Trafficked (21 page)

Chapter Forty-two

“Y
ou keep surprising me,” Sergey slurred, leaning up against the counter. In the dark, it was difficult to read his expression, but he wasn't smiling. “I didn't think you'd go for a boar.”

“I don't,” she said, wondering if he was referring to Colin or Paavo. Or both.

He shrugged. “It's your business.” He took another sip of his vodka on ice—he only drank it that way when he was alone.

“Your friend—” she began, unsure of how to proceed, worried he would get angry if she told him the truth. “He tried to force me.”

“That's not what he said.”

“He lied,” Hannah spat.

“You didn't want it?” He stepped toward her, coming closer with his breath that reeked of vodka. He actually looked surprised.

“I was cleaning the floor and he walked into the house,” she said. “I only said I let him in because he threatened my family if I didn't.”

Sergey frowned. “You are a beautiful girl, Hannah. You should lock the door when you're home alone. This isn't the village.”

Hannah blinked at the sting of that statement. She wasn't a village girl! “Lillian had just gone out with the kids,” she said. “I don't know why she didn't lock it.” This was as far as she could go. If she told him what Paavo had said about Lillian sending him to talk to her, he'd ask either Paavo or Lillian and they'd say she was lying.

Sergey squinted at her, like he didn't know what to believe. How could he doubt that she was telling the truth? Paavo was a disgusting, mean man. No matter how much money or power he had, she couldn't imagine any woman going with him willingly. But it had looked bad when Sergey came into the house. “I said no, but he wasn't going to stop. Not if you hadn't come back.” She let out a shaky breath. “I don't want you to think, you know, that I'm that kind of girl. Because I'm not.” She pulled her hair away from her shoulders and dropped it behind her back.

Sergey reached for her shoulder and brushed back a few errant strands of hair. “I know.”

She flinched and he pulled his hand away. She couldn't take any more men touching her, even if it was Sergey, who wasn't anything like Paavo or Volva. “He said my uncle wouldn't cooperate and look what happened to him.” Her voice shook as she thought of Vladi, silly Vladi as she used to call him.

“What?” Sergey looked sincerely shocked. So he really didn't know.

“He said Vladi's in a work camp somewhere. He said it was his insurance. He told me to cooperate or something would happen to Vladi.”

“You don't have to cooperate with Paavo,” Sergey said, his jaw tightening. “You work for me.”

“Can you help my uncle?” she asked quietly, afraid to hear the answer.

Sergey sucked in a sudden, worried breath of air. “I don't know. I'll talk to Paavo. But believe me, Hannah, I never asked him to do that.”

She stared at him, trying to see if he was telling her the truth. He gazed into her eyes. She couldn't tell.

“I'm going on a business trip to Russia soon,” he said softly. “If he's in a work camp, I'll try to get him out.”

This small promise meant the whole world to her. “Thank you.”

He rested a heavy hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.

“Paavo told me that you chose me. Is this true?” she asked, searching his face.

He hesitated. “Yes.”

Her eyes teared up. “Why?”

“I wanted to help you.” He licked his top lip and looked away, as if he felt guilty about something.

He definitely hadn't helped her so far, but it was something else. “Maggie said you knew my parents?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. His eyes twinkled as he stared at her through the darkness, ran his hand down her shoulder, caressing her upper arm. Hannah stood very still. “You look just like your mother. You have her eyes, her feet, that beautiful hair.”

There was the loud
bang-bang
of someone running down the hallway. Sergey dropped his hand. Hannah stepped backward just as Lillian burst into the kitchen.

“What is happening here?” she demanded.

Sergey put his hands in the air. “Nothing.”

“Why are you two standing in the dark?” Lillian said.

“Lillian, give me a break,” Sergey said, brushing past her. “She's a child.”

Lillian glared at Hannah like she wanted to murder her. Hannah listened to Sergey's hard-soled slippers bang up the stairs. He went into the office and slammed the door, which woke up Michael, who started crying. Hannah expected Lillian to go after him, but she didn't.

“What are you trying to do to us?” Lillian demanded.

“I'm not doing anything,” Hannah said, her heart pounding.

“Do you think you can steal away my family?” Lillian's voice cracked, and she swallowed, her hazel eyes filling with tears.

Hannah felt sorry for her. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I would never. Honestly, nothing has happened.” Then, she added, sincerely, without thinking, “He loves you. He only needs a little affection.”

