The Beginning of Hope: The Highly Anticipated, Mind-Blowing Sequel to the Killing of Faith (The Killing of Faith Series Book 2)

by William Holms

  “I don't want you to be alone,” he says.

  I’m sitting beside him on the couch with my head down. “I can’t Blake. I can’t spend the rest of my life being afraid. I need to do this. I need to do this by myself.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “I appreciate your help, but I’m sure.”

  I flag down a taxi and show the driver Mr. Sassen’s email. We drive to the end of Khaosan Road and continue until we reached a side of Bangkok most tourists don’t see. It’s so run down and has an air of desperation. If you didn’t know better you’d think this was an old warehouse or storage area that was closed down years ago.

  We stop in front of a white two-story cement building. The paint is almost completely gone, and the left side of the building is falling down. There’s a row of doors along the front with a small window beside each door. The second story is the same. Small children are running along the railing. It strikes me that any one of them could easily fall through and be killed. There are lines of wire running across this building to the building across the street. They look like electric or telephone lines, but there’s laundry hanging everywhere. It’s so hot that most of the doors are wide open.

  This doesn’t seem like a safe place for a single girl to walk around – it doesn’t look safe for anyone. I find the apartment on Mr. Sassen’s email by the faded numbers over each door. The door is open so I knock on the wall. There’s not a sound coming from inside. I knock again and say, “Hello?” No one answers the door so I peek inside.

  I’ve traveled with my family all over, but I’ve never seen how people – especially the poor – really live. This entire home is one room not much bigger than a small bedroom back home. On the back wall there’s a sink with a couple of pots and pans underneath and a towel that’s now hanging where a cabinet door is supposed to be. If there’s a stove I don't see it. I do see a small electric burner that looks like it’s used for cooking. There’s an old wooden table to the left just big enough for two people with two chairs sitting in place. An old mattress with a blanket and no sheets sits on the floor to my right.

  It takes me by surprise when I realize there’s a little girl who looks about two years old laying on the mattress. She’s staring right at me. Maybe I woke her up. She picks up an empty baby bottle laying beside her, puts it in her mouth, and starts sucking like there’s actually milk inside. She’s wearing nothing but a diaper.

  “Hello,” I smile and waive to the little girl.

  The pretty little girl gets the saddest look on her face and starts to cry. The bottle drops from her mouth, which causes her to cry even louder.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I say and back away from the door.

  Hearing her baby cry, a young woman who looks in her mid-twenties comes running up to the door. I think she came from a door or two down. She has long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, brown skin, and sandals on her feet. She’s very pregnant.

  I move out of her way to give her free access inside. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” I say.

  As soon as the woman picks up the little girl she stops crying. “Sowatve” she says to me. I don’t know what that means, but she doesn’t seem angry at all.

  “Hello,” I say. “I’m looking for Tian.”

  “I Tian,” she says.

  “I extend my hand to her and say, “I’m Hope Brunick.”

  “Hope?” she say sounding a little confused.

  From our limited communication, I can tell she understands English and can speak a little as well. She’s standing here rocking her pretty little girl back and forth in her arms. When she looks at me again, I see her beautiful brown, almost golden, eyes.

  “You knew my mother,” I explain speaking slowly so she can follow me. I don’t think she understands, so I point to myself and say, “My maa…you knew my maa?”

  “You maa?” she asks.

  “Yes, my maa was Faith Brunick?” She was your friend.”

  Her eyes open wide and she repeats, “Faith…Faith,” with a big smile. She points to me and asks, “You maa Faith?”

  “Yes, my maa was Faith. She was in prison with you.”

  “Yes, you maa prison.”

  At first I wasn’t sure if I had the right person, but now I can tell she still remembers my mom after all these years. “Yes, she was in prison with you. I was hoping that you could tell me about my maa, Faith?”

  For over an hour she tells me all about my mother. She was a young girl when she came to the prison and she was “much scared.” She said there were “many, many women.” She was terrified and alone with nowhere to sleep. My mom picked her up and took care of her. “Very kind,” she says about my mom again and again.

