Trafficked (20 page)

Chapter Forty

I
t didn't take long.

The next day, Hannah was scraping the grout in the downstairs bathtub with an old kitchen knife. Earlier, Lillian had made her iron all the bedsheets. On top of her other work.

All day, while she was cleaning, she talked to Colin in her head, asking him his favorite color, favorite sport, favorite food, favorite everything. She was trying to entertain herself, but it only made it more obvious to her that she'd never been so lonely in her whole life. She wasn't the kind of girl who normally needed an imaginary friend.

She put the knife on the side of the bathtub, grabbed the rag, and sprayed it slowly with cleaner. No point in hurrying. Finally, she understood the Russian expression that it didn't matter how fast you pushed the broom, there was more work all the same. If she worked fast, Lillian would just find something else for her to do.

She moved the rag in slow circles across the bathroom floor, unable to avoid the homesick ache in her gut any longer. She thought about the regular things her friends were doing every day. Passing notes in Russian lit. Laughing about Madame Volchuk's purple bouffant hairdo. Getting felt up under the secondary stairway. Going out for pizza after school. Talking about what classes they were going to take in university. Copying one another's math homework. She used to be the math expert. Now what did her group do? Daniil wasn't bad, but he didn't let anyone copy. Maybe his new girlfriend let them—Lera was good at math too. That thought was so depressing, Hannah stopped cleaning and stared down at the too-clean floor.

An out-of-place smell drifted into her thoughts: Paavo's cologne. That yeasty body odor. She twisted and looked up. Paavo's square frame filled the doorway. His shirt was tucked in tight to hold in the mounds of flesh, and his silver belt buckle in the shape of a bull shone down at her.

She looked past him, down the hall. Lillian had left home a little while ago. Usually the door was locked.

“What are you doing?” He leered down at her, as if she'd gotten on her hands and knees for his benefit.

“I'm cleaning.” She wanted to add,
What does it look like, you pig?
“Did you come in with Sergey?”

He stared at her. “No.”

Her face flushed. “How did you get in?” she asked, standing up, clinging to the rag.

“The door was open. Lillian said you'd be home.”

This was Lillian's punishment. She cleared her throat and stood tall. “Sergey will be back soon. I'll tell him you were here.”

“I didn't come to talk to him.” He stuck out his belly, blocking her exit. “Lillian said you're misbehaving; I offered to talk to you.”

She gestured with her chin toward the hallway. “I have to get something in the kitchen. You can talk to me in there.”

“I don't think so,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling up.

A quiver of fear passed through her. She searched for a way to escape. The kitchen knife she'd used to scrape the grouting was still on the edge of the bathtub. Maybe she could grab it in time. He might rip it away, but at least she could injure him—right where it would hurt the most.

“What's a girl like you doing cleaning floors?” he asked, stepping toward her. She glanced toward the tub and realized she wouldn't get there in time. He continued, “You could be making a lot more money dancing. More for your family, more for yourself. You could buy some nice clothes for that pretty little body of yours.”

Hannah was wearing her monkey T-shirt with her sweatpants, and he was staring at her as if she were naked. She wished she was wearing the black baggy T-shirt, but it was dirty.

“I'm not interested in that. Excuse me. I need to get the bleach.” In fact, she didn't use bleach because Lillian was paranoid about Michael getting poisoned. Instead, she used an organic, orange-scented bathroom cleaner, which barely worked. Her hand tightened on the rag. Even if it was earth-friendly, it would probably hurt if it got in his eyes.

He didn't move. “That little shirt. You are trying to tease Sergey, I think. Does he come down to your room at night so you can give him a little pleasure?”

“That's disgusting,” she said, even though it was true that Sergey had come down to her room. But she hadn't done anything with him. “I am here to take care of their children and clean their house. Now, if you will please move, I can continue with my work.”

“I'm willing to pay,” he said.

Hannah stood very still. “I don't want your money.”

“Really? I can help you,” he said. “In other ways.”

“I would never do that for anything.”

“Lillian told me about your little adventure the other day. Who'd you meet?”

“I didn't meet anyone.”

He hummed. “Sergey didn't want me to help him find a girl. He said he had one already. You two have something on one of his business trips?”

So Sergey really had requested her. She wondered if Lillian knew. “I never saw him before I came here. I'm not that kind of girl. Now will you please let me pass?”

“What were you doing the other night? You came home sweaty, smelling of sex. You have a night job?” He leered.

