Elijah

Sometimes, I hated my job. I loved the money, don’t get me wrong, but I hated the things I had to do—who I had to pretend to be. After faking my identity so many times, sometimes I couldn’t remember who the real me was.

Some mornings, I’d ask myself “Who am I today?”, just to make sure I remembered who I needed to pretend to be. Thankfully, I was able to see my family, claiming them as my employees when required.

My current identity was one I had been working under for well over a year. I had yet to find the evidence I needed. I wasn’t sure I ever would. It was nearly impossible when I didn’t even really know what was needed. I knew the goal was to bring down one of the most popular group of men that supported sex trafficking, but it was a lot easier said than done.

Once this job was finished, I would be taking one heck of a break.

I wanted to be anywhere else, but I didn’t have a choice. When I got that phone call this morning, inviting me to the auction, I had to accept. It could lead me to some much needed information, I had been waiting a very long time to get. I needed more proof and more information to bring down this organization. This could very well be my chance—my chance to finally bring this case to a close.

I had to do this one step at a time, no matter how long it.

I would bring down this sex slave ring, and save as many innocent people as I could in the process. I just hoped that I could get it done sooner rather than later.

I didn’t know what to expect as I got out of my car, fifteen minutes before the auction would take place. I wasn’t too gentle with shutting the car door, either. Most of the cars in the parking lot were rentals, with a few pricey cars in the mix. I knew most of these people who would be here tonight, and they had a huge amount of money to waste. They wanted no lasting ties when they left—and there wouldn’t be.

Each man here knew the risks and took such measures to keep those low, so any law enforcement agent could not trace anything to them personally. Even the CIA had been kept away. Of course, I wouldn’t put it past some of the agents to be working undercover, just like me. Some were likely to be being paid to turn a blind eye.

I nodded and made small talk to a few men as I walked towards the opened door of the nondescript building downtown. I would guess many of these men did odds and ends like myself to prove their trustworthiness. I started out with selling drugs, hiding inventory, and a few other petty things. I proved myself by letting Galvin think I was able to get information to him from my workplace to keep his affairs safe. I did everything a newbie wannabe would do—all but the killing part. That went against not only my code of conduct, but also my beliefs.

Little did he know that I would be the one and only person to bring all his hard work crashing down in ashes soon enough.

“Welcome, Mr. Hunter,” greeted the bouncer, who was dressed in all black. I was surprised he remembered my name, as we’d only met once, months ago. The man was all muscle, with scars lining his body.

“Wilson,” I nodded at him. He still had the shaved head and goatee, a huge contrast to his pale white skin. He was a guard for a purpose, and one I didn’t feel like fighting if I didn’t have to. I was big but he was twice my size, and I was big.

I entered the building, where many of the men were smoking like chimneys. I tried to suppress my cough as I looked around the room. A stage was towards the back of the room with lights shining brightly towards it. A podium stood on one end.

I made small talk with a few men while I grabbed a numbered paddle and found a spot so I would be able to see the stage. I nodded to my partner, who was a few paces away. He had a beanie over his hair, but he wore his workout clothes, not caring what others thought of him.

I didn’t plan to purchase anything, as I didn’t want the hassle of having to deal with issues that would come with buying – and I used that term loosely — one of these so-called slaves. I would bid to make it look like I was interested, but nothing more.

A high-pitched whistle sounded through the room, and the men grew quiet with anticipation as a line of girls was dragged onto the stage at the same time a man took a stance behind the podium.

“Welcome, gents!” greeted the man. He wore all black, just like the bouncer and the handlers of these girls. He was slightly skinnier than Wilson, who stood at the front door, but had a full head of hair. I gathered they were at least related somehow. “We have one hundred and thirty-two servants to auction tonight. There is no system to how they are to be sold. Like usual, I will tell you the height, age, and a little about their personalities and training status. Now, let’s begin!” He was too happy, doing what was expected of him.

The line of girls was roughly handled as they were each auctioned one at a time. The sold girl was then led off the stage and towards a small table where another man sat, watching with a gleeful look. Each girl was forced to her knees while they waited their turn to be claimed by their new owner. The new owner who paid cash before taking ownership.

Line after line was brought out to the stage. Most were filthy from head to toe with bruises on their bodies. Most of these girls were runaways, and no one would ever be looking for them, since they had aged out of the system. The girl my brother had rescued was a runaway from an abusive boyfriend, and had been in even worse shape than most of these girls.

It wasn’t until group seven that one girl in particular caught my attention. She was just like the rest: dirty from head to toe, tangled black hair, and so boney her skin barely concealed her pain. She kept swaying back and forth, and could hardly keep herself upright. I couldn’t get a good look at her face as she took her spot on the stage.

Her handler kicked the back of her knees, making her fall. I expected a cry of shock to come from her, but she remained quiet and distant to the whole affair. To me, that was not normal. Just comparing her to the other girls that had been on that stage so far, she was different—and not in a good way.

I kept my eyes on her, and when it was her turn to be auctioned, I knew what I had to do. The gut feeling demanded my attention. I knew that if I didn’t follow it, I’d be beating myself up for who knew how long.

“Number 73. Age nineteen. About five foot two. She’s ill, so she is unable to perform any service tonight after purchase. She is fully trained. Let’s start the bidding at ten grand,” said the auctioneer.

I slowly raised my paddle. A few people around me also rose their paddles. The bidding wore didn’t last long, as most of these men didn’t want to deal with a sick purchase. So, after a few short minutes, I won, paying the total of twenty thousand dollars. I could easily pay that for the girl who looked like she was giving up on life.

I could feel Erick, Galvin’s son, glaring daggers at me, but ignored him. Erick was always all talk and no bite—just another druggy who wanted his fix in any form he could get it.

I filled out the form, confirming I had read the rules and knew I would not be able to return the girl—not that I would dream of doing so. I handed over the cash to the man, hardly taking notice of him in my anxiety to see the girl’s face.

“Remember, she won’t be of any service until the drugs are out of her system,” the handler stated. “She is completely trained, and ready to be at your service tomorrow.”

The girl fell into me, face first, as she took the last step down from the stage. As she continued to sway, I gently laid a hand on her upper arm. Ignoring the men that were watching, I began to lead the girl out of the building. Once outside, I scooped her up into my arms before making my way to the car. There was no way I was going to make her walk barefoot over the gravel and broken glass in the parking lot. She hardly weighed anything and as her head flopped onto my shoulder, it almost felt like it fit there.

Like she fit into my life.

Her skin was hot, a slight sheen of sweat covering her skin from head to toe.

I juggled her in my arms so I could dig my keys out of my pocket once I got to the car. I gently sat the sleeping girl in the passenger seat and covered her with my jacket. I buckled her seatbelt over it so it wouldn’t slip off her—with it being late October, the night air was cooling quickly.

It was a long two-hour drive back home and she slept soundlessly, except for the occasional wheeze or cough. I couldn’t help but keep glancing over at her.

Could it be her? After five years, it didn’t seem likely.

When we arrived at my house, I carried her to the room she would be able to call her own. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, or what I would need to do, but I knew just the person to ask.