A/N: Thank you to everyone who has left comments for me, both registered users and guests. I appreciate your support and comments/concerns. We're getting much closer to the end of this story. However, be forewarned that this chapter contains extreme language and violence, but I felt that I needed to make it as realistic as I could while still keeping it at the 'Teen' rating.

Chapter 14

The next morning, Johnny peeled open his eyes along with the other members of the crew when the wake-up tones sounded. He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, slipping into his boots and bunker pants with practiced perfection. He stepped between the beds, following the line of similarly clad men, most heading to the kitchen while a couple made their way to the latrine.

Johnny rubbed his eyes, grimacing in front of the mirror. "Argh, damn it," he grumbled, leaning against a sink, stretching his left eye open wider than was normal. A gold flake of glitter was stuck in his lower eyelid irritating his eyeball. "One of these days…," he muttered, using the pad of his index finger to remove the offending flake.

Marco flushed the toilet, stepping out of the stall to wash his hands. He had heard Johnny's grumbling, and saw him leaning close to the mirror. "One of these days, what?"

Johnny looked at the mustached man in the mirror, blinking his eyes rapidly to force the tears to remoisten the place where he had touched his eyeball. "One of these days, I'm gonna really hurt Chester B."

"Take a number and get in line," Marco stated flatly, turning on the water to wash his hands. "He annoys a lot of people, you know?"

Johnny had to snicker at the seriousness on Marco's face. "Yea, I know."

"I can't believe he did such a stupid thing," Marco mused.

"Yea, well, we are talkin' about Chet," Johnny grimaced. "At least he didn't have it set up to slam me right in the face like his water bombs do."

"Huh?"

Johnny retrieved his toothbrush and toothpaste from his locker. "He had it aimin' up so the flakes would fall like snow or somethin'." When he turned around, he saw the flat affect on the lineman's face as he repeatedly soaped and rinsed his hands. He grinned nervously. "Exactly what'd you do in there?" He asked, nodding toward the stall. When he got no response, he tried again. "Hey, you okay?"

Dark eyes met each other briefly in the mirror. Marco quickly turned off the water, drying his hands with his back turned to the curious paramedic. "Yes, I'm fine, John. Just got a lot on my mind," he said, heading out the door.

Johnny squeezed toothpaste on his toothbrush then wet it beneath the running water. "Seems to be an epidemic around here lately."

E!

By the time Johnny lumbered into the kitchen heading for the coffee pot, Marco was already sitting at the table nursing a steaming cup of java. Mike returned from raising the flag, the morning paper tucked neatly beneath his arm as he walked over to the table.

"Wanna cup o' coffee, Mike?"

"Yea, that'd be great, Johnny," the engineer answered, unfolding the newspaper.

"Here's another one, Kelly," Hank said, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of the television set.

"Aarrrgh!" The aggravated Irishman fussed, bending over with a wet paper towel to swipe up the gold flake of glitter.

Johnny snickered as he passed Mike his cup of coffee. "This is the best prank the Phantom has ever pulled."

"It's backfired the most," Roy spoke up, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Anybody else want scrambled eggs?"

"I do, DeSoto," Chet called out, kneeling down to retrieve another sparkling speck near the chalkboard.

"You want 'em with a little glitter on the side?" Johnny grinned.

"Oh, Ha-Ha, Gage!"

"Chet…"

"Yes, sir?" He responded, seeing his superior standing beside the couch, pointing down at a lounging Henry.

"Oh no, on Henry, too?"

"Yep," Hank responded. "He's practically shimmering when he wags his tail."

Again, Johnny snickered, easing his coffee cup away from his face, thankful Captain Stanley hadn't voiced his observation while Johnny had a mouthful of coffee to spew. "Lookin' like he should be hangin' like a star among the heavens," he goaded, mimicking Chet's own comment to him the previous day. "You know how dogs like to groom themselves. He prob'bly swallowed some. You may wanna lift his tail, and wipe his…"

"Shut up, Gage!" Hank, Mike, and Roy spoke up in unison.

