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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Sleep Don't Come Easy
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Nelson
T
here was a time in his career when Nelson Monroe waited hands and feet on the rich and famous. He was the very successful manager of a very successful five star hotel called The Menagerie in downtown Denver, and he was miserable. Ten years ago, he turned his life around and found his true calling. These days, he was a lot poorer, but his life had purpose now, and he loved what he did for a living.
Nelson could've written a book on his life. He'd literally come from nothing to become a successful young businessman, and the sky would have been literally the limit had he kept on that same path. But there was always something in him that would never fully let him enjoy his success. There was the sad part of him, lonely and afraid, that served a dual purpose. On the one hand, it drove him to work hard to finish school, get into college, and graduate at the top of his class, and find his own piece of the American dream. But on the other hand, it was the thorn in his side, the fly in his soup, that one thing that held a part of him at bay, standing on the outside of the window looking in.
His mother raised him and his brother. Nelson's father died when Nelson was young and he barely remembered the man. But he remembered being happy before his father passed away. He remembered feeling safe. His mother did the best she could, but it was never good enough. For years they lived on the streets, homeless, wandering, the boys were in and out of school. They slept in strange places and beds, and found food whereever they could. Those were his formative years, and they were as much a part of who he was as an arm or leg.
One Thanksgiving, for reasons he still didn't understand, Nelson volunteered at The Broadway to help serve food to the homeless, and he felt like a man reborn. A man with purpose. It was the happiest day in his life, and he said a quiet prayer that night, thanking God for his true calling finally finding him. He became a regular volunteer, helping out any way he could, from preparing and serving food, to purchasing supplies with his own money to help keep the shelter thriving. It was such a gradual and natural shift in his life, that he seemed to wake up one day and find that the hotel had become a distant memory, replaced by a run-down and tattered old church that had magically become his.
“Nelson, now, you need to get away from my stove 'fore you burn something up.” Lois Anderson nudged him with her hip and took the spoon he was stirring in a pot from his hands.
“How many times do I have to tell you I know how to cook, woman?” he retorted playfully, relinquishing control to the older woman.
Lois immediately began to toss various seasonings into the simmering chili. “No. You know how to heat up, but you ain't no cook. That's my job.”
“I'm just trying to help, Miss Lois.” He softened his tone.
“Fine. You can help me by finishing up that budget you trying not to work on so I'll know what I got to work with the rest of the month. That's how you can help me.”
Lois was like everyone's mother. A sweet, plump, feisty woman with a heart of gold and that tough kind of love that made you just want to do better. She'd been there longer than he had.
The kitchen was her domain, and off limits to everyone except—
A lump swelled in his throat just thinking about her. Lois was a valiant woman, but she'd been close to Toni, and even though she masked the sadness in her voice, there was no way she could hide it in her eyes.
“You miss her,” he said, quietly. “Don't you?”
Lois continued seasoning and stirring, almost as if she hadn't heard him. “I do,” she answered shortly.
A part of him expected Lois to turn to him, and fall crying into his arms, but then he remembered that Lois would do no such thing. She'd grieve, like all of them, in her own quiet way. Nelson left her to her duties, went back into his office and closed the door behind him.
He stared out of the window to the brick wall of the building next door, just across the alley. He'd given up his hope of ever actually having a “view” a long time ago. Through the years, Nelson had memorized every line, every brick of that building wall, and learned to meditate on it.
Toni had been so much like him. She lived and worked in a world that could never live up to her passion. And she'd been drawn to The Broadway because it filled the same void in her that it filled in him.
“The Broadway can break your heart,” she told him late one night.
The two of them lay naked on the floor of her apartment. Nelson held her in his arms, and buried his nose in her hair.
“But I'm needed there,” she continued quietly. “I'm doing something good there.”
No one knew they were seeing each other. They were private people, and what mattered most to both of them were the people who came through The Broadway who needed their help.
“I love you,” he confessed that night.
Toni stared back at him, and softly pressed her palm to his cheek. She smiled. “Good,” was all she said.
Nelson blinked and a tear fell down his cheek. Life was a balance of the good and the bad. Angels were all around, but then, so were devils. The police had questioned him and his staff several times about the night she died.
Had she worked at the shelter that night?
Yes, but she left early.
Do you know where she went after she left the shelter?
Home. He assumed.
What time did you leave, Mr. Monroe?
His usual time around nine.
And where did you go after you left?
Stopped at the store for milk (he still had the receipt if they needed to see it) and then back to his apartment
,
where he spoke briefly with a neighbor in the elevator on the way up. And yes. He spent the rest of the evening at home alone.
