100,000 [Children] are 'prostituted' annually. We call this trafficking.
- National Association of Adult Survivors of Child Abuse (NAASCU)
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Chapter Three
{o}-{o}-{o}
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Mox wasn't sure if he expected Toril to call that same night, or had hoped she would.
She didn't.
Sunday, he and Seth drove to SPWA to have Sunday dinner with his family. Mox made sure his cell phone was on him, thinking she would call.
She didn't.
He still had a good time seeing his folks. Roman there, because it was the off season for football and in the off season, he came home and worked at the camp. May Parker-Devany was there too, which was a surprise to Mox. She was still wrestling in the indies along with her sister Raven although the two of them were in separate promotions. May explained to him that the promotion she was in right now, was invading a small, Florida promotions. "I called to say hello and your mother was kind enough to invite me to dinner and you know I'm not going to pass up your mom's cooking."
"Yeah," Sefa said, smirking. "Roman being here had nothing to do with it, right?"
This caused both Roman and May to blush. It was one of the worst kept secrets in both families that whenever possible, May and Roman went out together. Because their schedules were so different, they hadn't made any sort of official commitment, and believed they were both welcome to see other people, but Mox had the feeling they didn't. He wasn't sure if one realized the other was being faithful, but he supposed they would eventually.
He and Seth hung around for the day, eating dinner, talking with Roman and May. Mox checked his phone every time he heard it ping that he had a message, thinking Toril might decide to contact him by message. He had lots of messages from people he knew through the indies who kept in touch, or people at FCW,
But none from Toril.
Then, Monday rolled around and it was the same brutal schedule of working out, mixed with meetings and promotion filming, which went until Wednesday. Except when he was in wrestling trunks, and working out in the ring, Mox had his phone on him, waiting for it to vibrate and let him know someone had called or left a message. When he couldn't have the phone on him, he kept it nearby and checked it often.
She didn't call.
Wednesday night they had their show, which was filmed and the best of it was packaged into an hour long show that was shown on a local cable station. The best of the best fights were then put on the WWE's YouTube channel. Mox was in a rivalry with Sami, and both the promo he cut and and the fight made it to the video channel. Normally, that would have put Mox over the moon, but this time, he was more worried about the phone.
She didn't call.
On Saturday night, he again went out with Sami, saying he wanted to see the fights, but really hoping to see Toril. She was there, not fighting the champion, but fighting someone else, another person likely looking for cash. She won that fight and as soon as if was over, Mox used the bathroom excuse and almost flew down the stairs, trying to find her.
She had already disappeared into the fighters only area. The same bouncer was there, separating him from the fighters, but Mox didn't bother to pay him. He had given her his number, she would call or she wouldn't. He didn't fault her if she didn't, he doubted she wanted to remember who he was anyway. But it would have been nice if she had called just to let him know she was all right.
He wondered if she could do what she was doing and be all right. There seemed to be no rules in this fighting, just beating each other until one couldn't stand it anymore and gave up. That had to wear you out. He worried that her injuries weren't being taken care of, because he strongly doubted illegal fighting offered health insurance.
It's not really the fighting that's illegal he reminded himself, something Sami had talked about. It's all the betting on it that's illegal.
He knew her name wasn't Suzie, and he suspected it wasn't Toril either, but that's how he thought of her now, Toril. He'd even looked it up on the internet, to see what it meant. It was a Norse name meaning "Thunder." Considering how violently she fought, how much she threw herself into it, he thought it was a pretty good name. A whole lot better than "Little Suzie."
He told no one about this. Not even Roman, who he texted back and forth with daily, several times. Not Seth, who he lived with. Not even Sefa, who he knew would want to know he'd found her. All I want to do is know she's okay, he told himself.
She still didn't call.
He didn't go to his folks house on Sunday, instead he and Seth went to do CrossFit together. Seth had recently found out about CrossFit and was addicted to it. Mox thought it was pretty good, but couldn't quite get why Seth could go on and on about it for hours. Before that, it had been Parkour, which Mox had found a lot more fun.
Still, she didn't call.
The next week started and it was much like every week, except for Thursday. Thursday morning he didn't have to train because he was scheduled to go to a nearby elementary school to talk to all the kids about how to minimize their risk of abduction. The WWE and FCW always let him do those talks, knowing it was his way of giving back to the community.
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The awful truth was that children just didn't seem to get Stranger Danger at all. He'd read about studies done, where kids were given the lectures, told what to do, then right after the talks, not do anything asked, and still go off with strangers. Still, Mox did the talks. He was honest with the kids, not detailed, but honest. He told them how he had been taken himself as a young kid, held captive in a basement for all those years. He gave them tips on how to avoid this happening to them. He told them that most strangers weren't there to harm them, but some were, so it was best to treat all strangers with caution. He told them things like "Never go up to the car if someone asks you for directions. Never believe someone who asks you to help find a lost puppy or kitten. He gave them alternative advice such as to say that instead of directions, they should say that they didn't know where the street was they were looking for, and then go into a nearby building until they were gone. That they should contact animal control for their missing pet. Maybe it was useless, but if these talks lead to one kid not being taken as he was, then it was worth it. He helped the teachers pass out identity kits to the kids that they could take home and go over with their parents, putting down all vital information that could lead to these kids being recovered if they were taken.