The entire group broke out into uncontrolled laughter, with the exception of one man. Marco smiled, but it never made it to his dark eyes. His mind was busy preparing for the upcoming meeting with Lieutenant Ronald Crockett.

E!

Alexia stepped out of the shower, her sore body aching from misuse. She toweled herself off, pulled on a t-shirt and shorts then headed for her bed. She was beyond exhausted. She began towel-drying her hair as she entered the bedroom she shared with Brianna, stopping at the sound of soft sobs coming from Brianna's bed.

"Bri? Bri, what's wrong?"

The crying woman rolled over to face her roommate, saddened by the gasp she heard when Alexia saw her.

Alexia's hand went to her mouth as she looked upon a face she barely recognized. The battered woman tried to look at Alexia, but her right eye was swollen completely shut; the purple-red skin swollen tightly around the protruding orb. Her lip was puffy, bruised, and crusted with bits of dried blood. "Ohmygod, Bri… W-who did this to you?"

"I-I dunno," she whimpered. "I ne'er s-seen him 'fore. He jus'… He said he liked i' rough, wan'ed me 'o resis'," she spoke softly, her speech hampered by the swollen lip. "I-I tried to do wha' he wan'ed, bu' he… He kep'… Hi'ing me, pullin' my hair, an'… He hur' me so bad," she whimpered, laying her head on Alexia's knees as she sobbed.

"Damn him! I'll go to the payphone and call for an ambulance."

"Noooo," Brianna cried. "No, I-I can' go 'o da hos-hospi'al," she sniffled, her breath hitching. "I can' s'and…da way dey look a' me, I… I'll be 'kay."

"Let me at least get you some ice," Alexia said, running a soothing hand across Brianna's forehead to remove her sweat-matted bangs from her swollen eyes. "You've got a fever, too. I'll get you some aspirin." She slowly stood up, walking to their tiny kitchenette. She removed an old bag of peas, one of the few items in the freezer, and brought it back to the battered woman. "Here, we've gotten a lot of use out of this bag," she said, pressing it across the most swollen area of Brianna's face. "I'll be right back with some water and aspirin."

Brianna flinched as the cold bag was conformed to her injured face from her jawline to her temple. Alexia was right, both of them had used this same bag when they had come home after particularly rough nights. She heard Alexia running water into a glass and tapping out a couple of aspirin. The coldness was painful, but was nothing compared to the throbbing in her head. She felt the edge of the bed sink in as Alexia sat down beside her.

"Okay, can you sit up for me?"

Brianna did as requested, pushing herself up on weak, trembling arms. She opened her mouth for a sip of water then added the bitter white pills, washing them down with the remainder of the cooling liquid. She passed the glass back to Alexia, then snuggled back down under the covers. "Dank you, Lex."

"Hey, no problem. I'm so sorry this happened. It's been a while," she said, remembering the last time Brianna had been beaten by a john.

"Yea… Worse dis 'ime," she sniffled. "I-I'm done, Lex. I can' do dis no more."

Alexia assumed her roommate was thinking of killing herself again. "I know why you feel that way, but please don't do it. Please don't hurt yourself."

"I' not gonna kill m'self. Bu', I… I gotta ge' away. I seen a pos'er on a ligh' pole las' nigh'. For a p'ace called Da Wellhouse*. Hada phone num'er on it. Said 'o call for he'p 'o ge' ou'."

"To get out of what?"

Brianna reached up, removing the frozen peas from her face. "Dis," she said, pointing to her battered face. "Hookin', Lex. Pros'itution."

Alexia listened to the glimmer of hope Brianna seemed to be feeling. "Aren't you afraid? What if it's a set up? What if you end up in something worse?" She asked, returning the bag of peas to her friend's face.

"Wha' can be worse dan dis?" She asked, pointing at her abused face. "I' gotta t'y."

