Mercy
CHIEF BASTILLA GIVES us all bottled waters, little bags of potato chips, and enough Coca Cola to keep us awake. Milo explains our story, starting with where he rescued us but leaving out the part about me murdering the man who kept me for all my life. When I asked him about it earlier, he shook his head and asked me to trust him.
Milo gives the chief the location of where we were held and lets him know we suspect there are others.
The chief runs his finger along a paper map he unfolded onto his desk. “You’re saying it’s about fifteen miles southeast of Heroes?”
“Yeah, it’s out in the middle of the desert and most of it is underground.”
The chief turns to his computer and hits a dozen buttons. “Pretty sure the place has been raided before.”
“What?” I look at Milo, who seems as confused as I feel.
“Yeah, looks like . . .” He types more. “Couple years ago. They didn’t find anything major. Sex for sale, but nothing like you’re describing.”
They were there? And they didn’t find us. I scoot forward to the edge of seat. “He kept us hidden, in the tunnels. People are—”
“He?” The chief looks over his reading glasses at me, his bushy gray eyebrows raised high. “You know his name?”
Milo squeezes my thigh under the table. “No, they all called him Papa.”
“Huh.” He grabs his cell phone. “All right, we’ll see what we can do about getting out there. In the meantime, why don’t you make that phone call, and I’ll be back with Child Protective Services.”
Milo snags the phone off the desk and punches buttons.
“Who are you calling?” I ask.
He hits speakerphone, and the ringing fills the room.
“Hello?”
My eyes pop wide at the sound of Laura’s voice. “Laura!”
“Mercy?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Oh God, Mercy, honey, where are you?” There’s mumbling in the background and Chris’s grumbled questions. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know, um . . .” I meet Milo’s eyes in question, and he smiles sadly.
“Laura, it’s Milo.”
“Milo! Oh my . . . where are you? I’m coming to get you both, please tell me you’re all right?”
“We’re fine, but we’ve got a bit of a problem and we really need your help.”
“Of course. Anything. What is it?”
“We’re at the border in San Ysidro. We’re going to need a lawyer, a doctor, and you might want to put a call in to Andy. There are some kids like Mercy who could really use some help.”
“Oh my God . . . Milo, stay put.” Her voice is stern and all business. “I’m on my way.”
Bastilla walks into the room and shoves his cell phone into his pocket.
“Hold on, Laura,” Milo says.
“Yeah?”
The chief nods toward the phone.
“There’s someone here who would like to talk to you.”
The speaker goes silent for a few beats until Laura says, “Okay.”
“This is Chief Bastilla,” he says and drops into his squeaky desk chair.
“Chief Bastilla, those are my children, and if they’re not kept safe until I get there, I swear to God I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
He blushes and grabs the receiver, taking Laura off speakerphone, but I can still hear her ranting from the tiny speaker he presses to his ear.
“—yes, ma’am. I—uh-huh, I assure you they’ll be—” He pinches his lips together and stares between Milo and me. “Understood.” He hangs up the phone and blows out a breath. “All right, you guys hang tight. Your mother will be here soon and we’ll get all this straightened out.”
I notice Milo doesn’t correct him that she’s not our mother and we’re legal adults, not children, so I keep my lips sealed too.
Milo turns toward me and takes my hands. His warm eyes melt into mine. “You okay?”
“I think so. Yes.”
He searches my face as if trying to determine if I’m lying. We still don’t know what will happen from here. Will we go back to Laura’s? Will the kids be safe and get the kind of care I received when I had to learn to acclimate to life outside of the same room?
We leave Bastilla’s office and find the children in a holding room, huddled in a corner and surrounded by empty water bottles and snack wrappers. Philomena is close, slumped on a couch, looking small and worn out.
My mind takes me back to that place, and I wonder how many more are in need of rescue. How long will it take until someone gets out there to save them, and for some, will it be too late?
MOST OF MY life, the concept of time was irrelevant. My life consisted of dark and light, and that was how I measured my days.
Time meant nothing then, but now time means everything.
