s shoulder.
She looked up, knowing it would probably be the last time she ever saw the Afghan sky. She drew in a breath and basked in the aroma of tulips and jasmine. From that moment, she would always associate that scent with freedom.
Chapter Thirty
Present Day
December 18
4:30 PM
LAILA STOOD IN THE kitchen of her apartment in Woburn, a city northwest of Boston, when the alert came. She’d been living there for nearly a year, thanks to an angel sent from God himself. Landon’s sister had done everything she could to get her out of Afghanistan and set her up somewhere safe. Somewhere she could start over again. Somewhere she could raise her son without the fear of being found.
“No one will ever find you here,” she had assured Laila, whose new name was Selena, according to the American passport she was given once her plane landed in the United States. “But if we ever believe there is a threat to your safety, we will alert you through this phone.” She handed her a small, black flip phone.
The first few months, she carried it with her wherever she went, expecting it to ring at any moment. But it never did. She went on with her life. She began taking English classes at a local community college and could now speak it with relative ease. Mischa helped her find a job at a daycare center. Once her son was born in June, she was able to return to work within a few months and take care of him, as well as the other infants she was in charge of. She planned on starting at a four-year university within the next year, in the hopes of working toward a degree in education.
The chiming of that phone cut through the sound of Mickey Mouse on the television, making her heart fall to the pit of her stomach. She almost didn’t think it was real. As she peered at the screen, no information on it apart from an address, she wondered if it was a wrong number. Glancing at her son sitting on the floor, playing with his toys, she knew she couldn’t take that risk.
Dashing into the bedroom, she threw a few things together — diapers, clothes, bottles, blankets, toys. She re-emerged into the living room and strapped her little boy into his car seat, glancing around her apartment one last time. Then she left.
After taking several different city busses in the hopes no one followed her, she arrived at the address on the text. She stared at the steeple of the brick building, angelic voices finding their way to her ears. It was so peaceful, so serene, at complete odds with the pounding of her heart.
Entering the church, she was greeted by a man in a dark suit.
“Come with me,” he said.
Laila glanced over her shoulder, unsure of whether she could even trust this complete stranger. What if it was a trap? What if they had found her?
“I’m here to help. Something’s happened.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t say, but we need to get all of you in one place to make sure you’re safe.”
“All of us?” Laila asked, raising her brows.
“Yes.”
“You mean…” She trailed off.
“Yes.” The man cracked a small smile, then turned toward a staircase.
She followed him down a narrow set of steps, having difficulty keeping up with his long strides. Stopping at the end of the hallway, he paused and knocked a peculiar rhythm on the door. After a few seconds, it opened.
Her heart filled with joy when she entered the room to see eleven women she never thought she would again.
They spent the next few hours sharing their stories. Landon had gotten each and every woman out of the shelter. Laila was grateful to see them again, but she feared something horrible must have happened to have forced them together once more. Landon had already given his life for them. How much more blood had to be shed?
As darkness fell, Laila grew more and more restless, as did the rest of the women. They were tired, confused, and scared. Finally, the man in the suit reappeared.
“Follow me, ladies. We’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” Laila asked. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else. Now hurry. We don’t have much time.”
“What is going on?” she demanded. “We’ve been sitting here for hours and have absolutely no idea what’s going on, other than all of us getting a mysterious text with an address.”
He let out a sigh. “I can’t tell you exactly what’s happened, but we need to get you to safety. There’s a warm, comfortable house with food, water, a bathroom, and beds for all of you. Everything you’ll need.”
Laila shook her head. “I’m not going until you tell us what’s going on.”
“You want to know what’s going on?” the man shot back, annoyed. “The woman who helped you all into this country was found dead. It could have just been a coincidence, but there’s a very real possibility someone figured out what she was doing and is coming for each of you.” He paused, allowing that information to soak in. “Now, come with me.”
Silence fell over the women as they followed him from the room, then piled into a large passenger van painted with the logo of some airport shuttle service. Not a word was spoken the duration of the drive. Some would exchange nervous glances. Others kept their heads lowered, mouthing the words to different prayers. It was reminiscent of the uncertainty the women lived with on a daily basis in the shelter where they all met. Laila never wanted to feel that again, yet here she was.
An hour later, the van pulled up to a gated driveway. After pressing a four-digit combination into a box, the large gates opened, allowing him access to the long driveway.
“Isn’t that the church we just left?” a woman named Bahara asked.
“It is,” the man in the suit replied, navigating the van past the main house and toward what appeared to be a decent-sized guest house.
“Why did you drive all over the city then?” she pushed.
“In case anyone tried to follow us.” He clicked a button, the garage door of the guest house opening. He drove the van inside, then turned off the engine.
The women looked at each other as he jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran to open the doors for them. On shaky limbs, Laila followed the other women inside the house, carrying the car seat with her sleeping baby.
“You’ll find everything you need here,” the man said as they congregated in the main living area. “Keep the shades drawn and do not open the door. I’m the only one with a key. If anyone who is part of Mischa’s organization stops by, they’ll knock on the door leading from the basement, not the front door. There’s plenty of food, water, and other amenities, such as diapers.” He looked directly at Laila. “Do not contact anyone. We’re going to try to get to the bottom of this a
s quickly as possible, but until we do, it’s imperative you all remain here to ensure your safety.” He paused. “Goodbye, ladies.” He spun on his heels and opened the door leading to the basement.
The remainder of the night passed at a sluggish pace. The women congregated in the living room, all of them trading the semi-privacy of a shared bedroom for the security of being together. It reminded Laila of the days they spent in the shelter. She missed having that bond with another human, but she didn’t miss the uncertainty. In an instant, she had been transported back to that time in her life, every sound making her jump, never knowing if the door was about to open, someone who wanted to do her harm standing on the other side.
An entire day had come and gone. The man in the suit visited a few times to check on them, still refusing to answer any further questions. They were all anxious for answers, to know how long they would have to stay here. Just as they came up with a plan to find out, a knock on the basement door tore through the living room. It was in the same pattern the man in the suit had used back at the church.
They shot their heads toward the door in unison. Laila could feel her heart thumping in her chest.
“What do we do?” one of the women asked.
“Answer it,” Laila responded.
“But what if—”
“We’ve been waiting for answers. Whoever’s on the other side of that door may have them.” She jumped up, her little boy in her arms, and strode toward the door. She knew the fear each of these women dealt with right now. She had lived with that same fear for the past several years. But she had put her life on the line and escaped Afghanistan so she didn’t have to live suspended between two worlds. She refused to go back to that way of life.
Glancing over her shoulder, she gave the women an encouraging smile, then faced forward, placing her hand on the doorknob. She took a deep breath and turned it.
A tall, slender brunette stepped into the room. Her brown eyes were full of compassion, sorrow, and even a hint of relief.