Locked (The Heaven's Gate Trilogy) (16 page)

I peeked into her file. 
“She’s one of the older girls?” I asked, confused.

“Yes,” Delores answered.

“But she’s only 14!”

“Yes,” Delores said in a
quiet voice.  “I know.”

*****

I jumped when I heard the
heavy steel door slam closed behind us.  Before, I’d thought it was to keep us
– or any unwanted visitors who might prey on the girls --  out.  But I’d
realized after talking with Delores that to the girls, it might seem like just
another way to shut them in.

The linoleum was faded
and worn down from years of use.  Delores led us down a long hall, past rows of
doors until we got to a room that had been turned into a visitation area.  
Deftly, Delores turned first one key, then another, in the door before twisting
the knob.

“You’ll be locked in,”
she warned as she held the door open for us.  “Just ring the buzzer when you’re
ready to go.  If I don’t hear from you within an hour I’ll come and check on
you.”

“Prison much?” Tabitha
muttered under her breath.  “Ow!” she said as I elbowed her in the ribs.

“Thanks, Ms. Blankenship,”
I said pointedly, pushing Tabitha through the doorway.

The door firmly clicked
behind us, followed by the definitive snap of deadbolts falling into place. 
Halfway across the room, a small girl sat at a naked folding table, her hands
folded primly in front of her.  Two metal chairs were set up opposite her.

We stared dumbly, not
sure what to do.  The girl blinked.

“You can sit down,” she
said so quietly that I wasn’t sure she had actually spoken.

Tabitha and I looked at
each other and, in silent agreement, took our seats.

We stared at each other
across the table.  Maria had glossy black hair, which shone even under the
brash light of the naked fluorescent tube above.  Her skin was the soft color
of caramels, stretched taut across high, graceful cheekbones.  She looked
fragile; it could have been the delicate bones of her hands, which she held so
lightly on the table, or the way her body swam in the overwhelming folds of her
donated clothes.  Or maybe it was the slight shadows under her eyes.  But there
was a steely strength to her, too, and her chocolate eyes were wary and charged
with a bitterness well beyond her years.

“Mrs. Blankenship said
you wanted to talk to me,” she said, her English heavily accented.  Almost
imperceptibly, her chin lifted defiantly.  “Why should I talk to you?”

Tabitha answered.  “We’re
students, like you, and would like to feature your story in a class project.”

Maria’s mouth twisted. 
“I’m no student.  And I’m not like you.”  She pulled her hands off the table
and sat back in her chair, her eyes veiled.

I took a deep breath. 
This was going to be tricky.  I darted Tabitha a look, silently imploring her
to stay quiet while I tried.  Tabitha simply shrugged and crossed her arms.

“Maria,” I said.  “Is it
okay if I call you Maria?”

A look of confusion
flitted across her face before she nodded.

“We want to share your
story so that others know what is going on.  So it won’t happen to them.  If
that is okay with you?”

She looked at me
skeptically, pulling herself into her chair.  But she didn’t say no. 
Encouraged, I continued.

“You don’t have to talk
about anything you don’t want to.  And if we can, we will help you.  I’m not
sure what we can do, to be honest, but we will try.  I promise.”

“I’ve heard that a lot
since I came here,” Maria sighed, showing tiny cracks in her mask of
toughness.  “Everyone here knows what is going on, but all they do is talk.  No
action.”

“And meanwhile you’re
still here,” I said.  “That must really suck.”

Her eyes widened with
surprise, and then narrowed as she sized me up.  “You don’t think I should be
grateful?”

I gestured around the
room.  “It’s no Hilton, I can tell you that much.”

A slight grin danced
across her face, and I caught my breath.  When she let her guard down, she was
beautiful.

“You’re funny.  You’re
also the first person to ask if you can talk to me.”  She was fiddling at the
buttons on her too-long sleeves now, fidgeting while she decided.  Under the
table I was crossing my fingers.  She let her hands fall in her lap and
shrugged.  “Go ahead, ask your questions.”

I let out my breath in
relief, only then realizing I’d been holding it.  Tabitha started rummaging in
her backpack for her list of interview questions but I reached across and
touched her arm, stopping her.  She pouted, but put the bag down, taking only
her notepad and a pencil.

I looked across the table
at Maria and smiled.  “Why don’t you just tell us about yourself, and about
what happened?”

Maria closed her eyes and
nodded.  She pulled her tiny feet up under her legs and settled even further
into her seat.  It was as if she was trying to make herself disappear, to hide
from the memories.  She started speaking without opening her eyes.

“I live just across the
border from Texas, in Reynosa.  You know Reynosa?”

Tabitha and I shook our
heads no.

“It is a horrible place. 
It used to be like a war zone but now it is dead.  The cartels have taken it
over.  Everywhere is spies.  Nothing to do if you do not help the
narcotrafficantes
.”

Her eyes were open now,
but they were unfocused, looking only into the past.

“My mother used to have a
job over the border, in McAllen.  But she got sick and lost her job.  And then
she died.”

Her eyes welled up, a
solitary tear leaving a glistening trail down her golden skin.  She picked
absentmindedly at a scab on her hand.

“Because of the cartels
they closed the bridge. Nobody could get through unless you bought off the
narcos
. 
My father, he had six of us to feed and no job.  He hated the
narcos
, he
wouldn’t stoop so low.  He said the Lord would provide.”

We leaned in over the
table when she paused.

“He was so excited.  He
said that they had found me and my sister jobs, working over the border as
maids.  They would smuggle us over.  He just had to pay our way and they would
take care of the rest.  We should have known it was too good to be true.”

I looked at Tabitha, who nodded.

“Who was it, Maria?”
Tabitha prompted softly.

“We thought he was
clean,” Maria spat through taut lips, her nostrils flaring with hate.  “We
trusted him.”

