Enticed:A Dangerous Connection (Secrets) (15 page)

I set the basket of food on the coffee table, and I can see the eager interest in their eyes, but no one makes a move. “This food is for everyone,” I say slowly. “To share.” But I can tell by their blank expressions that they don’t understand. “Does anyone here speak English?”

An Asian girl who appears to be about my age comes over. “I do.”

So I explain that this is all the food I can get at the moment. “You’ll have to make it last. And everyone will have to share.” She translates for me and I learn her name is Lek and that she and the others in her group are from Thailand.

Now I decide to try out my Spanish. I’ve had three years and apparently it’s sufficient because the Hispanic people nod gratefully. I tell them that I will try to help them but I can’t promise anything. “You’ll just have to be strong,” I say to Lek. “And pray to God to send help.” Then after I try to say the Spanish version of this, I see more nodding. And some of them say “sí” and “amen.”

“Can you get dish?” Lek cups her hands, pantomiming sipping. “To drink?” she says hopefully. “We have water.” She points to the bathroom.

“Yes.” I nod eagerly, promising to return with some cups.

I go back to the kitchen and hunt around until I find a package of red plastic cups as well as paper plates. I also take a roll of paper towels and a can opener and a few other things that might be useful down there. Then, feeling inspired by their sweet gratitude as I deliver these items, I want to help even more. So I go up and down the stairs numerous times, taking towels and soap and a box of bandages as well as some sheets and blankets I find in another linen closet. I even scavenge some extra pillows from the sofa upstairs. I want to do all I can to make these unfortunate people comfortable while they’re here. After the jaded cynicism I’ve witnessed in this house, their enthusiasm and appreciation is refreshing.

“Are you down there, Serena?” Jimmy yells from the top of the stairs.

“Yes.” I hurry back upstairs.

“You want me to lock you down there with the refugees?” he asks in a grumpy tone.

I shake my head. “I was just trying to help them.”

“Well, I’m locking up. Now.” He snaps the dead bolt closed, removes the key chain, then drops it in his pocket where I hear it jingle.

I vaguely wonder how difficult it would be to get my hands on those keys. Especially if he and Kandy were totally wasted like I imagine they must be about half of the time.

As I go into the kitchen, I notice that it’s past seven now. “Didn’t your ride come yet?”

He nods. “It came and it went.”

“But you didn’t go?”

He points to his face, which still looks a bit gruesome. “You think anyone wants to deal with this ugly mug?”

“Oh …” I shrug. “So the girls are gone then?”

“Yeah.” He goes back to the couch and, reaching for the remote, starts flipping through the channels. “It’s okay. I could use a night off.”

I sit down and attempt to make small talk with him, hoping to draw him out and find out more about where he’s from and what brought him here, but it’s obvious he does not want to talk about himself. He’s still ticked at Tom for bringing those people in here. Using some off-color language, he puts down the basement dwellers, talking as if they’re just animals.

“It’s not like they had a choice about coming here,” I say. “They don’t have any control over any part of their lives.” I sigh. “Just like me … and you too, really.”

“Yeah, well, Tom acts like I have some control.” He changes the channel again. “He puts me in charge and keeps saying things are going to get better. And then he goes and turns this house into a refugee center.” He swears again. “How am I supposed to take care of everyone?”

I consider reminding him that I’m the one who did all the caretaking tonight but then remember those keys in his pocket and that I’m supposed to be winning his trust.

“Anyway, I might as well forget about it. It’s not like I can change anything.” He leans back and lets out a weary sigh. “Hey, I haven’t seen this film in ages.”

Seeing that it’s an action flick with way too much violence, I excuse myself, but I’m not sure what to do. Although I’d love to explore the house to see if I can find a weakness to escape from, I do not want to make him suspicious.

I go into the kitchen and pretend to be straightening things up. And as I take a towel out to the laundry room, I try the door to the garage, hoping that in all the activity, someone might’ve forgotten to lock it. Unfortunately, that is not the case.

