Image courtesy of Irish Central.
To start at the beginning go here.
Sophie smiled warmly and extended a hand, palm downward, as if she was going to lead our new friend out into the garden. Before she could take it, though, the man who brought the women down barked at her, causing everyone to flinch and I thought about making him eat the remote control and a lamp for good measure. Instead, I felt every groaning muscle from the last beating and followed the woman to the stairs, trying to appear as a man who has hit the jack pot. Without taking his eyes off the soccer game, the old man took some money from Sophie and said, “You have hour.”
Upstairs the hallway stretched off in one direction, more wood paneling that led nowhere. There were muffled sounds of talking and other more rhythmic noises that told me not all the girls were downstairs. The room we followed her to was small, barely big enough for the bed and a nightstand. A single lamp on that tiny wooden table lit the room dimly, showing the white of three of the walls. The fourth wall was a cardboard brown, a temporary structure that squeezed her half of the room into something slightly larger than a coffin. Her side had a window, shuttered like the others, and I was willing to bet if I opened that I’d have found the frame nailed shut.
Sophie strode in, making the room smaller, and sat down on the bed. She smiled at the girl and patted the sheets next to her. There was a pause, but the woman moved forward and obeyed, keeping her feet under her to accommodate the room’s size, her knees pointed towards Sophie’s.
Sophie gently brushed a few strands away from her cheek and for a moment I thought she was going to kiss her. Instead, I heard her whisper to her, “Où est la caméra?” The woman only shook her head in confusion, though, causing Sophie to repeat herself in a few different languages. English hit understanding and the woman pulled back from Sophie in surprise. Sophie’s response was to widen her eyes and nod, once, emphatically. Slowly and reluctantly the other woman turned to me and pointed to a corner of the ceiling. I followed her finger and found a small, black disk resting in the corner like a spider, hardly noticeable in the pale light.
As small as the room might be, the ceiling was high enough to make me wish for Sophie’s extra inches, but I managed to get ahold of the camera by stretching. Still sore from the beating, that was no mean feat, causing me to grunt with sustained effort, having to try a few times to succeed. Sophie giggled a bit at my strained attempts, and I found myself smiling as I managed to pull it out of its corner. It weighed practically nothing and was only fastened with a bit of adhesive, but hearing Sophie’s mirth, I brought it down, brandishing it like a rabbit from a hat. Seeing this, and encouraged by Sophie’s willingness to laugh at me, the woman laughed as well. It wasn’t a practiced gestured and for a moment I misunderstood it, thinking she was choking.
In the smallness of the room I leaned into the corner next to the door, opposite the bed so I could see their faces, dimly lit as if a confessional. Sophie placed a gentle hand on the other’s knee and asked, “What is your name?”
“Natalia,” she smiled, seemingly back in familiar territory. In the light her make-up seemed garish, something that belonged on a doll, and I wondered if it helped the men who come here think of her as not quite human.
“Natalia,” Sophie paused, and I wonder if she had actually come this far without considering what she was going to say. I was uncertain why we were here or what it had to do with Nika. Judging by the men and Natalia’s accent, it was likely Mitnick’s operation, but that felt tangental to me. “Natalia,” Sophie started again, “we would like to ask you some things.”
The smile disappeared from Natalia replaced with confusion and something that could have been fear or hope. If you’re down long enough and hard enough you can fear to hope.
With a tremulous uncertainty Natalia asked, “Are you police?”
“No,” Sophie murmured, shaking her head. With more honesty than I possessed she added, “We are not here to rescue you.”
There was a knock on the door, breaking the calm Sophie had bestowed on the room and causing Natalia to jump. Having an idea of what to expect I took off my coat and hung it on the door hinge, unbuttoning the top collar of my shirt. Looking suitably rumpled, I opened the door, if only by a crack. Not surprisingly, one of the house men was there, not betraying any great intelligence, but suitably intimidating. Before he said anything I held out the camera between thumb and forefinger. “We’d like some privacy.”
He eyed the camera, gave me a measuring stare, and leaned forward, perhaps contemplating what it would take to get into the room. Instead he said Natalia’s name. Natalia responded with an exasperated tone I’d heard used by the constantly guarded, from prisoners to diplomats. It wasn’t in English, but whatever it was must have been the equivalent of, “I’m fine.” His eyes came back to me. After another considering moment he held out his palm, and I dropped the camera in it and closed the door. It was only then that I realized there was no lock, so I turned to face the bed with my back to it. At least the hinges were on the inside.
Sophie gave another reassuring smile, attempting to restore calm to the room, a gentle hand on Natalia’s knee. Given the situation and what I suspect Natalia had been subjected to, I wasn’t sure the touching was a good idea, but Sophie was running the show, so I just kept quiet.
Sophie spoke quietly, “I worked as you do, for a time. I chose to do it: I made good money and enjoyed it. I chose my client.” I noticed the singular use of the word ‘client,’ and I wondered what name Natalia would give the parade of men she was probably accustomed. “But then something changed and I could not leave.” Leading the witness, Sophie nodded while asking, “It was no longer my choice. Understand?”
Natalia nodded, her body becoming more erect, leaning in towards Sophie with confidentiality. Sophie smiled a bit more, happy at the mutual understanding, then that bloomed into an almost stern seriousness. “Do you wish to be here?”
To read the next chapter, go here.
To read the previous chapter, go here.
See the author’s published work here.
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