Did she have any problems with anyone who worked here or any of its residents?
No. Everyone loved Toni.
A knot tightened in his stomach.
Everyone loved her. He loved her more than he ever thought possible.
In My Sister's House
T
oni's parents couldn't bring themselves to pack up her apartment yet. Tracy left crying every time she tried. Fatema let herself inside, carrying boxes and packing tape. The Northeast Denver condo was impeccable, but Fatema wasn't surprised. Toni always had been a neat freak, bordering on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Fatema had always been the opposite. Both of them used to drive the other crazy when they lived together, but somehow, they found a hallowed in-between space of acceptance that worked for them.
Toni had tastefully decorated in muted earth tones and textures; a sliver of her wild side came out in unexpected splashes of vibrant colors, fusing the peace of her abode, making everything look like it had fallen out of a magazine.
The police had been through her apartment with a fine tooth comb, and surprisingly enough, had been pretty respectful. Toni's laptop, which had been confiscated, sat on the coffee table. All of her personal files were stacked in a chair across from the sofa, instead of being placed back in the cabinet where they belonged.
Fatema turned on the CD player, knowing that she'd dig whatever song it played because Toni had great taste in music. Angie Stone serenaded her, as she slowly began packing, forcing herself not to get bogged down by sadness. She should've kept in touch. She should've called more. She should've returned Toni's calls. She should've kept better track of her friend.
While putting the file folders in boxes, Fatema accidentally dropped one, and all its contents spilled out onto the floor. Newspaper clippings going back several months of missing children littered the floor. She sat down on the floor and studied each of them before dropping them into the box next to her.
Fifteen-Year-Old Girl Missing
Eleven-Year-Old Girl Kidnapped
Sixteen-Year-Old Girl Found Dead After Missing Three Years
Toni had been obsessed with this stuff. In some cases she'd even gone so far as to research some of these stories on the Internet, printing hundreds of pages of information and keeping detailed files on these girls. Gradually, Toni's research changed from stories of missing girls to the subject of human trafficking. Her files contained story after story of people from all over the world being coerced, tricked, or even abducted, and forced to work for next to nothing, enslaved and tortured, forced to live secretly under the most inhumane conditions.
In one of the files, she found the picture of the Russian college girl who'd disappeared from an airport in New York City on her way to an Ivy League college. The woman's picture plastered the front page of the article. Her name was Alina Petrov, and she was nineteen years old Her parents said in an interview that the last time they'd seen their daughter was when they said goodbye to her at the airport in London with several of her friends who had all been accepted at Brown. Upon further investigation, after their daughter was reported missing, Brown had no record of any of the students.
She knew the police had already gone through Toni's laptop, but Fatema turned it on anyway, hoping she could get a better idea of what Toni had been on to.
Of course it was password protected. And of course, Fatema knew what the password was. B-I-L-B-O. Toni had been a huge fan of J.R.R. Tolkien's book
The Hobbit
and named her first cat after the main character. Toni used that password for everything, even after that damn cat got run over by the garbage truck eight years ago.
She had no idea what she was looking for, but she started with Toni's e-mail account. She typed in BILBO again and instantly had access to Toni's inbox. There were hundreds of e-mails, mostly spam, a few invites, and notes from friends. And some very interesting strings from two men, Luke1963, and Mainman2. Reading through these e-mails was like reading the woman's diary.
Luke1963:
We need to talk. Please. Just talk to me. Meet me somewhere. TBabe:
You're disgusting and you need help. I should've left a long time ago. I can't believe I actually believed I loved you.
Luke1963:
It's not what you think. You mean everything to me, and without you, I'm afraid of what I'm capable of. Please don't shut me out. TBabe:
You're a greedy man, L. You want it all, no matter who you hurt in the process, no matter what it takes to get it. You are not my responsibility.
Luke1963:
You said you loved me. Love works through problems. It doesn't run away from them.
TBabe:
Love doesn't do the shit you do. If you don't leave me alone, I swear, I'll put it out there.
The string from Mainman2 weeks later, was vastly different.
Mainman2:
Guess what's on my mind? Go ahead. I'll give you three guesses. TBabe:
Me.
Two more.
Me, me, and us.
Mainman2:
That's four things. But yeah. When can I see you again?
TBabe:
My place. Tonight. At 6.
Mainman2:
Do I need to bring anything?
TBabe:
Yes—your smile and that sexy way you talk to me that makes my toes curl.
Mainman2:
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were just using me for my body.
TBabe:
Got a problem with that?
Mainman2:
Do you love me?
TBabe:
More every day.