“Affection?” Lillian grabbed her hair and pulled her backward. Hannah couldn't stop her, unless she wanted her hair pulled out. When they got to the counter, Lillian grabbed the scissors out of the knife block. “
Affection?
Is that what you're giving him? You and your beautiful hair?”

“He wasn't talking about
my
hair,” Hannah cried, trying to pry Lillian's fingers off of her hair. “He was talking about my mother's!”

Silence. “Your mother's?”

Lillian lifted the scissors and her voice turned cold. “Stand still or you'll get hurt.”

Chapter Forty-three

W
hen Hannah woke up the next morning, she lifted her hand up to feel her head, hoping that the whole previous night was all a bad dream. But it wasn't. Her hair had been butchered. In some places, she could feel her scalp.

She glanced at the clock. It was ten after eight in the morning. After Lillian had chopped off her hair, Hannah had been so angry, she hadn't set her alarm, but now she regretted it. She put on the gray sweat suit and hurried into the hall, where she could hear the banging of spoons in bowls. Lillian was sitting with the children, eating cereal. The table was silent. Lillian's eyes were red. Sergey was not home.

She wondered how she could check on Colin, make sure he was still here, maybe even talk to him for a minute.

Maggie was staring in horror at Hannah.

“What happened to your hair?” she asked.

“She cut it,” Lillian said abruptly.

“But it was such beautiful hair,” Maggie said.

Hannah lifted her chin, determined not to let Lillian think she'd hurt her. “It's lighter this way,” she said, glancing at Lillian for her reaction. “A lot of models cut their hair short nowadays.”

Lillian's lips pressed together.

I got her,
Hannah thought.

“You slept in,” Lillian said.

“I was tired,” Hannah said.

“Clear the table,” Lillian said, glaring.

All day, Lillian watched Hannah. There wasn't a single moment she could have snuck outside. A few times, Lillian caught her looking out the living room window for Colin. One time she'd asked, “Who are you looking for?”

“Nobody,” Hannah had said.

By dinnertime, she was getting worried. She hadn't seen him go to school or come home, and she'd purposely kept the living room curtains open, even though it annoyed Lillian, so that she could see him. She'd even vacuumed the living room for twice as long as usual so she could watch for him coming home from school. But she didn't see him. Maybe he was already gone.

Hannah stuck the roast with carrots and onions in the oven for dinner and opened the back door. There hadn't been any sounds from next door all day. She breathed in through her nose, hoping to catch some smell of Colin's dinner, but all she smelled was the dampness in the air. It was going to rain again. When she saw movies set in Los Angeles, it was never raining, but it had rained here every day for the last week.

She had to look in his window, but at this time of day, she couldn't go outside. Lillian was studying three feet away in the living room.

Maybe she could see him from upstairs. If she peeled the potatoes first and put them on the stove, she'd be clear to check on Michael and Maggie, who were watching a movie upstairs. She hurried out of the kitchen.

The dining room door slid open and Lillian called after her, “Where are you going?”

Hannah closed her eyes in frustration.
Keep your voice light,
she thought.
Don't let her suspect anything.
“I have to organize Michael's dresser,” she called, as she continued down the hall. “He pulled all his clothing onto the floor this morning.”

The children were watching a Disney movie about robots in Michael's darkened room. Hannah sat on the bed next to Maggie and glanced at the red curtain. She could hear the pounding of rain outside.

“Can you play with my hair?” Maggie asked.

Your thick, uncut hair.

Hannah slid behind her, reminding herself that it wasn't Maggie's fault. She tickled it at the base of her neck, the way her own mother used to do to her. She waited for a scarier scene in the movie, and then, casually, she let go of Maggie's hair, got up on her knees, and peered past the red curtain at Colin's house.

He was home! He was in the upstairs study, which, as far as she could tell, was next to his mother's bedroom. Probably the brother had his bedroom upstairs too, on the other side. The kitchen, the living area, the television room, and Colin's bedroom were all on the main floor.

Colin was sitting at the desk in the study with his back to her, and he was typing on the computer. She studied the screen—Facebook. She had a Facebook account, but she'd accessed it only a couple of times when she was at Katya's.

She pressed her hand flat against the window, reaching for him through the pouring rain.
Look at me. I'm here. You are not alone.

Then, as if he'd heard her thoughts, he turned in his chair and looked through the window, right at her. They were both in upstairs rooms, probably six meters—twenty feet—from each other, but he seemed confused, as if he didn't know who she was. Then she remembered her hair. He didn't recognize her.