“Who?” Tabitha repeated.

“
Mi tio
,” she
said, barely breathing the words.  “My mother’s younger brother.”

I sucked my breath in.  I
heard a sharp crack and darted a look at Tabitha.  She clutched the pieces of
her pencil, snapped in half, in her hand.

“What happened then?” I
asked, dreading what I was about to hear.

“Jimena– that’s my sister
– she noticed that there were only girls in the truck, but I thought it was
because they were only looking for houseworkers.  No man would take that job.”

“We were supposed to be
going to Texas, to be at our job by the time the sun was up.  But the truck, it
didn’t stop.  It just kept going.  We were getting hungry and needed to stop,
but they wouldn’t stop.  Even when we pounded on the walls, they wouldn’t
stop.”

Her cheeks flamed red,
then, at the remembered indignity.  “We had to squat in the corner and try not
to soil ourselves.  Jimena was so afraid she would be dirty for her new job. 
But I knew, then, that there was no job.”

The hairs on the back of
my neck stood on end.  I felt trapped in the little, airless room, trapped as
if I were in the back of that truck with them.

“When we stopped, the man
that came to get us was not the same man from Reynosa.  He told us not to be
afraid, that there had been a mistake but everything was okay now, we would get
our jobs if we did not cry.  He blindfolded us and took us to a big…shed. I
don’t know.  It was empty and dark.  Then he lined us up.”  Maria’s voice was
getting shaky.  “I told Jimena not to let go of my hand, no matter what.”

“Then there was a lot of
noise, a lot of men talking in English.  I tried, but I couldn’t tell what they
were saying.  There were so many of them, so much shouting, all at once.”  She
looked down at her hands.  “If I had understood, then, maybe things would have
turned out different.”

“Don’t ever think that,
Maria,” I whispered.  “None of this is your fault.”

“No?” she smiled at me, a
strange, sad smile that sliced my heart through.  “My mother always told me how
important it was to know English.  She used to make me practice every night
when she came home from her job.  But I stopped trying after she died.”

She held my gaze as she
straightened up in her chair, seeming to steel herself for what came next.  My
stomach clenched in anticipation.

“The men started
separating us, like goats or cattle.  I couldn’t see, I tried to hold on to
Jimena, but they were too strong.  I lost her.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Maria, how old was
Jimena?” I asked, unable to pull my eyes away from hers.

“Is,” she answered, her
eyes flashing.  “Not was.  She is still out there.”

“How old, Maria?” Tabitha
echoed.

“Ten.”

Tabitha unleashed a
string of curse words that in ordinary times would have made me blush.  But
right now, I was too stunned to notice, let alone care.

“After that, it didn’t
matter what they did to me,” Maria continued in a flat voice.  “Nothing
mattered.  I just pretended I was far away, and that it was happening to
someone else.”

Somewhere in the back of
my mind, a door opened.  “Your name isn’t really Maria Delgado, is it?” I
asked, my voice low.

She shook her head no.

“Why won’t you tell the
FBI, or Mrs. Blankenship, your real name? Or what you told us?”

Tears welled up in
Maria’s eyes once again.  “You don’t get it.  If I tell them my name, and where
I am from, they will send me back.  And I can’t go back there.”

Tabitha frowned.  “But
why not?”

Maria gaped at us,
wondering at our naïveté.  “If he knew what really happened, my father would
disown me.  Or worse – my uncle could do it all over again.  Besides, I can’t
leave here.  Not yet.”

I felt my own forehead
folding into creases, puzzled.  “Why not?”

Maria gripped the edge of
the table and leaned in, her face intense.  “Because that police raid didn’t
bring in my sister.” My stomach sank with horror as I thought of the little
girl, still out there, alone. “I have to find her, before it is too late.”

Maria, worn out by the
retelling of her story and the effort of speaking English, collapsed back into
her chair, refusing to speak any longer.

We pressed the button,
signaling for our release.  While we waited, I tore a little slip of paper from
Tabitha’s notebook and scribbled my name and cell phone number on it.

“Thank you,” I said,
reaching across the table to press the number into Maria’s hand.  “If there is
anything I can do, or if you ever need someone to talk to, call me.”

She looked at the slip of
paper with amusement.  “Hope,” she said.  “You are just what I need now,” she
whispered, closing her tiny fist around the scrap.   “Hope.”

The locks began turning
and the door swung open.  When it closed again on Maria, alone, she was still
sitting in the chair, clutching the paper.

Chapter 6 – Just a Dream?

I shuffled toward my
locker, trying to stifle a yawn.  Our interview with Maria had ignited a sense
of urgency in me.  I’d pored over Internet sites until early morning, absorbing
all the information I could about her hometown and the trafficking business. 
Like a teller at the DMV, I mindlessly processed photo after photo, statistic
after statistic, using the rote activity to keep my mind, and my emotions, at
bay until I collapsed into my bed in exhaustion.  But in my dreams, it was not
as easy to push aside the questions that I did not want to answer.  Was my
father right in being so protective?  Did I run from what I thought was a prison
only to find I had run right into a trap?  And what would have happened to me,
if Michael had not killed my kidnapper all those years ago?

Michael.  The thought of
him brought a complicated set of emotions right to the surface.  Gratitude,
surely.  But resentment, too – resentment of the need to be watched, resentment
of his lies, resentment and even fear of what his presence implied.  And more. 
I blushed, not wanting to think about those other feelings.

I lifted my head and
there he was, stationed at my locker.  A casual observer would guess he was
lounging, but I could see the taut look of his eyes and the way his muscles
seemed coiled for action.  I flushed again, more deeply, as I took in his sleek
body and thought of the warmth that had surged through my own at his touch, and
remembered the glimpse of physical perfection I’d had when he’d revealed
himself to me.