She looked at me and then back at the road ahead as she drove, expecting me to answer. I realized she thought I was reacting to the protest and politics of this evening. I calmly lowered my voice in an attempt to reason with her and correct her understanding of why I did what I did. “Mom, please listen to me. I’m not crazy. While I was gone three months ago, Hullman was the man who tried to buy me.”
“For the international pedophile ring?” She asked. “You went on and on and on about this already. Did you take your meds today?”
My heart broke that she could treat me this cruelly. I resented her lack of empathy for what I’ve been through.
“No mom, the feds threatened my life in front of the school to not tell. Why don’t you believe me?”
“Enough!” She shouted.
“But mom…”
“Not another word!” She continued driving, her face beet red.
I wiped the tears from my face, embarrassed that I had dared to let her see that I was vulnerable. It was clear that I wouldn’t be able to trust my mother anymore. I sniffled as a new wave of crying overtook me despite my best efforts. The feeling of betrayal slowly burning inside. How could she not believe me?
If the police were already at my house, then I knew they would take me into custody. That means I was going to jail. I silently thought about what jail would be like and if I would be at risk of getting hurt in there. Would another prisoner try to attack me. I continued sobbing. My life was over. I thought about all the things I would miss out on by being in jail. My wedding. Having children. Going to college like every other typical kid. There was nothing I could do to change my fate now.
My mom turned the steering wheel toward the driveway as the front tires followed in the same direction. She pulled up to the garage door and turned the ignition off. My heart dropped as I saw the police cars with their lights flashing and the officers standing in the yard tense up as we pulled in. I clenched my fists together until my knuckles were white and took a deep breath. The two uniformed officers in the front lawn were drastically different from each other. One was taller with large biceps. He obviously worked out. The cop next to him was quite a bit shorter and wore a military haircut.
They both looked intimidating to me. I looked at my mom as we sat there hoping for guidance on what to do. “Well…” She nodded her head in the direction of the police officers.
I got out of the car as the taller officer walked up to me. “Put your hands on your head!”
I was shocked at the intensity of his words and did what he told me to do. He grabbed my arm and put handcuffs on me.
“Mom!” I screamed.
“Don’t resist, Marlene. Just do what they say.” She answered, her hands over her mouth.
They put me in the back of the police car and shut the door. The emptiness filled me and threatened to choke me. Everyone thought I was a troublemaker. They probably thought I was making all of this up, too. After a few minutes, the officers got into the car and drove off to jail. There was a wire divider between the front and back seats. It felt like I was sitting in a cage. I’d never felt more alone.
When I got there, they took all my information. Then they led me to a room with black lines on the wall. They made me stand in front of it and took my picture. The bright flash burned my eyes, and I stood there humiliated in front of all these strangers who probably just assumed I was a guilty criminal. No doubt this story was already running on the evening news. I’m sure the media will say that I assaulted Hullman.
After what seemed like hours, they gave me a prison uniform and made me put it on. It was neon orange and every bit as embarrassing as it sounds. I followed an officer down a dark corridor past other cells and other female prisoners yelling at me. They were trying to rattle me, which was working. But on the outside, I held my head high and ignored them as I walked by. In my hands were my bed linens. I held my tears back until I got into my cell and the officer left. What was I going to do now? I broke down, feeling like I was the only person I could depend on.
“Better not let nobody see you crying like a baby in here.” A voice echoed from the across the cell. A shadow stepped out and a girl with blonde dreadlocks and a dragon tattoo on her neck stood there looking down at me. Her tattoo looked older, which was strange because she looked so young. Something told me she’d been here a few times before.
I stayed on my side of the cell and tried to ignore her.
“You hear me? Dry those tears, crybaby.” She slowly walked over to where I was sitting on one of the cots.
I sniffled. “Just leave me alone, okay?”
“I don’t know what you have to cry about, anyway.” She taunted. “It’s not like you’ll be in here long.”
Her comment struck me. Had she recognized me on the news? I wiped my eyes and lifted my head. “What do you mean?”
“A rich girl like you? Your parents will be here to bail you out in no time.” She brushed a dreadlock off her shoulder.
“I’m not rich,” I protested.
“Yeah, right? That cashmere sweater you’re wearing with the diamond stud earrings gives you away.” The girl grinned.
I looked down at what I was wearing. It was the first time I’d realized what I wore gave off an impression on other people. I brushed that thought aside as she stared at me, her yellow teeth daring me to snicker. “What are you in for?”
It was only after I asked that I realized I probably shouldn’t have. I didn’t know proper prison etiquette. Her smile dropped and a blank look came over her. I tried to think of something else to say. “What’s your name?
“What do you care?” She said.
“I was just trying to make polite conversation.” I answered.
“What’s your name?” She countered.
“Marlene. And you?” I watched her face as she debated whether or not she wanted to be nice to me.
“Adel.” She answered.
“Like the singer?”