"I want out, too. But… I can't. I can't let him get to my family. I'd rather…," Alexia stopped, turning the bag of peas over so the colder side was against Brianna's face. She never finished her sentence, because she knew there was only one way out of her situation… Her own demise.

"If it wor's, I' come 'ack for you," Brianna spoke softly. "I won' forge' you, Lex. I s'ear, I' come 'ack."

"No… Don't you ever come back… Not for me, not for anybody." She brushed Brianna's dark hair once more. "I hope it works, Bri. I really do. Now, try to get some sleep."

It only took a couple of minutes for Brianna's breathing to grow deep and steady, and Alexia knew she had somehow managed to fall asleep. She felt the backs of her own eyes beginning to sting as she stood up heading for her bed on the other side of the room. She had to get some rest, but she couldn't stop thinking about the poster Brianna had mentioned. Was there really someone out there trying to help women like them? Did someone actually care? The name Brianna had mentioned was The Wellhouse*. Alexia's Catholic upbringing began to surface and she immediately thought about the Biblical woman at the well who was accused of sexual sins, and yet, Jesus had intervened on her behalf. Alexia wept silently into her pillow wondering if perhaps this was a sign from God. Did He still remember her? Did it mean that there was hope and forgiveness for someone like her, too?

E!

Lieutenant Ron Crockett sat behind his desk, listening to the story Marco was relaying to him. Unfortunately, it was sounding all too familiar. He steepled his hands in front of his mouth as Marco continued in a raspy voice. When the fireman finished, Lieutenant Crockett leaned forward, elbows on his desk.

"Listen, Marco. I know this is difficult for you and your family. I appreciate you coming in here. This is the first time I've heard of buying identifications, but it makes perfect sense. I've heard of illegals going through cemeteries and assuming the identities of deceased people, but this…," he sighed, leaning back in his seat. "This is definitely a matter for the Feds."

"Maldito," Marco cursed. "You mean, the FBI has to get involved?"

"That's right. It's a crime occurring across state-lines," he explained. "I'll make the call. I'll also put out a BOLO for your sister."

"BOLO?"

"It means, be on the lookout. What was her alias again?"

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh yes," he mumbled; he knew what BOLO meant, but was struggling to make sense of everything the detective was saying. "Um, Alexandra LeRoux." He watched as the detective took down the notes.

Ron looked back up at the man sitting across from him. "I won't lie to you, Marco. It won't be easy to get her out of this, but I promise you that I'll do everything within my power to bring this Ricardo fellow to justice, and more importantly, to bring your sister home."

"Um, what about… Lexi said that he has made threats against the rest of us, her family, if she leaves. Do… Do you think he'll make good on these threats?"

Lieutenant Crockett sighed softly. "That's really hard to say. These guys use threats to keep their girls loyal to them. The threats to the girls are real, as for the families, it's doubtful."

"But you can't rule it out?"

Ron shook his head slowly. "Unfortunately no. There's always that possibility. But, harming your family isn't likely to be a high priority for him. These types have lots of women working for them. They use a variety of means to secure their loyalty, from drug dependence to physical violence, to threats of harm to family members, and especially deportation for those who are here illegally." He looked at Marco with a renewed seriousness on his face. "Harming your family would be a very risky move for this Ricardo fella. In my opinion, the risks wouldn't outweigh the benefits. These threats to her family will take a huge psychological toll on her, keep her doing his bidding without him actually having to inflict any harm on your family."

"So then, what should I do? My Mama and nephew live there. I've been staying there for a few weeks now, but they're alone when I'm away."

"Just be vigilant about locking doors and windows. Make sure your mother doesn't go out after dark. Be aware of unusual vehicles or activities along the street. Marco, I don't want to downplay this at all, but the risk is really to Alexia if she leaves. Not so much to your family. I will step up patrols in your neighborhood. Usually, all it takes is more squad cars making an appearance to discourage any threatening activities like what you've described."