  She tells me how the food and water were no good. My mom gave her food to eat and water to drink. “You maa love Tian,” she says with a smile. “She learn me English every day. That’s how I talk you,” she says with another smile.” She often apologizes because she’s forgotten some of the words. I assure her she’s doing great.

  She tells me all about yoga and how my mom led everyone. “Yuga,” she keeps calling it. “I like yuga,”

  Then she explains how my mom taught her about Jesus. “You maa talk about Jesus. Jesus forgive me. Jesus love me.”

  Almost an hour later, she stops like something just dawned on her. She tells me to “stay” as she gets up and looks under the sink. She comes back a few minutes later with a shoebox filled completely full. It has “MALI” written in all caps across the top and it’s held together by a rubber band. I thought it was her own box, but she explains how Mali died and no one claimed her box so she grabbed it before they threw it away.

  We sit on her mattress and go through the box. It’s mostly full of papers and documents. It appears that Mali liked to draw. There’s a stack of papers with beautiful sketches. I stop in disbelief when I open a sketch of my mom that brings her to life as much as any photo can. “You Maa!” she says pointing at the sketch.

  “Yes, my maa,” I agree as my eyes tear up.

  The sketch looks very real, but it’s not a happy one. My mom is sitting against the wall with her head down. She’s looking up just a little. There’s no smile on her face. Her expression is full of pain. She has the same bright eyes, but they’re so heavy and already showing the years she spent in the prison. Her hair isn’t neatly brushed, or even washed. Each sketch is signed “Mali” on the bottom right corner.

  Below these papers are documents written in Thai. They look important. When I remove these documents, I find four 8x10 photographs. All four are badly crumpled and folded in half. There’s now a permanent crease down the middle. I carefully unfold them and I’m shocked at what I see. Each photo is a beautiful picture of my mom.

  The first is my mom wearing a thick white robe with her hair pulled back like she just got out of the shower. She’s sitting on a big balcony in front of an easel and canvas. She has a paintbrush in her right hand and a glass of wine in her left. She’s in the middle of painting. Her blonde hair is blowing in the breeze and her blue eyes are fixed on her work. She looks so much younger than she does in the sketch. Her face is easy and carefree. She’s looking at the canvas with such intensity as she paints.

  The next photo is my mom walking hand-in-hand with some man I’ve never seen or heard of before. He has blonde hair, a slight beard, and he’s pretty attractive for an older guy. When I look closer at the background, I know exactly where they are because I’ve been there many times. They’re walking along the canals at the River Walk in San Antonio. My mom’s looking at this man and smiling her usual, beautiful smile. Both seem very happy.

  There’s another photo of my mom sitting on the same guy’s lap in a lawn chair beside a pool somewhere. There’s a bottle of wine and glasses on the table next to them. She’s facing towards him. They’re both laughing. He has his arms around her waist, and her hands are resting on his chest.

  The last is a photo of my mom walking along a white be
ach with the beautiful blue ocean behind her. I’ve never seen sand so white or water so blue. It would be the perfect photograph except it’s torn in half. You can see my mom holding someone’s hand, but whoever that person was has now been ripped, not cut, out of the photo. I assume it’s the same blonde guy who’s in the other photos. All you can see is the top of his hand and gold watch. Whoever was in the picture was someone my mom really liked. You can see it on her face as she’s looking at him. But why was he torn out the photo?

  These are the last photos I’ve ever seen of my mom. She’s older than the photo at the Grand Canyon, but she’s just as beautiful. She’s no longer a young, insecure girl. She has a confident look and her figure is even more attractive.

