AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What’s your name?”
“Yara.” She doesn’t give a last name and I don’t ask for one. She deserves to keep some secrets.
I gesture for her to follow me to the edge of the arena. She’s young, close to our age, with a round chin and a cute turned-up nose and the most soulful eyes – the eyes of someone who’s been aged by cruelty. She speaks English with an Arabic accent, and her voice is like music.
“You do not need to pretend to me,” she says. “I know all about why we are here.”
I shake my head. “I don’t expect you to trust me, but I want to speak the truth. You’re victims of human trafficking. That woman up there,” I point to Claudia, “was supposed to deliver you to another man in this city. But she won’t do that. She wants you to be free.”
“You’re right.” Yara folds her arms. “I don’t believe it.”
“I understand. Words are cheap. What’s your most urgent need?”
“We haven’t eaten in three days. The water they gave us was rancid.” She points to one of the youngest girls. “She needs a doctor.”
Tiberius hovers behind us. I gesture for him to come over. Yara studies his scarred, misshapen face, but she doesn’t shrink away. After the horrors she’s experienced, Tiberius probably barely registers. I give him a list of supplies we’ll need, tell him to get it done as soon as possible, and send him away. Galen arrives a moment later, and I send him to tend to the small girl.
Someone brings chairs for us, and I gesture for Yara to sit. She tells me her story in a bored tone, as though she doesn’t believe it will make a difference, even as it moves me nearly to tears.
“I’m a refugee from Syria. I was an architecture student in Damascus, but now to most people, I’m little more than a vermin. I’ve been living in Greece, trying to get to the EU. Men came to our camp one day – friendly men with American accents. They gave us food, sat with the women, listened to our stories. They told me I could have a job as a secretary in America. I even took exams they gave me – typing and English language certifications. I had to pay a fee for my passage. But as soon as I boarded the ship I knew something was wrong. I was herded into the hold with hundreds of other women. Many of them have been drugged. We were given rotting food, little water. Three died on the journey here. The men come down into the hold only to beat us or to have their way with us.”
As Yara talks, I’m drawn into her story. That space between us shrinks to nothing as I see myself in her. She’s intelligent, observant, with a dry humor that’s infectious. She’s a girl I can imagine meeting at college. She’d join me and Claudia for after-class drinks. I see her arguing over quiz night answers and holding Claudia’s hair while she throws up after a wild frat party. Yara’s life should have been full of these moments – it should have been everything she dreamed.
Although we spend hours sitting on hard chairs in the arena, she never lets the kind smile drop from her face. She greets each woman by name and makes sure they’re comfortable. She pours water for them, wraps blankets around their filthy, shivering shoulders, knits her tiny fingers in theirs, and talks to them in her quiet, soothing voice. For those she can speak for, I interview them and learn their stories.
As each woman finishes her interview, we send them up to the old locomotive sheds. Many of the engine bays have been converted into private bedrooms for Antony’s guests to continue their cavorting, and Claudia and George lead the women to these beds so they can rest. The shower drains clog up from all the filth sloughed from the girls’ bodies. We find beds for everyone, and Tiberius returns with a huge stack of pizzas. The girls fall on the food like Tasmanian devils.
Claudia appears by my side as the sun peeks over the horizon. I’m so exhausted I can’t lift my neck. Nothing I’ve done feels like enough. The weight of the horrors these women have endured hangs around my neck like a noose.
Claudia’s eyes meet mine. She takes my hand. “Come home. I know exactly what you need.”
Claudia
As I lead Eli through the garage, Gabriel meets us in the hallway. He cocks an eyebrow at me as I pull Eli toward the basement steps. Noah hovers behind him, his eyes dark as he unclips the magazine from his gun.
“You can all come if you want.” I frown at Gabriel.
“Mmmm. Dirty.” Gabriel saunters after us.
I lead them down to the basement. I hardly ever come down here – the only windows are skylights that point straight up through the garden. I don’t like them, they make me feel exposed. Plus, the place is decked out as Howard Malloy’s personal entertainment pad, all dark wood, sports memorabilia, big-screen TVs, wraparound bar, and a giant bed made with crimson sheets that makes my skin feel dirty just to look at it. But there is one room down here that I’ve used over the years.
“I want to show you this.” My chest clenches as I shove open the door.
Eli steps inside as I flick the lights on. His features crinkle in confusion as he takes in the space. “Claws, what is this?”
The room is decked out as a bowling alley, complete with two lanes, a rack of old gross bowling shoes, a ball return machine, an electronic scoreboard, and an array of snack machines and arcade games along one wall.
Only, I hadn’t bowled in here in years. Antony finds the game boring, and if you bowl against yourself, you end up going slowly crazy.
Instead, it’s my rage room.
It’s where I come when the only thing I need to do is burn the world.
Over the years I’ve dragged breakable objects from all over the house down to this room. Crates of crystal glasses from the bar, serving platters from the kitchen, weird statues and Howard Malloy’s collection of antique paperweights lay in glittering pieces across the floor. The entire room glitters from its coating of smashed glass and broken dreams. Sledgehammers and crowbars I took from the groundskeeper’s shed line the wall behind us.
“I know things are still fucked-up in that head of yours.” I pick up a stack of porcelain plates and hand them to him. “I know what that feels like. When I can’t contain the rage anymore, I come down here and let it out. Malloy had the walls soundproofed. You can scream, cry, kick things, smash things. Whatever you need to do.”
Eli stares at the crockery in his hands. “These are Bernardaud,” he whispers.