Marco stood up, extending his hand across the desk. Lieutenant Crockett did the same, gripping the hand of the man he had known and respected for a couple of years.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"You're welcome. Take care, man," he offered, ushering Marco to the door. "Let me know if you find out anything else. I'll do the same."

Marco nodded in gratitude as he left the office. The ordeal had not been as difficult as he had imagined. Now, he had to get in touch with Mike and make their plans for the coming night.

E!

Mike finished washing up the coffee cup he had left in the sink the previous morning. He liked to keep a tidy residence. The activity also helped him think about his strategy for correcting his mistake with Lexi on his last outing with her. He still didn't know what he had said or done to frighten her. He dried the cup, returning it to its rightful place in his cabinet. He turned off the light and decided to lay down for a little while. Even though the night had been quiet at the station, he knew he would be out late tonight. With any luck, this would be the night he and Marco would bring her home.

He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when a knock woke him up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he walked towards his front door. He opened it up, squinting into the sunlight. "Marco?"

"I'm sorry… I woke you up, didn't I?"

"It's okay," he said, stepping aside. "Come on in."

"Thanks. I, uh, I talked to Crockett," the lineman said, taking a seat on Mike's sofa. "He said he's got to get the FBI involved."

"Damn," Mike cursed, uncharacteristically.

"That's what I said."

"I never thought about that," Mike mused.

"Me neither," said the lineman, "But it's a multi-state crime."

Mike sat still for a moment, considering the implications for Alexia. He didn't like to think about the FBI getting involved, but there was no going back now. "Did he say anything else?"

Marco scrubbed his face with his open palm. He couldn't hide his worry, but he also felt like they were making progress. "Yes… He put out a BOLO for her. I gave him her alias. He's going to increase the presence of patrol cars in Mama's neighborhood, but he doesn't think Ricardo will really do anything to us. He thinks it's just… Psychological torture."

Mike nodded his head. "Okay, that's good. I mean, not the psychological torture part, but about the increase in patrols and stuff." He watched as Marco slowly nodded in agreement, staring down at the gold shag carpeting. "We're close, Marco."

"I hope so, Mike," the older man sighed. "I sure hope so. I don't know how much more my family and I can handle."

E!

Nightfall found Alexia preparing for another work shift. She dressed in her usual attire, peeking out the window to see if Mike's truck was outside. She had decided to ask him if he knew anything about The Wellhouse. She had thought about the things he had said and his reaction to her sexual advance, and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't out to hurt her. Maybe he wasn't a new recruiter or a vice cop. Maybe, he really was one of the good guys. She stared at the empty parking spots on the street and her heart sank. She didn't have long before she had to go out, and he still wasn't there.

Mike and Marco rode in silence through the dilapidated neighborhood. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Marco nodded, steeling himself for the task ahead. "I don't know, but it's got to be done. Even though I've been out looking for her many times, I'm just not sure I'm ready to see her, uh, working, you know?"

"Yea," Mike sighed, slowing down as he approached an intersection. "Oh no! Not again!"

"What?" Marco said, looking up and seeing what had caused Mike's sudden reaction. "There's a phone booth. Call it in, Mike. I'll go see what I can do."

Ahead, an abandoned building was smoldering, tendrils of black smoke snaking out of the broken windows and various other cracks in the exterior façade of the old structure. The two firemen jumped into action, Mike fishing into his pants pocket for a dime while Marco surveyed the building. It was dangerously close to an old house. Marco couldn't tell if anyone lived there or not, but his training kicked into gear. He loped up the steps, pounding on the front door.

"Hello? Fire Department! Anyone here?"

After assuring himself that no one was in immediate danger, he returned to the building. He had nothing with which to fight the fire. Feeling helpless, he stood at a safe distance and waited for Mike to rejoin him.

"They're on the way," Mike stated with a huff.