  I look back in the box and find a stack of handmade cards and letters that look like a child colored them. I first assume they must belong to Mali, but it’s clear when I open them that they’re not hers at all. I can’t believe my eyes. A few of the notes and cards are signed “Gracie”, others are signed “Colt”, and some are signed “Hope” just in an adult’s handwriting. Gracie and Colt’s cards are very detailed and beautiful. They were made with markers, glitter, and pretty writing. My card looks like something a kindergartener would draw. It’s mostly scribbled crayons and stickers. I have no memory of drawing these cards, but here they are.

  At the very bottom of the box, there’s a small, red Bible. The pages are pretty worn. There are old dog–eared creases in the corners. On the inside, front, cover my mom wrote,

  “My dear, dear Mali –

  I’m sorry that I have to leave you. You are my very best

  friend, my only real friend, in the whole world. I could not

  have made it these last few years without you.

  Take my Bible. Read it to Tian like I read it to you.

  Tell everyone how Jesus loves them.

  Mali, I’m sorry about your children. Just know you will

  see them again one day just like I will see mine.

  Thank you for always loving me.

  I love you Mali,

  Faith.

  I’m holding the Bible in my left hand and I pick up the photo of my mom painting in my right. My lips start quivering, and my eyes fill with tears. Tian picks up on it all, lays her baby on the bed, and puts her arm around my neck just as the first tear falls.

  “Thank you… thank you for this, I tell her as I collapse in her arms. She rocks me back and forth and tells me how my mom loved me so very much.

  “She was your maa too,” I tell her.

  She’s about the only connection to my mom I have left in this world. I take her in my arms and hold her like I’ll never let her go. I think the sound of me crying causes her little girl to cry, but it’s me that Tian holds until I’m able to sit up again.

  I have one last thing I want to ask her about before I leave. It’s the hardest part. “Can you tell me how my mom died?”

  Maybe I should have left this alone. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. As soon as I ask the question, Tian breaks down crying. It’s now me who’s holding her. She tells me how my mother “got sick and go to hospital. We pray and pray to Jesus, but you maa stay sick.”

  She explains how my mom would first go to the hospital and then come back to jail, but finally “she go and no come back.” At the end, the guard came and took her and Mali to the hospital to see Maa one more time. “She face white and she no talk good. Mali put water to you maa mouth and she take tiny drink.”

  Tian is crying so it’s hard for her to continue. I start crying as I hear her words. She tells me how she and Mali sat at her side for two days. “She sleep and we watch,” Tian says. “Mali pray to Jesus. Pray you maa sit up and eat she food, but her no eat.”

  “You maa open her eyes and look at Mali and me. Water fall down she eyes. Mali try give you maa food, but she no eat. She give water, but she no drink. Mali take you maa hand and say, ‘I love you Faith.’”

  Tian is really crying. “You maa smile real big and say, ‘Don’t cry Mali… I be alright. I go to Jesus now. I free Mali. Now I free.’”

  I take Tian in my arms and hold her close. When I finally let go, she tells me how she and Mali gathered everything my mom owned and took it back to the prison. Mali kept it with her things.

  There’s a picture of Mali in the box. It looks like a prison photo. I use my phone to take a picture of her picture.

  I ask Tian if I can have the photos, the cards, the sketch of my mom, and the Bible. She hands them to me with a big smile and says, “Take…take.” I fold everything back in half and put them into my purse. Before sliding them in, I see a small gold stamp on the back of each photo that reads, “Austin Investigation Services.”

  Tian looks like she’s about the age of my older sister. Both our faces are wet with tears. It’s hard to believe she lives here. I want to help her. I want to help her little baby. I want to thank her for loving my mother. I reach in my purse and pull out all the money I have except for what I need for the taxi ride home. It’s the three hundred dollars Grace gave me before I left. I put it all in her hand and close her fingers around it.

  “No ngein…no ngein” she says shaking her head.

  “Please take it,” I beg and hold her fingers closed around it.

  “Mi” she repeats and tries to put the money back in my hand. When I refuse to take it she pushes it back in my purse.

  We talk a while longer. I ask her about the prison. She tells me such horrible things I wonder if it’s true. When she stops to change her baby’s diaper I take the money back out of my purse and secretly slide it under her blanket on the mattress.