“I went for a run,” she said. “I told Lillian, and it's the truth.”

“Whatever you say.” He stepped to the side and waved his hand out, as if he'd always been intending to let her pass. She hesitated. His belly filled most of the doorway and she didn't want to come any closer to him, but anything was better than being trapped in this bathroom. She took a leap past him. His arm swung out and stopped her. His fat belly pushed in, squishing her against the doorjamb. “Maybe you can show me the underwear he bought for you.”

She lifted the rag with the cleaner and rubbed it on his face. He grunted and yanked it out of her hand. “Suka!”

Panicking, she wiggled into the hall, but he forced her back against the cold wall. “Please,” she said. “I don't want trouble.”

“You didn't worry about insulting me and my wife. You put a stinking rag in my face and then you say you don't want trouble. Would you like me to shove that rag in your mouth? Or perhaps something else?”

His belly squished around her and his hard belt buckle pressed into her, cold through her T-shirt, right above the top of her pants. Her heart beat in her ears and she struggled to breathe as all his weight crushed against her.

“No,” she said. The word was quiet, barely escaping from her lips, and she remembered Volva and how she didn't yell.

“Sergey will be angry,” she said.

Paavo stepped back.

“I knew you two had something.” He sneered. She thought of the knife. It might be her only chance. She leaped toward the bathroom, but he grabbed her shoulder and pinned her against the wall, his thumb digging into her armpit. “Not so fast. If he wants my money, he can share.”

She struggled to get away, but his hand on her shoulder was as solid as a nail pinning her to a board. “Stop!” she yelled, shoving him, but it was like pushing a wall of fat.

“Behave,” he barked, undoing his belt buckle, and shoving her back against the wall. “Your uncle didn't do what we asked of him and look what happened to him.”

“What?” she breathed, shocked. “What did you do to him?”

“He's alive, for now. In a work camp. He's my insurance.”

“Where is he?”

He ignored her. “Next we'll go for your babushka. She's old. She wouldn't be able to handle much of a shock. Maybe we'll push her around a little, or maybe it will only take the suggestion that you are a prostitute.”

“She'd never believe it,” Hannah said, though her voice was shaking.

“Your friends will. Your old boyfriend, Daniil. And I know about that pretty friend of yours, Katya. Olga sent me pictures. Many men would pay for her.”

“You wouldn't,” Hannah gasped.

“I would,” he said. “People don't cross Paavo Shevchenko.”

She didn't know what to do. Her whole body sagged. His hand snaked under the bottom of her T-shirt.

“Hello?” Sergey called from the foyer.

Paavo shifted away from her and did up his belt buckle.

Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

“Remember what I said,” he murmured under his breath. “Tell him you invited me in.”

Sergey cleared his throat. He was looking down the hall at them. Paavo gave her a warning look before he sauntered down the hall, swinging his legs wide.

“Hello, my friend,” he boomed.

Sergey stepped into the hall and shook his friend's hand. He looked past Paavo to Hannah standing next to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He seemed angry.

“Any news from the bank?” Paavo asked.

“No,” Sergey said abruptly. “How did you—?”

“Your girl let me in,” Paavo announced, and turned to look at her. “Right?”

The injustice of it all made her want to scream. She wouldn't say she'd invited him in. She glared at him, her arms and legs shaking from adrenaline.

Paavo's face turned to stone.
We know where your babushka lives . . . your old boyfriend, Daniil . . . that pretty little friend of yours, Katya.

Hannah never should have come to America. Not only had she put herself at risk, but she'd put everyone she loved in grave danger.

She nodded and stumbled into the kitchen, blinking away the tears.

Chapter Forty-one

H
annah crept along the fence. The crickets were chirping in the backyard like they did in the village in Moldova. It had always been such a peaceful sound to her, but today it was like they were warning her. It seemed no matter what she did, things kept getting worse.

She was hoping that just seeing Colin would make it all better. She pushed open the slat in the fence, slowly, so it wouldn't make any noise.

Colin was in his bedroom, awake, even though it was after midnight. He was sitting on his bed, counting a large pile of coins and bills. Crying. Into all that money. How could a person cry when they were sitting in front of a pile of money? What did he have to cry about?

He wiped his red, wet cheeks with one hand, put the wrinkled bills into a wad, and shoved them into a black wallet. The mountain of coins remained. He stared at them for a moment and then took large handfuls of the coins and dropped them in the olive duffel bag. Then he walked across the room to the desk, which was cleared of papers and books, and put the bag on the floor.