“No. Not like the singer.” She rolled her eyes and jumped on the top bunk.
“So what are you in for?” I asked again, feeling a little braver this time.
“I hot-wired a car and led the cops on a chase around town.” Her eyes lit up as if she was proud of what she had done.
I don’t know why, but I found that exciting. I would never in a million years steal a car and run from the police, but the daydream was enough to keep me entertained in here. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I could.” She laughed. “What are you in here for?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I said.
“Try me.” Adel said.
“I assaulted Secretary Hullman.” I said.
“Who?” She asked.
“You know, Secretary Hullman?” I waited for a spark of recognition to ignite in her brain but it seemed she really didn’t know who I was talking about. I explained what happened.
“Huh,” she said. “Gotta say, I never would have thought someone like you had it in you.”
I took that as a compliment. I woke up sometime later to the sound of whispers. My eyes opened, but I kept my body still. I was facing the wall so no one could tell. It sounded like a couple of people were standing in front of my cell speaking to each other in low voices. When the voices stopped, I waited a second to make sure they were gone before turning over to catch a glimpse of the voices. There were two men in black suits walking around the jail. My heart stopped. They must be agents of some kind. Secret Service perhaps? Whoever they were, they stuck out like a sore thumb. My chest tightened and my breathing became labored. Something told me they were there for me. They had to be. I closed my eyes, trying to remember a time before all of this happened. I wished more than anything that I could go back there and redo things. I never would have given Dmitri the time of day either. I hope he was somewhere right now being tortured. I fell asleep again and somehow managed to sleep through the night. Somehow imagining Dmitri in extreme pain helped.
CHAPTER 21
“H ey! Get dressed. Your parents are here. You’re going home.” The officer placed my clothes on the bench in my cell before locking the door and walking off.
I jumped up, excited at the news. I hopped over to get my clothes and put them on quickly before any of the officers returned. When I was escorted to the front of the police station, my mother and father were there waiting. They each took turns hugging me.
“We’re so glad you’re okay.” My father placed his hands on both sides of my face and gently squeezed before giving me another hug. “You are okay, aren’t you? They didn’t mistreat you, did they?”
I shook my head no.
They carried on looking me over to be sure I was telling the truth as I noticed two men in black suits in the distance. This wasn’t a coincidence. They were definitely following me.
“Here are your discharge papers,” the male officer handed them to me but my mom grabbed them before he could.
“I’ll take those.” She smiled.
“You have a court date in two months.” The officer reminded me.
My mom gathered me and my belongings, and with my dad we all left the police station. When we got home, I went to my room and laid on my bed. I could hear them arguing about how much the bail was and how they were going to have to spend more money on a lawyer. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t understand how they had so little empathy for what I’d been through? I jumped off my bed, swung open my door and stood in the hallway staring at them both. “What about me? Why don’t you believe me he’s the man who tried to purchase me!”
“It’s not that we don’t believe you, sweetie.” My dad began but was interrupted by my mom.
“Can you prove that? You need to find proof fast young lady, your court date is in 60 days.” My mom responded as she walked downstairs.
My mind started racing about finding evidence. I looked at my phone to see that my face was all over social media. There had to be at least fifty missed calls from my friends and numbers I didn’t recognize. Possibly the media is trying to get a quote. I scrolled through my posts and it was the same. A dozen or more messages and posts with my mugshot. I threw the phone across the room and drew my knees into my chest. Nobody at school will ever let me forget this. I felt myself rocking and whimpering as streams of tears rolled down my cheeks.
My mom came into my room. “The school called, you just got suspended until further notice.” She stared at me as I tried to ignore her. “Anything to say?” She asked.
I remained silent until she left, shutting the door behind her. I didn’t want to talk to her right now. Not after what she’d said to me. I heard my dad from downstairs yell “Marlene is on TV.”
I closed my eyes and laid down on my bed, fully aware that my life was over. I would never get hired anywhere, never get married or go to college. I will be friendless for the rest of my life. Maybe it would be better if I wasn’t here anymore. I shook my head at such dark thoughts, realizing that I couldn’t give up that easily. It was late, and I needed to sleep. But first, I had to figure out where I would find evidence to prove my case. I wore myself out thinking about it and managed to wake up at six the next morning to the sound of my parents heading off for work.
I woke up the next morning and walked downstairs. I sat on the couch and turned on the television. I flipped through the channels until I found a news station that was talking about the incident. My face along with other protestors were plastered everywhere. There was a sound bite of Hullman being interviewed.
“I was afraid for my life. We need to put them in jail for a very long time” he said, standing in front of his damaged car. My anxiety morphed into anger. I was going to get him. I had nothing to lose anymore. I heard a car passing by outside. I made my way to the window. It was the same car that threatened me two months ago. I noticed his face through the window as he was staring into my house. I quickly closed the window blinds. I stood there for five minutes grasping the situation. I went back upstairs to my room. How was I going to get the evidence I needed?