  She closes the box and puts it back where she got it. Outside her apartment, I catch a little boy playing with a ball. I hand him my phone so he can take a picture. I explain how to look at the screen and push the button. “I know, I know,” he says like I’m being so silly. We both laugh as I hand him the camera. He takes a picture of me with Tian to my right holding her little girl.

  “Thank you for helping me,” I say and kiss her on the cheek. Still holding her baby, she gives me one last hug. I know I’ll never see her again except in our photo. I may not see her, but I’ll remember her forever.

  – CHAPTER 14 –

  W hen I get back to the hotel, Blake’s the only one there. I don’t know how long he’s been waiting – maybe he never left. As soon as I walk in, he gets up from the couch and looks at me trying to get a sense of what happened. “Did you find this girl?” he asks.

  I nod my head and put my hand over my eyes to hide my tears. He pulls me in and asks, “Hope, what happened?”

  I take everything out of my purse and show it to him. We go through each photo, each card, and the sketch of my mom. “She’s so beautiful,” he says.

  I repeat my entire conversation with Tian. Again and again he repeats, “I'm sorry… I'm so sorry.”

  We’re sitting side-by-side on the couch. When I’m finished, I feel so exhausted. He puts his hand on my leg and with so much empathy asks, “You gonna be okay?”

  “I guess I’ve gotta be,” I say. “I don’t really have a choice do I?”

  He pulls me to him and I say, “I don't know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

  “Hope, I’m so glad we met,” he says.

  I look up and bring my lips to his. Tears are running down my face so I can taste the salt of my tears in our kiss. He takes my face in his hands and we kiss, and kiss again. When we finally stop he wipes my eyes with his thumb. “Why don’t we get some fresh air,” he suggests.

  When he pulls away I feel like an idiot. I don't know what I was thinking. Here he is trying to be a nice guy, and I practically throw myself on him. We walk outside and down the street to Khaosan Road. This isn’t a place I ever want to see again. “Can we get out of here?” I ask.

  We catch a scooter taxi (called a tuk-tuk) and visit the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, The Temple of the Lying Buddha, and take a little boat ride al
ong the river. I now feel an awkwardness between us. I wish I wouldn’t have ruined our friendship. I want to apologize for being so stupid. “Do you have a girlfriend back home?” I ask.

  “If I had a girlfriend back home I wouldn’t have kissed you,” he says.

  “I’m pretty sure I kissed you,” I correct him.

  He reaches over, moves close, and gives me the best kiss I’ve ever had. He then takes my hand in his. I know you can’t fall in love in a few days, but I think I love him.

  We hold hands for the rest of the day like we came to this place together. Over the next two days, we go from one garden, one market, to another. We end the day eating dinner on a boat floating along the river. The waiter asks, “You honeymoon?”

  “No,” I say, “no honeymoon.”

  That night back at the hotel we make love for the first time. Just as I’m about to fall asleep I feel his hand against my cheek. First I think he’s drawing a circle with his thumb until I realize he’s not drawing circles. He’s drawing a heart again and again. I pull him close and kiss his mouth.

  “You comfortable?” he asks. “I can move over a little.”

  “Don’t you dare. There’s no place in this world I’d rather be.”

  – CHAPTER 15 –

  W e spend our last day in Thailand sightseeing and eating some amazing food. I want to go to a beach somewhere, but I learn there’s no beach close to Bangkok. The beautiful beaches are a plane ride away and I don't have that much time.

  In the short time we’re together, we learn a lot about each other. He’s studying environmental science at UCLA. He graduates this year and wants to study environmental engineering in grad school. His Father’s an engineer and his mother’s a doctor. I tell him how my sister is also a doctor.

  He asks about my mother and step-mom. “My step-mom is wonderful. She’s been so good to me and my sister. She and my dad have been a great example for me – how a marriage can be happy and healthy.”