"Nobody around that I could find," Marco responded. "I hate feeling so useless."

"Yea, I know what you mean." Mike turned his head in the direction of the approaching sirens. He watched as the engineer eased to a slow crawl near a hydrant. A lineman jumped into action as other trucks arrived. Mike watched the familiar scene, looking for a white striped helmet.

"I'll be right back. Then we'll go find Lexi," he said to his own lineman before walking over to the Captain.

Marco nodded, watching as the tall, thin engineer stepped over to the place where the captain was standing giving orders. "Hi, I'm the one who called it in. My buddy and I saw it as we were driving by. We've already checked that house over there," Mike said, pointing to the nearest building. "No one's there; not sure if it's a current residence or not."

The unknown captain nodded his appreciation. "Thank you. I appreciate the call." He turned back to watch his men in action, something niggling in the back of his mind.

Mike returned to Marco, seeing the anxiousness in the older man's eyes. "I think we can go now."

Marco hummed a response and turned to get into Mike's pick-up. The busy fire captain turned to ask a few questions of Mike, but saw the man getting into his truck and driving off. He quickly jotted down the tag number, just in case he needed to contact the man later on.

E!

Alexia slipped the purse across her sore bosom, then locked the door as she left the dingy apartment. Brianna was still resting and she didn't want to disturb the injured woman's sleep. She stepped out of the building, looking in both directions for the pick-up truck. When she didn't see it, she heaved a desperate sigh before turning and walking down the street. She was working the south part of her area tonight. As she stepped slowly down the street, she heard the usual rash of catcalls, saw the glares from some of the older women. She heard sirens in the distance, horns honking, and people shouting. All the usual sounds of her neighborhood. She meandered past the bus stop, refusing to look at the faces staring at her from the small windows of the city bus. She knew what they were thinking, what everyone thought of her. Long ago she had given up trying to convince herself that she wasn't like the other girls walking the streets. She had finally accepted that she was exactly like them. Street trash, subhuman, a nobody… The descriptions kept coursing through her mind as she felt someone grab her elbow. She turned around, seeing a wicked grin on an older man's face. He had just stepped off the city bus, his attire telling her that he had money, and his eyes letting her know how he wanted to spend it.

Mike and Marco quickly drove down the street heading for the apartment building Mike knew well. He weaved in and out of traffic, switching lanes to pass by a city bus that was parked at a bus stop. Neither man had any idea that the person they were searching for was hidden from their view, negotiating a deal on the other side of that bus.

After Alexia had satisfied her first customer of the night, she began walking down the street heading for a different area, one she hadn't worked in a long time. Up ahead, she noticed red flashing lights, and men in turnout coats rolling up hose. She made a sudden left turn, walking around behind the large rumbling engine, out of the line of sight of the busy firemen. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if perhaps one of the men might be her oldest brother. She wanted to see him again, even if he didn't know she was watching. She needed to know that he was okay. She glanced at the numbers on the doors of the trucks, not seeing the one marked with the number '51.' She peered around the front of the engine she was hiding behind in order to get a closer look at the squad. Again, she didn't see the number that she knew represented the station where Marco worked. But, what she did see made her entire world tilt. Along the front of the engine, in large silver-toned letters, were the words 'Ward LaFrance.' Michael's words to her assaulted her memory. He insisted on her drinking plenty of fluids when they were together. He knew exactly what to do at the gas station fire the night they first met. And then the most damning evidence was staring her in the face. He had once driven a Crown, but now he drove a red Ward LaFrance, only on short runs. She felt her legs growing weak and had a sense of foreboding, as if the emergency vehicles were going to run her over. She staggered away from the scene, leaning against the cement wall to her left for stability. "Ohmygod," she gasped, gagging with the realization of who Michael really was. "Oh Michael… You're a fireman, too!"

