Trafficked Series

by Taylor Ann Stone

  “Please be safe on your travels.” I said.

  Mike left and as I sat in the emergency room, I thought about all that had happened and how we all ended up here. There was so much loss that we’d all experienced and not much time to process it. I knew there would come a time when I would need to grieve the loss of my father and the friends I’d lost. So far, I’d had to stay in survival mode. That was the safest place for me to be right now. Constantly watching and waiting for the end of this nightmare.

  I sat in the emergency room, still with my red robe on. Hospital staff crowded around me. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was noticing it, but when people started coming up to me and asking questions, I knew they were interested in what I had to say. Questions turned into taking pictures of me and with me. It felt strange. I got up and tried to walk away, but the staff followed me. It began to get uncomfortable. I was worried about my mother and wanted to focus on her. One of the staff saw how uncomfortable I was and let me into an empty room. “Can you let me see my mother?”

  “Sure, follow me.” They guided me into a room where my mother was resting peacefully, her leg bandaged up.

  “Thank you so much.” I said to the nurse.

  She smiled and nodded before closing the door behind her. I walked over to my mom’s bed and sat down on the chair next to her. “Mama, how are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes and smiled at me. “You’re a hero,” she said.

  “Not hardly.” I protested. “It was Mike who got us here.”

  “I would like to thank him. Where is he?” She asked.

  “He went back to carry on the fight.”

  The door opened and the same nurse who had just helped me returned. “I brought you some clothes. I thought you’d like to change.”

  “Thank you so much.” I said.

  “Come up here.” My mom patted the empty half of the mattress beside her. “Come get in bed like you used to when you were a little girl.”

  I smiled and climbed in next to her. We spoke about better times. Mornings sitting around the breakfast table eating with dad. Tears streamed down my face as I held my mother and said a silent prayer of gratitude for all that we still had. I fell asleep for the first time in months feeling safe.

  CHAPTER 38

  3 weeks later.

  The house felt so cold and empty since he’s been gone. It used to have a lovely colorful joy about it. The kind of a rainbow explosion that would hit you as soon as you opened the front door. All those days I came home from school and took the beauty and splendor of it for granted, tugged at my aching heart. I would never get that time back. I would never get another day to tell my father how much I loved him. How much of a hero he was to me. I would never get another chance to hold his hand, or to have him walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. My daddy was gone forever.

  I brushed a falling tear away from my face and lifted my eyes upward so that more wouldn’t follow. I didn’t want to feel this pain. I didn’t want my mother, who had spent the past three weeks pretending her heart wasn’t broken, to have to endure it any longer either. I wished and prayed above anything else that we could go back to a time before my father’s murder. But I would not waste another day on foolish fantasies. I had my mother to take care of and a new life to build for us both.

  I stood in front of my silver-framed full-length mirror and gazed at my dress. It was black with lace around the collar and sleeves. I brushed my hair back with a headband that kept my hair out of my face. If I could get through this day without breaking down in front of God and everybody, I would consider it a small miracle.

  “Oh sweetheart. You look beautiful. Your father would be so proud of you.” My mother startled me. She stood in the doorway.

  “Thank you, mom. I’m so sorry that we are here.” I apologized. I knew it was my fault my father was dead. Just like I knew it was my fault that so many others had died. I didn’t know how I would forgive myself or if I even deserve forgiveness.

  “Oh sweetheart. You’re not responsible for what happened to your father. There’s nothing you could have done to stop any of it. Please don’t spend your life blaming yourself.” My mother’s eyes watered as she took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the corners.

  “I guess we should go.” I said.

  We walked into the hallway, grabbed the keys to the car and locked the house. My brother Mark had returned from college for the funeral. He was suffering a lot and was still mad at my father’s death. I wasn’t sure how to talk with him about it. I didn’t know if he blamed me. Lord knows, I blame myself.

  “I missed you, Mark.” I offered. My brother was several years older than me, so we really never had much to say. He lived an entirely different life away at college, and we didn’t get to spend much time together. Still, it was comforting to have him here.

  “I missed you too, Marlene. How are you holding up?” He asked.

  “As well as expected, I suppose.” I tried to smile, but my mouth could only produce a straight line.

  “It’s okay, sis. You don’t have to pretend with me.” He wrapped his arms around me and I held onto him for at least a full minute. It was the closest my brother, and I had been in years. I sniffled into his chest. “I think it’s time to go.”

  I pulled away from him, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. The whole way to the funeral home we didn’t speak. The air was so thick that it felt hard to breathe. Just the thought of making polite conversation was exhausting. I dreaded having to have this service. I would have been happier to pay my respects to my dad in private. But this was what you did when someone you loved died. You gave everyone who knew him an opportunity to speak about how they felt about him. That part might be nice to sit through and listen. I was interested to know how many people’s lives my dad touched.

  We pulled up to the funeral home. I saw several news vans and television cameras parked out front and on the lawn. I knew this would be difficult. I didn’t want to answer the reporters’ questions; not today.

  “Follow me and stay close,” Mark took off his blazer and put it around my head. He helped me out of the car and then helped my mom.

  As we walked through the sea of news people, I saw Janice and Mike out of the corner of my eye. The followed us into the funeral home. I was glad to have them there with me. We’d all been through so much. It was important that we all got closure.