I watch the black clock hands tick in a slow circle, each click of the minute hand seeming to take twice as long as it should.
Laura sent social services to us shortly after she hung up. A nice woman named Miranda brought us clothes and tried to ask us questions that Milo made very clear we would not answer without a lawyer.
Dom was less friendly when he met with Miranda. He pressed his body against the wall as if he was hoping it would swallow him up so he could disappear. Milo had to coax him into slipping on a baggy shirt and a pair of sweatpants, bribing him with a Snickers bar.
Philomena and the little angel are now asleep on the couch, and if it weren’t for their messy hair and dirty faces, they’d look no different than any other American kids in their T-shirts, shorts, and flip-flop shoes.
Something tells me Dom’s recovery is going to be much harder than the girls’.
Milo is asleep in the chair next to me, his chin to his chest, eyes closed, and the sound of his soft breathing fills the room. Our hands are clasped, and his fingers twitch with whatever dreams he’s having that make his eyelids jump.
“Open that door immediately or I will have you arrested!”
I rise to stand at the sound of Laura’s voice.
“Those are my children in there!”
My feet are moving before the door opens, and the moment Laura rushes into the room, I throw myself into her chest. She doesn’t hesitate, and her arms come around me so tightly I wheeze out her name. There are no tears from either of us, just a sweet reunion surrounded by tension and so many unanswered questions. I expect Laura to reprimand us for running away. I know she’ll demand answers, and I fear she’ll be disappointed by the ones she’ll get.
She pulls back and cups my face, her eyes searching. “Are you okay?”
I nod, and that seems to be enough to satisfy her. She doesn’t release me, but looks at Milo and holds out one arm for him to come close. When he’s close enough, she pulls him into an embrace that sandwiches me between them.
“Milo, I’m so happy you’re okay.”
He pats her back then pulls away much sooner than either she or I would like. He clears his throat and nods solemnly. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”
Laura blinks and looks around, her gaze settling on the kids. Dom looks at her from the floor with wide eyes like a spooked animal about to run and hide. Philomena blinks tired eyes, and the little angel is still sound asleep in a tangled ball of long, skinny, sunburned arms and legs.
“Holy crap,” Laura whispers.
“Yeah,” Milo says.
“We found them.” I turn fully to the kids and try to give them my most reassuring smile, even though I’m terrified of what the future means for them. “And we believe there are more.”
Laura moves forward, and Dom skitters back to his corner, coiled and alert. She squats where she is, a good distance away, and smiles that warm, welcoming smile that worked so well to set me at ease when I woke up strapped to a table. “Hi, I’m Laura and I’m here to help you.”
Dom looks at Milo for confirmation.
Milo squats next to Laura, all six feet of him becoming small and non-threatening as he speaks softly to the child. “This is my . . . mom.” Laura sucks in a quick breath, and Milo continues. “She’s here to help us. To help you.” He turns to me, and when he does, Dom’s eyes follow. “She helped Mercy, and me and my brothers who aren’t much older than you. I promise you, Dom, you can trust her.”
“Is that your name? Dom?”
“I . . .” The boy looks at Milo again, who nods for him to continue. “I am called Demonio.”
Laura jerks her gaze to Milo, who frowns, his jaw ticking. “We call him Dom.”
“Dom,” Laura says with a kind smile. “I like that.” She must sense that Dom is in need of a break, because she turns to Philomena. “Hi, I’m Laura. What’s your name?”
“I am called girl, but Angel . . .” Her cheeks flush under her already sunburnt skin. “Mercy calls me Philomena.”
“Mercy is smart to call you that. It’s a strong name for a very brave girl.”
Philomena stares at Laura as if she just told her she has a third leg.
“And who is this?” Laura says quietly, probably to keep from waking the little angel.
“That is Angel.” I try to keep the anger from my voice but fail.
Laura reads my hostility and backs off, standing back up and turning toward us. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“We do.” I look at Milo, who quickly grabs my hand and stands at my side, so close our bodies touch from shoulder to interweaved fingers.
She doesn’t seem at all surprised to see us united and supporting each other. “Then let’s get started.”