“What are you doing?” Maggie asked.

Was Lillian getting Maggie to spy on her now?

“Nothing.” She let go of the curtain, sat down on the bed, and ran her hand along her butchered hair. A tear snuck out of her eye and rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with her palm, fast, before Maggie could see. She hated Lillian. She hated her more than she'd ever hated anyone in her life. She hated her so much, she wished she'd die.

Chapter Forty-four

T
hat night, at five minutes after eleven, Hannah was in the kitchen cleaning when she heard Colin's screen door slam shut once and then twice, and the familiar sound of him walking around the house, his sandals slapping the wet ground.

He was leaving!

Sergey was out. Lillian had gone upstairs to bed five minutes before. She could do it, if she was quiet. She opened the back door and ran out of the house, into the pouring rain in nothing more than her slippers and gray sweat suit. Colin's side gate opened. Hannah sprinted along her side of the fence and burst through the gate.

Colin jumped back, a few feet away on his own driveway. He wasn't holding his duffel bag. Just the garbage can. He was wearing sandals, shorts, and his basketball jersey. In the rain. He wasn't going anywhere, at least not right at this moment.

“Oh my God. You scared me,” he said.

“I am sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice low, just in case Lillian was listening from her bedroom window, though she figured the rain would block some of the noise. “We do not meet properly. My name is Hannah.”

“Colin,” he said with a quick smile that didn't seem forced. How could he smile if he was planning on running away from the only family he had?

“It is nice to meeting you,” she said, realizing then that her hands were too empty. She hadn't grabbed the garbage can.

“Same.”

She didn't understand what that meant. Same what? There was an awkward pause.

“Your hair is different,” he said.

“It is short,” she said.

“It's nice,” he said, looking down at his feet, clearly embarrassed.

“No,” she said, not wanting lies between them. “It is not.” She wished she knew how to make a joke of it and say that it looked like someone had taken a lawn mower to her head, but she didn't know enough words.

He glanced at his house, as if he was thinking of making a run for it. Then he blurted out, really loudly, “How old are you?”

It was one of the questions she'd practiced, one she'd planned to ask him. “Seventeen,” she said. “How old are you?”

“Same.”

She didn't understand. “Excuse me?”

“I'm seventeen too,” he said, clearing his throat, like he was embarrassed.

“I am sorry. My English no is good.”

He grinned and she knew she'd made a mistake. “Don't worry about it. I can understand you,” he said, again practically screaming. Hannah couldn't stop herself from glancing up at the master bedroom window, but it was still dark and the blue curtain was closed. If Lillian saw her outside, she'd come out and kill her.

“Where are you from?” he asked, squinting at her through the rain.

Lillian had told her to say she was from Russia if anyone asked, but she couldn't, wouldn't, lie anymore. “Moldova.”

“Moldova?” He didn't know where it was, which wasn't surprising. It was the poorest country in Eastern Europe, small and insignificant.

“Near Romania,” she said.

“Ah-ah-ah. Transylvania.”

Transylvania was in Romania, but she didn't know why he made that noise. “Yes.”

“You know—vampires?”

“Vampires.” She felt thankful she'd learned the word. “No vampires in Moldova.”

Colin seemed uncomfortable, like he didn't know what else to say. A helicopter pounded in the sky above them and he looked up, as if to say,
Rescue me
.

“You are bringing garbage to street?” she asked, hoping to keep him with her for as long as possible. So far, Lillian hadn't come out, which meant she was probably still asleep.

He shrugged. “Yeah, might as well. It's Thursday, right? My mom will freak if I forget.”

He reached over his gate, unlocked it, went on his side of the fence, and rolled the garbage can down the driveway. Hannah walked with him, pulling her garbage cans, hoping Lillian didn't hear. “Freak?” she asked. “My English, I am sorry.”

“She'd get angry,” he said, giving her another look, more direct this time, like he was actually seeing her and maybe didn't feel so shy. They walked back up to their gates and opened them to get the recycling cans.

Hannah looked up, worried that the blue curtain would open and Lillian would be watching her. The longer she was outside, the more nervous she got. It was like a bomb that she could hear ticking in the back of her head.

“Do you go to school?” he asked as soon as they headed back down the driveway with their containers. His voice was so loud. “My mom said you're here a lot during the day.”