Mainman2:
No. No problem. But even if you didn't love me, I still wouldn't have a problem with it.
So who the hell were Luke 1963 and Mainman2? Fatema checked Toni's contacts list, and found that Luke1963's profile was left blank, while Mainman2 had information filled in. She wrote down his name, Nelson Monroe, and his phone number.
Only You
M
ore than a week had passed since Ivy saw the headlines of the woman who'd been murdered. The Asian people living with her in the basement had been taken away, but Alina was still there, and growing less talkative and more despondent by the day. The woman taking care of them never looked at them, and seldom said a word when she came down. Alina had stopped eating and this time the woman stared angrily at her when she saw the girl's food virtually untouched on her plate.
“I'm not going to keep bringing food down if you're not going to eat it,” she said, gritting her teeth. Alina sat like a stone, as if the woman hadn't spoken to her at all. “Fine,” the woman, turned to leave. “You can starve for all I care.”
Dark circles had formed under Alina's eyes. She slowly raised them to Ivy. “The food is disgusting,” she whispered.
“But it's food,” Ivy said. “And she won't bring you any more.”
“I'd rather die than stay here,” she said defiantly. “Unlike you. You're like a pet, Ivy. You do what they tell you to, without protest or fight, and they keep you like a cat or a dog.” Her venomous words hurt, and Ivy averted her gaze. “I'm no one's pet.”
“They'll kill you if you misbehave, Alina,” Ivy said quietly. “And besides, this place isn't so bad.”
“We're living in a dungeon, held captive against our will. So what if they kill us? As long as we stay here, we are already dead.” Alina turned her back to Ivy, and cried herself to sleep in her cot the way she did every night. Ivy stayed up until dawn, thinking about what Alina had said.
The next morning, the man bought down breakfast, but only for Ivy. Alina pretended to be asleep. He wasn't a mean man. He'd never raised his voice, or even touched Ivy the way other men had touched her. But Ivy wouldn't let her guard down too much. He'd killed that woman in the paper, even though he hadn't admitted it. And if he was capable of killing, then he was capable of anything. He glanced at Ivy when he set her plate down in front of her, and almost smiled. Ivy couldn't help herself and almost smiled back.
At first, she wasn't going to say anything, but what Alina had said the night before gnawed at her inside. Ivy wasn't a pet and she did know how to speak up when she had to. “You should let us go,” she told him as he turned to leave. Alina slowly turned over, suddenly aroused from her deep sleep. “We haven't done anything wrong,” she said quietly, “and Alina”—Ivy looked at her—“her family will be worried about her. If you let us go, I promise we won't tell.”
“My father is a powerful man,” Alina blurted out. “He can give you money, mister. Lots of money. Please. Please let us go.”
The man took a deep breath and knelt down among them. “If I could,” he spoke tenderly, “I would. But that's not in my power to do.”
“We won't tell,” Ivy's voice cracked. “You've been good to us. Hasn't he, Alina?”
Alina glared at her, then stared back warmly at him. “Yes. Of course you have.”
The man traced invisible circles on the floor with his fingertip, entranced deep in thought. The girls looked back and forth at each other and then at him.
“I've made terrible mistakes,” he said. “Too many of them that I wish I could take back and erase. I've done things I never dreamed I'd do and that I know I'll never forgive myself for.”
“Mister, please!” Alina said desperately. “Please just let us go! Whatever you've done I'm sure can be forgiven if you help us. Please—this is monstrous! It's inhuman! And you're a beast if you keep us here!”
“Alina!” Ivy shouted.
Before either of them knew what happened, the man swung hard and hit Alina across the mouth.
He bolted to his feet, spun around and kicked an empty wooden chair across the room. Alina lay across the bed, wailing and writhing in pain and bleeding from her mouth.
Ivy sat frozen, holding her plastic spoon in her hand, unable to move. He turned back to her, and took her tray from her, then glared down at her. “You're alive because of me,” he growled. “If you leave this place—they will tear you to shreds! Do you understand that? You think that I'm a monster? Yeah, well, the real monsters are out there.”
“We're sorry,” Ivy whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“I don't have to come here, Ivy! I've got plenty of people who can come down here and bring this shit to you,” he said, indicating her meal. “I don't need to be here looking at you or the ice fucking princess over there! But I come so that I can see how you are for my own peace of mind. And when the day comes that I stop showing up here, that's the day you'll know that I don't give a damn anymore. On that day, you'll see what hell is really like.”
 
Several minutes passed after he left that Alina finally stopped crying. Her lip was swollen and she had a deep cut on the inside. She refused to look at Ivy, and Ivy stopped asking her if she were all right.

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