Hello, everyone. I know it’s been a while, but life has been pretty insane. I am currently working on a novel, Rescue Me. This book deals with some sensitive topics and possible TRIGGER WARNINGS, and is being written in hopes to bring more awareness to child trafficking. If these issues will bother you, please do not read. There is nothing overly graphic, as that is not my style, but I still hope to portray a small glimpse into the nightmare so many children live each day. This is just a couple of pages, but if I receive positive feedback, I will continue to post more. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts.
Andrea Larson paused by the window to watch the sun begin bathe the world in a soft light. The golden rays shimmering off the droplets of dew reminded her of a perfectly polished diamond. She smiled as she lowered her head,
“Lord, thank you for another opportunity to be your light in the world today. Let me reflect You however is possible.” She turned, surprised that her three year old daughter, Stacy, had yet to awaken. As a widowed mother, Stacy was her pride and joy. She slipped into her daughter’s nursery silently. The noise machine on the dresser was still emitting the sounds of ocean waves. She leaned over her daughter’s crib–and froze. Stacy Larson was gone. For the first time, Andrea noticed the curtains fluttering covering an open window. Her heart sank as tears flooded her eyes. With an anguished cry only another mother could understand, Andrea sank to her knees and cried out to God for help.
“Rosita, come.” The eleven year old girl stood from her seat on the ground. She followed the man without question. She entered the back door of the place she had come to know as home for the past week. The floor was dirt, and the single light bulb flickered overhead. There was no furniture, except the front room. The front room, where the children all went occasionally, was only reserved for when guests came. The front room had a stone floor, a bright light, white walls, and three chairs. There were cushions lining the walls where the children got to sit, but the back room was a different story. The sheds around the outside of the property also housed children of all ages. To any normal person, this was an orphanage; but to the children inside, this was their last stop before they never reappeared. Rosita spun with the force of an open handed slap to her cheek. Her shoulders hunched.
“Did you not hear me, girl? I said to help the younger ones to their beds.” The man spoke in a heavy Colombian accent.
“Yes, sir.” Rosita moved to do as directed. She had only just arrived here last week. She had traveled overseas with a man who told her to call him “Pap.” All the adults called him “Ruedalito.” One of the other older children who spoke English told her it meant “little wheel”, or “little runner.” When she asked why that was his nickname, the teen responded,
“Because he runs kids everywhere. He is the runner.” Rosita just nodded. This wasn’t her first move, but it was her first move where English wasn’t the only language spoken. She hurried to help the smaller children under their rough blanket on the dirt floor. She had to walk some of them to the sheds further on the property. Finally, her task complete, Rosita laid down on the ground and closed her eyes. Somewhere out there in the big world, there had to be little boys and girls who didn’t live like this. Rosita just wished she knew some.
Andrea Larson smiled down at the lady in the hospital bed as she handed her a small bundle.
“She looks just like you, Mama, and she’s very healthy.” The lady wiped a tear that was trailing down her cheek and looked into the newborn baby’s face. Andrea turned to let the new mother have a moment with her little miracle. The labor and delivery had been an exhausting nineteen hours, and resulted in an emergency C-section. Andrea had begun working as a labor and delivery nurse for Alexandria Regional Medical Center in Alexandria, Kentucky seven years ago. She had moved to a small town, Ryland Heights, Kentucky–population one thousand–around the same time, and the drive time was short. She turned to the beaming father.
“Mr. Thomas, if you need anything please don’t hesitate to push the little red button on the remote and I’ll come running. I’ll be back shortly to check on y’all. Do you have a name?”
“Yes, ma’am. That little beauty is Elizabeth Rose. Thank you so much for everything, Andrea.”
“My pleasure. What a beautiful name. I’ll be back.” Andrea slipped from the room and took a breath to calm her emotions. Some babies just looked too much like her little Stacy. Her pride and joy that had been ripped from her when the child was three. No fingerprints, no security camera footage; just an open window, and an empty nursery eight years ago. She glanced down at her apple watch. The digital display read “10:22”.
“Goodnight, Sweetie,” She whispered into the darkness.