She waited until they got to the end of the driveway to answer him quietly. “I am finish eleventh graduation.”

He gave her an odd look. “Sorry?”

She realized she'd just said “graduation” instead of “grade.” “Eleventh grade.”

“Oh.”

“I will study one more year and then I go to college. But I take break now.” She couldn't explain that she'd had to drop out a year early because she had to work.

Was that the back door? Her heart beat a little faster. “I must go.”

He grinned. “Don't be a stranger.”

Was he trying to say she was strange? It couldn't be. “A stranger?”

“You know, like, come by sometime. Don't be a stranger. It's an expression. Like it means you shouldn't act like you don't know me.”

She got it. He thought she might act like she didn't know him. Maybe it was because she was rushing off so fast.

She glanced nervously at the walkway next to the house. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“You have to go,” he said.

She didn't want to go, even though she knew she should. It was her first time talking to him and she didn't know when she'd get another chance. “We must be quiet,” she whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered, glancing at her house. “They keep you on a tight leash?”

“Leash?”

“Like a dog, you know, it ties around the neck and you walk it.”

“I'm not dog,” she said, insulted.

He waved his hands. “No, no, I don't mean that. Just—they watch you.”

“Yes.” She couldn't say any more. If the neighbors became suspicious, they could report her, and Lillian had made it clear what would happen. She switched the subject to a safer one. “What are your hobbies?” This was a question she knew from English class. Her teacher said it was used for small talk, when people want to become friends.

His face turned red. Why would that embarrass him? “I don't know.” He shrugged. “I like video games.”

“Your room, you have many sports decorations.” Now it was Hannah's turn to be embarrassed. He would know she'd been spying on him—she hadn't meant for it to come out like this.

“My dad keeps hoping I'll turn into an athlete like my brother,” he explained, then stopped. “How do you know?”

“The fence,” she admitted, stepping backward through the gate to her side of the fence. She pushed on the broken slat in the fence and opened it farther. “It is broken.”

He walked down the path on his side of the fence and pressed on the slat in the fence. It opened even more. “Peekaboo,” he joked, though he wasn't laughing. He blinked at her through the slat. Then he looked back, into his window.

“I thought I heard—” He stopped. “Did you throw the rock?”

She couldn't lie, not even if he wanted her to pay for it. “I am sorry. It was accident. I wanted only to talk.”

He laughed, as if he was relieved. “I thought it was someone from school, you know, like trying to break my window.”

“Oh.” That was terrible. She didn't know what else to say. “I am sorry.”

“It's no big deal.” He paused. “Have you looked at me—” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “You know, other times?”

If she admitted she'd been spying on him, he might realize she'd seen him after he came out of the shower that time. He might think she was creepy and fix the fence. If she heard him hammering back here, it would break her heart.

“I see not much.” She felt so guilty. “I see you drawing.”

He nodded but looked down at his feet, refusing to look her in the eyes. He knew she'd seen more than that.

She hesitated. “I see the bag.”

He grimaced and stared off through the rain, as if he was thinking of something else. His blond hair was now soaked, flattened to his head, raindrops dotting his bare arms.

“Why are you leaving?” she asked.

He shrugged, looking down. “My life sucks,” he said, kicking at the edge of a puddle with his sandal. “Everyone at school hates me and my dad won't even talk to me. He's ashamed of me. It just—” His voice broke and he stopped talking.

“Everyone hates you?” She couldn't believe it.

“Yeah, and they have a good reason too. I mean, they dragged me along to paint up this other school. It wasn't my idea, but I always have to drive because they want to drink. Then they took off and the cops got me. I told the cops all their names like a pussy. It's my own stupid fault.”

“What is a pussy?”

He let out a bark of laughter and wiped the rain from his face. “Never mind.”

There was a pause and again he looked toward the house, like he wanted to leave her just as much as he wanted to leave his friends and his family.

“You should not go,” she said, her heart wrenching. She pressed her hand against the wet, rough wood of the fence.

He looked at her, blinking his sensitive blue eyes at her through the rain. “Why not?”

“I need—” She was going to say that she needed a friend, but it was so desperate and so unlike her former self. In Moldova, she would never have begged someone to be her friend. And what if he said no? She continued, “I need someone, like—” He was staring at her like she was crazy, but still she pressed on. “Someone for talking.”

He blinked at her, but he seemed to understand what she was saying at least. After a moment of silence, he said quietly, “Me too.”