Hours passed as Mike and Marco waited impatiently along the street outside of her apartment building. At times they talked about how they would convince her to return to her childhood home, and at other times, they plotted her kidnapping, should the latter become necessary. They waited until the early morning hours before giving up and heading home, both men extremely disappointed. This would not be the rescue they had hoped it would be.

"I'm sorry, Marco. I don't always see her," Mike said, returning Marco to the Lopez residence.

"It's okay. You've already done so much for us. I… I can't ever thank you enough." Marco reached for the door handle trying to hide his disappointment.

"We'll try again. Soon," Mike offered.

Marco gave him a somber smile and an affirmative nod. "See you on shift, Amigo."

E!

Lieutenant Crockett kept his word. Over the next couple of weeks, Marco noticed an increase in the number of patrol cars that drove by his mother's residence. He contacted the detective a couple of times for updates, and was told that FBI agents were investigating the allegations of identity fraud both in Los Angeles and in Baton Rouge. Marco and Mike made two additional trips to the building where Alexia lived, but didn't see her either time. Mike was growing worried that he had made a monumental mistake with her and she might never speak to him again. Marco continued to put up a good front for his family and his friends, but inside he felt as if he were dying. Mike making contact with her had renewed his faith in God, but now, he wasn't so sure. Once again, he felt as if his prayers were bouncing off the ceiling and returning to him unheard by God.

Across town, Alexia opened the door to her darkened apartment, expecting her roommate to be there. When she walked inside, she found that she was alone. All of Brianna's meager possessions were gone. Assuming that Brianna had made contact with someone at The Wellhouse, she gave a weary half smile to the empty twin bed where her roommate had slept. The day dragged on unmercifully as she tried to get a little rest. Several times, she rolled over in her bed, only to be reminded of her solitary world by the empty mattress across the tiny room. "Oh, Bri. I hope you found the safe place you were looking for," she mumbled.

By mid-afternoon, she was awaken by a man and woman screaming at each other across the hallway. The sound of shattering glass brought back too many painful memories for her, and she cowered beneath her blanket, covering her ears with her hands. Silent tears escaped her burning eyes until the angry shouts subsided with what sounded like a face slap. Once again, she fell into a fitful slumber, finding no more peacefulness in her dream world than the one in which she lived during her waking hours.

Finally, when the shadows became elongated along the floor, she forced herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She showered, brushed her teeth, and began her preparations for another work night. Her make-up was applied too thickly, her clothes leaving too much of her thin body exposed, and her hair swept up into a ponytail. She donned the large hoop earrings she had worn on so many nights, then turned off the light in the bathroom. She made her way to the small sink, pulling out a plastic tumbler from the nearly barren cupboards and filled it with water. She sat down to a bowl of chicken noodle soup and water, remembering how Mike had told her repeatedly to drink plenty of water so that she would stay hydrated. Now that she knew his profession, she understood why he would be concerned with her fluid intake. Firefighters were well aware of the dangers of dehydration.

Suddenly, her apartment door swung open and slammed against the wall. She jumped up from her small table, her chair crashing against the floor. There, standing in the doorway was the image she most feared.

"R-Ricardo, w-what's wrong?" She asked in a trembling voice, seeing the key to her apartment being twirled around his index finger.

He sauntered inside, slamming the door closed behind him. "What the fuck have you done, you little bitch-whore?" He snarled out his question, his nostrils flaring in anger with each inhalation.

She stepped slowly away from him, her back pressing against the wall. "N-nothing… Here," she reached into the drawer in the kitchen where she and Brianna had always kept the money they owed him. She pulled out the money she had placed in the jar when she returned home early that morning. "See… I've got your money here, right here," she stammered, shoving the money at him.

Ricardo snatched the bills from her hands, stuffing them inside his pocket as he pulled out an instrument she knew too well.

"No… Ohmygod, please, Ricardo. Please don't do it!" She begged, having been the recipient of angry blows from his pimp stick once before. She knew the pain inflicted by the wire coat hanger attached to a piece of broom handle. The additional length of the eighteen inches of broom handle gave more power to each swing, resulting in the wire digging deeply into the skin of the recipient. "Please?" She whimpered, cowering into a corner of the room.