I went onto my computer and spent most of the day looking closely at what people were saying online. I noticed that my social media followers jumped to one hundred fifty thousand. My eyes widened in disbelief. Then I realized how much power I actually had. Quickly, I hit the record button.
“Hey guys, its Marlene, I’m the girl you’ve seen on TV. An international pedophile ring sponsored by the US government has kidnapped me. I was bought for tens of thousands of dollars by George Hullman. I escaped and confronted my kidnapper two days ago. I need your help guys. They are in front of my house.” I pointed my phone outside where the FBI car was sitting. “I need evidence guys so we can show the world the truth!”
I uploaded it on my social media account and watched as my followers went crazy. I made two more videos on social media explaining the entire story of how I got kidnapped. Those videos gained one hundred thousand views within two hours. My comment sections began exploding with images of Dmitri and his family in Russia. I was stunned. There were people who claimed to know more information about them. I got excited and finally felt like I might be making progress.
What would this mean? What if the authorities could actually track them down and bring them to justice? I breathed in a sigh of hopeful excitement, afraid to get too excited about it but also needing something to look forward to. I’d been living in a consistent state of stress for a while now. I needed some sort of light at the end of the tunnel. Laying on my bed, I watched as the comments and views on my social media soared.
CHAPTER 22
I t was five in the afternoon when my parents came home. I heard my dad walking up the steps and then knock on my door. “What are all these posts online? What is that about?”
“Have you seen the comments, dad? Do you know what they are saying? I jumped up and showed him several posts on my feed. “They’re giving me useful clues about the kidnapping.”
A look of understanding spread across my father’s face. He was finally understanding what was going on.
My eyes open wide as a message made a ding in my inbox. I opened it. It was from the family of a bystander who died during the crossfire when I was rescued. His name was Adam Sylvester. As I read it, it explained that he went missing by the very place that I was talking about on social media. I showed my father.
“I told you I’m not lying!!”
My father called my mother upstairs. Together, we read the message. It explained that the police were acting strange and they found out that all the video cameras in the area were gone. “Something’s going on here,” I said.
I sent them a message back about what happened to me. This person responded with a link to a video that showed the son recording a video about finding justice for his dad. His video had 500,000 views.
My story was now at two million views. My comment section was filled with “Q Anon” conspiracy theories and Pizza Gate. A cult-like following was forming around me as I continued making video after video. My viewers began finding clues on the internet. It was incredible. For the first time, I felt validated about what happened to me.
“I’m calling a lawyer,” my mom said. She called her co-worker’s husband and asked if he would come over. As she was on the phone, I went over to the window and looked outside. The FBI car was no longer outside. That made me suspicious. I realized that my social media posts hadn’t been deleted, which was also weird. It was viral now. Maybe there wasn’t anything they could do to stop it. Good, I thought.
I told the lawyer everything that had happened from the beginning. We sat in the living room and talked for a couple hours. I showed him the social media posts and all the comments leading to several clues. He asked if I would save these messages and I agreed. I began taking screenshots from my phone.
“In the morning I will reach out to Adam Sylvester’s family.” He said.
It felt like it was finally all coming together and on the right track. After the law
yer left, my parents and I stood there stunned. We were in disbelief at what was happening. I might actually get justice for what happened to me. And with any luck, maybe it will change things for others who won’t have to go through what I did.
I was so happy that my parents finally seemed to fully believe me. I also received texts from my friends and my older brother in college who were also believing me, too. I held the phone close to my heart, closed my eyes and gave a moment of thanks.
A loud noise burst through my bedroom window, shattering the glass. The bullet missed me and exploded into the wall behind me. I dropped to the ground and crawled to the window to see a black car driving away. My parents ran into the room. “Are you okay?” My mother screamed.
“They’re after me!” I yelled.
My father pulled out his phone and dialed the police. I picked up my phone and hit record. I showed my new audience the bullet hole. Within minutes, the comment section went wild.
CHAPTER 23
“Can I come in?” The lawyer stood on our front steps.
“Yes, of course.” My father said.
“I brought a tape of the FBI pointing a gun at Marlene. I went to the school and got it.” The lawyer said.
My father played the tape as I recorded it on my phone for social media.
“See, right there?” The lawyer said. “The license plate on Hullman’s car matches the car that was in the driveway. The lawyer matched the license plate with the homeland security car on his driveway of his house.
He sat at our dining table with us throughout the day, helping us put the case together. I grabbed the remote and turned on the national news. They were talking about alt right conspiracy theories rocking social media.
I went onto my phone and found what seemed to be more hate comments calling me a racist. This was right after the news story talked about me. Hundreds of posts filled my timeline calling me a white supremacist. They insinuated that I was lying to gain attention and notoriety. My follower count plummeted. I tapped into my inbox and saw that it was filled with hate messages.
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