She realized the room was different. The bed was made, the garbage and balled-up papers were gone, and all his clothing had been picked up from the floor. He took an envelope out of the desk drawer and placed it on the desk. It said,
MOM
.

He was running away. It was unbelievable, but it was the only explanation she could come up with. He was taking all his money and leaving. He'd written a letter to his mom. Her heart twisted inside her. He couldn't leave. He didn't know what he had. His mom wasn't like her mom, but she was a better mom than Lillian. She was better than lots of moms. His dad was a drunk, yes, but he wasn't beating him. Colin had food. He had his own room. He had a brother who loved him, for sure, even if he didn't hang out at the house much. Hannah had heard them laughing, playing video games, joking around the way boys did.

She had to stop him. If she called to him, Sergey and Lillian would hear, but they wouldn't notice a rock. She bent down to pick one up. The window was half open. She could hit the glass lightly and then when he came to the window, she could whisper for him to come out. He could even climb out the window.

He stood up from the desk and grabbed a basketball jersey, some pants, and underwear from a drawer, and shoved it all in the bag. Was he running away right now?

She pulled her arm back, preparing to throw the rock at his window. It was open halfway, so she'd have to make sure to hit the glass, not the screen, or it wouldn't make a noise. She launched the rock forward. It hit the side of the building and made a plunk.

He looked at his closed bedroom door.

Not there. Over here.

Then he moved. Fast. He grabbed the duffel bag and shoved it in his closet. His mother burst through the door.

“Why are you awake?” she asked.

He stepped back, hands up. “What?”

“Why are you awake?” she repeated.

“Why are
you
awake?” he asked.

“You have the SATs tomorrow, young man. You need to do well so you can get a scholarship. Your father isn't going to pay for college,” she said. “Especially now.”

“I know, okay?” he said.

“Are you trying to destroy your life? Vandalizing a school! Staying up all night before your SATs? What kind of a kid have I raised?”

“I told you, it was the other kids.”

“You need to get it together, Colin.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Go to bed. This is just dumb. You don't want to be a failure your whole life, do you?”

He stared down at his bare feet and looked like he was going to cry. Hannah wished she could clamp her hand over the mother's mouth, stop her from talking and making things worse. This was the last thing he needed.

His mother paused then, looking around the room. “Thank you for cleaning,” she said. Then she turned off the light and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Colin went to his bed, sat down, and dropped his head in his hands. He stayed still like that for a moment, and then lay down on his small bed, curling into a large ball on his side, not bothering to cover himself with his comforter. It was as if he was punishing himself.

Katya always told Hannah she wanted to help everyone else before she helped herself, but Katya didn't understand. After Hannah's parents had died, in those black weeks when her body did not feel like her own, when her arms had weights on them and her chest felt sick with poison, Babulya had brought her eucalyptus tea in the morning and tickled the nape of her neck like Mamulya always had, and at night, made her chicken soup when she got home from working all day at the market. It was only when Babulya thought she was asleep that Hannah heard her muffled sobs and knew it wasn't easy for her either. One day, she asked Babulya how she could go on when her own daughter had been killed. Babulya had told her she'd learned that the only way to overcome a great sadness was to help someone else who was sad too.

Hannah bent down to pick up another rock, stood up, aimed, and threw it. Crack.

“Oh!” It was Colin's voice, just a peep and then silence.

Hannah jumped away from the slat in the fence.
Oh my God.
She couldn't believe she'd just broken his window.

A back door opened. Hannah closed the slat, fast, and stood still, pressed against the fence. There were footsteps down the neighbor's back steps, around the house, to Colin's half-open window. Hannah could hear his mother breathing.

“Colin honey?” his mother said through his window.

“Yes?” His voice sounded scared.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“There's a crack in your window.”

“I think a bird just hit it.” He sounded like he was lying, even to Hannah.

“I thought I heard someone out here.”

“No, it was a bird. I heard a squeak.”

Had he heard her?

“I don't see the bird.” His mother paused another moment, probably looking around for the bird, and then walked along his concrete pathway to the back door. It opened and closed.

Hannah crept along the gravel walkway, trying not to make a sound. She hurried across the lawn, opened the back door, and snuck into the dark kitchen. She locked the door and pressed her hand against the smooth white wood, listening.

Behind her, the tinkling of ice in a glass made her jump.