Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
"Makes sense," I agreed, taking his hand when he offered it, scrambling to keep up with his long-legged, break-neck pace, weaving through the lines of containers, ending up in the second-to-last row.
Angelo, Dario, and Michael were standing there. And I felt shitty for being relieved that Matteo and Lucky weren't around just yet, but there wasn't much time to harp on those feelings as Angelo pulled out a pair of lock cutters, snapping off the lock, then pulling the container open with a sharp, metallic clang.
The smell of unwashed bodies hit my face first. Sweat and then the slightest of waste smells. Not as strong as one might expect, but Luca had told me there was some sort of composting situation going on.
Immediately, there were shrieks and cries from those inside, making my stomach twist as I called out to them, told them they were safe, we were there to save them.
"We need more light," I told Luca, only able to see the first few faces.
I thought I had been prepared for it.
After all, I had spent countless hours worrying about my sister in one of those things, stuck with a bunch of other women and girls, scared out of her mind, living in horrific conditions. And then Luca had detailed it to me out on the porch one evening about what the last container had been like.
But there was really no preparing myself for such an ugly reality. Where women were corralled into a container like chattel, where their lives that had held so much promise were bartered away.
The air was thick with heat and terror, rife with uncertainty and distrust. I was choking on it, and I hadn't even experienced any of what those women had been through.
Angelo brought in some lights as I told the women where they were, what had happened, that we were going to get them back home, but that we needed to ask them a few questions first.
One of the oldest of the women toward the front—someone maybe in her mid-twenties with short, dark brown hair and a pixie-face—stood up, eager to help, to get things moving, so that she could get home to her four-month-old son.
"What is she saying?" Luca asked, sounding lost.
"She just told me where she's from. And what she remembered of the men who had put her on the ship. I'll remember," I assured him. "I can write it all down later. I will remember."
"Okay," he agreed, nodding.
From there, I moved to the other women, asking questions, searching faces.
And as I moved along, my hope began to crumble.
By the time I got to the last girl, there were tears swimming in my eyes.
She—all of seventeen—reached out, placed a hand on my arm, asked me if I was okay.
She, this young girl who had been snatched off the street, was feeling sorry for me.
"I thought my sister would be in this container," I explained to her, swatting one of the tears away. "I have been looking for her. And this was my last hope."
"Maybe we saw her," the first woman, Victoria, said in English. "There were many women," she added. "More than here."
"Show them the picture," Luca suggested, guiding me back toward the opening of the container to speak to Victoria.
Grateful that they'd be willing to help after they'd already been through so much, I scrambled for my phone, swiping through my pictures, then holding out the image to Victoria.
Who promptly looked like I'd struck her in the face.
"What is it?" I asked after sharing a confused look with Luca.
"This is her," she said, taking my phone, face stricken.
"My sister. Yes."
"No. This is her. This is the woman."
"What woman? Luca asked, a little more put together in the moment than I was as my mind spun with the knowledge that they had seen her. Even if she wasn't there, they'd seen her. She was likely still alive somewhere. "Where did you see her?" he added.
"In Venezuela. In my hometown."
"With the traffickers," Luca clarified.
"She is the trafficker," Victoria snapped, shoving my phone back into my chest so hard it knocked out my breath as my hand automatically reached to grab it.
I misheard her.
Right?
I had to have misheard her.
Because any other explanation was simply not possible.
"No," I said, head shaking, refusing to believe it.
"Yes. Yes. She's the one. She lured us. She made us follow her with a scheme."
"What kind of scheme?"
"To do a survey for money. She said they would give us good money for our time. And then she led us away from town, and men came and shoved us into trucks. She is the woman."
"Are you sure?" Luca asked, his voice only half-audible to me right then, my own thoughts screaming too loud to hear much of anything else.
My sister?
A trafficker?
Or a recruiter for traffickers?
No.
No, absolutely not.
That wasn't even remotely possible.