  The funeral service was touching. I was glad despite my earlier reservations about it, I went. There were so many more people who showed up than I had anticipated, and it felt good knowing that my father was so well loved. We went home to prepare for the reception, where only family and close friends were invited. I trudged around the house listlessly, not really paying attention to the conversations going on around me. My thoughts were on my father and how much I missed him, and how life would now never be the same again.

  “Hi Marlene.” A voice behind me broke the silence of my own thoughts.

  I turned around to see who was speaking, and it was a man in an expensive suit. He wasn’t immediately recognizable to me, but he looked like an important official of some sort.

  “Please allow me to extend my condolences to you and your family. I’m so sorry for losing your father.” He extended his hand to shake mine. “We haven’t met. I’m Deputy Director of the CIA, Charles Wagner.” I extended my hand to shake with his. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

  I nodded my head, too emotionally exhausted to care too much.

  “First, let me say that you are a hero. On behalf of my organization and many others, we want to thank you for your bravery. You managed to bust up an extensive trafficking ring among other major organized crime networks that we have been trying to take down for over a decade.” He released my hand and motioned for us to move into the next room and sit down. “You are a hero.”

  “I don’t feel like one.” I objected.

  “Because of you, many people are in jail tonight. You should be proud of yourself.�
� He said.

  “I don’t feel much like celebrating.” I said.

  “The president was impeached within three hours and many congress persons were jailed, too.”

  “What about Janice’s parents?” I asked.

  “They were arrested as well. Janice helped us by explaining what had been happening in her home for some time. As a result, we were able to expose the large scale sex trafficking ring across the world. Marlene, you need to understand— this is huge.”

  “What about Dmitri?” I asked. I especially wanted to know what happened to him and his parents since they started me on all this.

  “He and his parents were taken into custody trying to get into Russia. They have plastered their faces all over the news for the last forty-eight hours. They will be extradited to the US to face charges. Would you be willing to testify in court?” He asked.

  “Yes. I will do whatever I can to ensure they never do this to anyone else.” I said.

  “Many world leaders were jailed. Very famous and influential people were put into handcuffs. It was a crazy witch hunt on TV and social media.” Things will be hot for a while, but we’ve finally got enough evidence to put them all away for a very long time. Thanks to you.” Wagner stood up and shook her hand again. “We’ll be in touch.”

  I grabbed my phone and logged into my social media. I found that I had gained over one million followers. The live video feed had spread everywhere, including mainstream news. Everyone was talking about it, but all I wanted was to forget about it all. I scrolled through the top news stories and saw that S.W.A.T. teams all across the country had stormed hundreds of homes freeing kidnapped women and girls who had been kept in chains and sometimes much worse. It was like a domino effect and it was in full motion. I couldn’t believe so many kids in my school were aware that this was happening, but did nothing about it. I was sure it terrified them, but now their families were being arrested.

  Over the next several days, I had countless requests to speak to the news media, but I didn’t want any of it. I was tired of being the poster girl for trafficked girls. I wanted to focus on learning how to rebuild my life. My mom, brother, and I attended family counseling, and I also attended individual counseling. I didn’t want this experience to shape the rest of my life, or have a hold on me. I needed to learn how to manage my fear and move forward.

  CHAPTER 39

  “T he nation owes you a debt of gratitude,” the President of the United States told me over the phone. He had just been sworn in as president after his predecessor was arrested with the conspiracy to run an international trafficking ring. “We thank you from a grateful nation for your sacrifice to save so many.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.” I said.

  “Would you and your family please join me at the White House next week? We would like to present you with the Presidential Medal of Freedom.” The president asked.

  I was hesitant. This was too much. I didn’t feel like a hero, or like anyone who deserved a medal. All I did was survive my horrible captivity. I looked over at my mom, who was listening in. She shook her head profusely to show that I should accept the president’s offer. I looked over at Janice, who gave me a thumbs up. “It would be an honor, Mr. President.”

  “Great! My social secretary will contact you to set it all up. Thank you again, Marlene, for your sacrifice and courage.” The phone clicked, and I heard a dial tone.

  The honor was great, but I would be happy when the world moved on to other things. When the time came to accept the medal, they were still cleaning up the city after the rioting. There had been so much damage to the city that the president had to declare an emergency just to help rebuild it.

  After the ceremony, I posted on my social media again. It had been the first time in months and my following had increased to ten million subscribers. Something was born in me after all of this happened. I newfound courage I never had before. I had the courage to speak out on social media and started telling my followers that I was okay and talking to them about what I was learning in therapy.

  My mom decided this story needed to be told, so she hired a ghostwriter to come and visit with me twice a week. She would listen to my story and take notes. I found it very helpful coming to terms with my trauma. We became pretty good friends over the time we spent together.

  A few months later, I graduated high school and was accepted into college with a full ride scholarship. Life was slowing down gradually. Not as many reporters at my front door anymore. I was glad for that. Glad for the quiet and the time to hear myself think. What would I tell my children about my dad? How would I be able to convey how much he loved me and how much he would have loved them? A streak of sorrow overcame me for an instant at the thought. I missed him every day, but I knew he was in a better place. I knew I would one day see him again.

  I released my book about the whole incident and could sell one million copies in two days through pre-order sales. It was unbelievable. Everyone wanted to know what happened and if they might know of someone who was involved. It was such a massive operation that it was likely almost everyone in the country knew someone who knew someone who was involved.

  I’m just an ordinary girl who had something unusual and extraordinary happen to her. I’m nothing special. It could have happened to anyone.

  But it didn’t. It happened to me.