"Shut up your sniveling!"

"S-sorry… Did you h-hurt her, too?"

"Who?"

"B-Bri…"

Ricardo's lips curled, grimacing at her. "Humph, Brianna Olivier is dead," he spat out.

Alexia whimpered, thinking of her friend, unable to look at the man standing over her. Obviously, he had gotten to Brianna before he found Alexia.

Ricardo kept glaring at her, unable to decide what to do to punish her. "Someone called the fucking FBI. Someone told them I was buying ID's from Virgie in Baton Rouge," he continued using his menacing voice as he slowly made his way over to the stove. He reached for the knob, turning on the gas appliance until a blue flame flickered on one of the eyes. "Now," he continued, placing the metal part of his home-made weapon into the hot fire ring. "Who could've done that, hmm?"

"I-I don't know. Not me, I swear. Oh god, Ric, please don't do this. Not again, please?" Her pitiful high pitched cries continued as she ducked into the corner, covering as much of her body as she could with her hands as she slid down the wooden wall. She knew what was coming, had felt the unbearable pain before, and had scars on her back and upper thighs as evidence. There was no escape. He had backed her into a corner, and she could hear his footsteps coming closer. Defending herself was useless, only serving to fuel his rage. All she could do was endure his wrath, until he tired of the sadistic game, or… Or he killed her.

He waited for the metal part of his weapon to begin to glow in the flame. "Virgie was called into a meeting with a special agent. Asked her a bunch of questions, particularly about you, Peggy, and Brianna." He reached back for the molten metal on the wooden stick. "Now, at least two of them are dead. Will you be next?" Gripping the pimp stick in his tightening fist, he raised it above his head. "You called them!" He yelled, slicing the air as well as her flesh as his first swing hit his target.

She awoke with the sound of her apartment door slamming closed again, the sound of Ricardo's exodus. Her entire body was screaming in pain. Each time she moved, she felt the burning sensation of the stripes she had sustained. Her shirt was torn, and her legs were bleeding. She felt a stinging area around her neck. She ran trembling fingers from her cheekbones along her jawline and down to her breasts, feeling the welts along the left side of her face and throat. Her tears joined forces with her sweat, forming rivulets of torturing salt water coursing down her upper body aggravating the broken skin.

Slowly, she raised herself up to a sitting position, using the curtains as leverage. Dizzy with pain, she sat still for a moment, taking deep inhalations to steady herself. Several long moments later, she pulled again on the curtains, her arms burning from misuse and abuse. She heard the tearing sound as the weight of her body tore a hole in the dingy old material. She grabbed the window casing, pulling herself higher until she made it to a standing position. Somehow, she found the energy to open the window just enough to feel the cooling breeze blowing across her burning battered body. She closed her eyes to the cooling relief. When she opened them once more, she saw a sight that brought fresh tears to her eyes. A familiar pick-up truck pulled into its usual parking spot just outside of her building.

"Michael?" She gasped weakly, darkness crowding her vision from all directions. "Mich-ael, p'ease…," she whispered, unable to stop the darkness from consuming her completely. "Hel'… me…" Her body crumpled into a heap in front of the oven, unaware of the blue flame Ricardo had left burning on the stove above her being teased by the torn curtain flapping in the breeze.

E!

A/N: The Wellhouse is a real agency located in Birmingham, Alabama. The founder was once a sex worker who was trafficked as a teenager at Truck Stops along the I-20 Corridor, which is the most heavily trafficked roadway in the country. She has rescued women of all ages and provided them with a new lease on life. She is also well-known by the FBI. I will not use her real name in this story as I do not have her permission. However, if you are interested in learning more or making a donation to The Wellhouse, please google The Wellhouse and/or search for her videos on Youtube.