It feels strange to be moving around the house at this time of night. But I’m still being careful. I don’t want to draw attention. I’m hoping that Jimmy will forget all about me. Or maybe he’ll go to sleep. Or better yet, he’ll decide to go to his room and get high. I’m thinking if I just lay low, this might be my lucky night.

To kill time, I take a long shower and then just hang out in the bathroom for a while. As I come out, I spot Jimmy still on the couch, still blankly staring at the TV. So I go into my bedroom, where I pace back and forth, trying to make a plan … to figure out exactly how I will make my big break tonight. My opportunities, not to mention my days, are limited. Now if only Jimmy would cooperate with my plans.

To distract myself, I start reading one of Ruby’s books, but it’s hard to focus on the words as I imagine myself sneaking through the house and finding my way of escape. My best plan would be to break free on my own. If I can do that, I will run directly to whichever house looks the safest and I’ll knock on the door, and when it’s answered, I’ll quickly explain my situation and my need for their help and protection. If they’re good people, they will take me into their house. And then I will beg them not to contact the local police. I’ll try to make them understand that could backfire.

But I will ask them to call Mom. I want her to know exactly where I am and what’s going on. After that, I’m sure she’ll call the FBI or whoever investigates crimes involving human trafficking. Because I want it to be handled right. I want for everyone who’s behind this nasty web of greed and deceit to get what they deserve. I want the ones who are trapped here to have the chance to go free — to get help and find a better life.

I feel so hopeful that I’m actually imagining the conversation I’ll have with Mom tonight, when to my complete dismay and disappointment, I hear a noise. I look up to see Jimmy peering into my room, and without saying a word, he slams and locks the door. Just like that, my great escape plans go up in smoke.

Despite my resolve to remain strong, tears of despair slip down my cheeks. Maybe if I’d sneaked around a little more, I could’ve made it upstairs unobserved. Or maybe I’d have found Jimmy sleeping. Maybe I blew it by not being more persistent. This only makes me cry harder. I’d like to say I’m stronger than this by now, but the truth is, I’m not.

Once again, I know my only recourse is to pray and cry out to God. And my only refuge is to keep trusting in God. So that’s what I do. Really, what else can I do? After a while I feel somewhat recovered. Eventually I’m even able to pray, just like I do every night, for everyone in this house.

God, please help and bless each and every person being held here, including the twenty-three women and children now residing in the basement.
I’m sure their lives are in much greater peril than my own.

As darkness comes, I sense a familiar nagging voice trying to sneak into my heart again. This is nothing new, and most of the time I can quell this voice by quietly singing praise songs or repeating Bible verses in my head. But tonight I feel so tired … so disheartened and discouraged as I recall the hopeless expressions of the people in the basement. Their helplessness only reminds me of how vulnerable we all are.

This persuasive voice is urging me to question God and to doubt his goodness. It whispers into my spirit, warning me to suspect the worst and to prepare myself for the likelihood that I will never escape my captors. It is telling me that God has turned his back on me … that I am doomed … and that it’s all my own fault for wanting to become a model … and for keeping information from my mother.

Despite the fact that I confessed these very things to God more than a week ago, and I know that God who is faithful and just has already forgiven me, I feel buried in a deep, dark pile of guilt.

Now I dig down, trying to grasp on to my spiritual roots, trying to remember all that I’ve been taught since I was a little girl. For my whole life, it seems, Mom and I have attended the same church — a church that acknowledges spiritual warfare and a church where the pastor tells us to test spirits, claim God’s power over the evil one, and live victoriously with God’s help.

Does that mean I’ve lived my life perfectly since then? That I’ve never made a bad decision or blown it? Obviously not. But does that make my faith any less real? Of course not. It simply means that my faith is being tested. I get this.

So now as I dwell in this dark place, I feel that I have to stand firmer than ever. I cannot afford the luxury of doubt in this vile, oppressive world. More than ever, I must cling tightly to God. And when I’m too tired to hold on any longer, I must believe that God will hold fast to me. God will not let me go … I believe it.

… [CHAPTER 15]………………

M
orning comes with sunshine and a slender ray of new hope for the day. Since tomorrow is Friday, I’m believing that the time is near. God is going to have to intervene for me. I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to be faithful. And now I believe that this horrible ordeal will soon be coming to an end. I have to believe it. However, as the morning and my confinement drag on, I feel my faith wavering.

As much as I want to keep a positive attitude, I feel antsy and aggravated — like I want to start slamming my fist through walls. And I even wonder how hard it would be to break out like that. Is it even humanly possible? Or would I end up bloody and broken and so badly messed up that my value would drop and no one would care whether I lived or died?

As the day wears on, so does my patience. Why does it always take so long for Tatiana to come and unlock this door? I so don’t want to use the bucket in the closet. So I bang on the door, calling out for someone to let me out.

To my surprise, it’s Ruby who comes to my rescue. She says nothing as she opens my door, but as I come into the hallway, I notice she has a blackened eye. “What happened to you?” I ask as I’m on my way to the bathroom.

“Nothing,” she says glumly.

I hurry to use the bathroom. And when I come back out, it’s all quiet in the house and Ruby is nowhere to be seen. I’m guessing that everyone is still in bed. This could be my big chance. Once again, I go to the laundry room, hoping that the door to the garage is unlocked, but it’s still secure. I go over to the glass sliding door that leads to the backyard. Not only does it have security bars on the outside, the door itself has some kind of device to keep it from opening.

What would happen if there were a fire? How would people get safely out of here? And thinking of this inspires an idea. What if I make a fire? What if the smoke alarms started going off and we all had to evacuate? In the scramble, I could take off running.

So now I’m looking around for something to start a fire with. I’m hurrying, rushing back and forth because I’m worried someone will get up and find me before I can set something blazing. But I can’t find a single book of matches or a lighter or even two sticks to rub together.

Finally, just as I’m about to give up, I see the stove in the kitchen. Of course! It’s only a glass-topped job, but surely it can produce enough heat to cause a fire. I turn on a front element and grab some paper towels, and then seeing the liquor bottles, I decide to help things out by pouring vodka onto some of the paper towels.

As the red circle on the stove grows hotter, I decide to make this appear to be an accident. So I lay the nearly empty bottle of vodka on its side with some paper towels wadded up around it, like someone was doing a bad job of cleaning it up. Then I trail some of the towels onto the red-hot circle and suddenly it begins to smoke.

Feeling victorious and a bit frightened — what if I burn the place down with everyone in here? — I turn to make a run for it. Just as I’m crossing through the living room area, Jimmy emerges from his room.

“What’s going on?” he says with a puzzled frown. “Hey, is that smoke I smell?”

I freeze in my steps.
“Smoke?”
I say stupidly.

“Over there.” He dashes toward the kitchen and, knowing he’s about to witness my failed pyromania attempt at escape, I take off running back to my room. Even with my door closed, I can hear him cussing and yelling. This is not going to go down well. Why did he have to come out just then?

I sit on the mattress, trying to pretend I’m reading one of Ruby’s books, but my brain refuses to focus on the lines of words. My heart is pounding and I know it’s only minutes until I get what must be coming to me. As I’m flipping through the pages, I notice some writing in the back of the book. Very neatly in small letters it says: Ruth McKay, Nampa, Idaho.

At first I wonder who this Ruth person is, and then I remember that Ruby let it slip that she used to live in Idaho. Is Ruby’s real name Ruth McKay? After all, my real name is Simi and they changed it to Serena. Perhaps they keep the first letter of people’s names the same. For some reason this is encouraging.

“Get out here, Serena!” Jimmy opens my door with a flushed face and an enraged expression. “Now!”

I stand up and slowly make my way toward him.

“Move it!” He reaches out and slaps me hard across the face, then shoves me up against the door jam, swearing at me.

Holding my arms over my face, I yell out, reminding him that I’m not supposed to be bruised. Then he slams my back against the wall, and with his face just inches from mine, he screams the worst profanity I’ve ever heard. I’m splattered with his spittle and his breath smells like rotten garbage.

“Get in there and clean that mess up!” He grabs me by the arm and thrusts me down the hallway. “I’ll deal with you later!”