He knew most of the parents wouldn't bother to fill it out. Nobody wanted to believe it would happen to their kid. Besides, they had a safeword to protect their kid. They'd told their kid from the moment they could listen that they were never to go with someone, unless they first said the safeword. What they didn't realize was that Unicorn and Umbrella were so common that most abductors could give them a shot and have a good chance. Even though the kit said to avoid those words, parents still used them. Because they didn't read the pamphlet in the kit. Because they didn't want to believe it could happen to their kid. Until it did. Maybe we should make these parents turn in the kits, filled out, to the schools or police stations. Letting them keep it just gives them an excuse not to do it.
The whole time he was giving his talk, he had his phone on vibrate, waiting to hear.
She didn't call.
Saturday, Sami asked him if he wanted to go with him again, and this time he said no. If she'd wanted to hear from him, she would have called by now. He resigned himself that she didn't want anything to do with him, and all he could do was be glad that she somehow escaped that life, even if he wasn't sure her new lifestyle of beating up and being beat on by people was all that much better.
At least she has free will, he thought, although he wondered about that. It seemed like anything women wanted to do, especially if it wasn't legal, men found a way to make it work for them. Porn stars had agents, most of whom took a heftier than normal fee for being an entertainment agent. Prostitutes had pimps. Did female illegal fighters have some guy standing over their shoulder, taking their wins away from them, merely giving them scraps?
He debated if he should tell the FBI about her, that he had found her. He had friends in the FBI now, he even worked with them sometimes. But, he decided not to. He had no idea how old Suzie was when he'd "known" her, but she was likely to be eighteen now, and she had a right to her privacy. Although, he wondered if she was recognized by folks, considering the circles she moved in were likely to not be so shy about telling her they'd seen her doing kiddie porn.
You can't save the world, he told himself as he flipped through the cable guide on Saturday night, in front of the TV. He didn't often give himself "veg" time, so he was actually looking forward to some mindless TV. Seth was out on a date with a waitress he'd met at that Cuban restaurant he'd gone to the first night Mox had seen Toril fight. She had even picked him up in a little red sports car, which made Mox wonder how lucrative a career of waitressing could be.
He had just settled down to watch An American Werewolf in London, a movie he'd seen several times, when his cell phone rang. Unlike other times this last two weeks, he didn't jump to answer it, he looked at the screen.
Unknown Caller.
He rolled his eyes, expecting to find some robo-caller. They weren't supposed to call cell phones, but since they were usually operating illegal scams, they didn't really care if the phone call itself was illegal. But, he answered it. "Hello?"
There was silence and he was sure that soon he would hear that click that signaled some huge phone room in some third world nation that they had a live one on the line. Or, that a recording would start, telling him that since he was such a great person and very responsible with his cash, that they were going to offer him a reduced rate of interest on his credit card. All they had to do was give him the number in front of his card, the expiration date, and that magical code on the back. He was ready to string them out and mess with them, just for shits and giggles. Then, he heard a female voice. "Timmy?"
It was her. Older, yes. The last time she'd spoken to him, she was a girl, now she was a woman, but the voice hadn't changed that much. "Suzie?" he said, then quickly corrected himself, "Toril, I mean."
"It's okay," she said. "I called you Timmy, we're even. Do you want me to call you, Jon, Mox,? or Dean?"
"You know who I am," he said, then realized how stupid that sounded and added, "Like who I am now that I'm not Timmy."
"Yeah," she said. "I know all about that. I had escaped by the time you came forward with... all of it. So, I followed it as best I could. I know your legal name was Dean Ambrose, but it's now Jon Moxley Reigns."
"Yeah," he said. "Did you remember your real name when you escaped?" He wanted to tell her how glad he was that she escaped, but for some reason, he was nervous as if he might be talking someone through diffusing a bomb. Our lives were so fucked up, he thought. We really don't have a clue how to talk to each other now that we're away from that.
"Yeah, I did."
"Is it Toril?"
"Toril is real enough for now," she said, and Mox accepted that. "So, you recognized me, I guess."
"Yeah," he said. "I expected you would be fighting tonight."
"I can't," she said, and he could hear the bitter note in her voice. "I broke my arm, I'm not going to be fighting for awhile."
"I'm sorry to hear that." He hoped she had another job to fall back on.
"It's life."
This phone thing wasn't working. "Hey," he said, "Do you want to meet? Like for something to eat? There's a great diner not too far from here."
She hesitated to the point where Mox was expecting her to refuse, then she said, "What's the name of the diner?"
He gave her the name. Another long hesitation, then she said she'd meet him there. "I could pick you up," he offered. Seth's car was in the driveway, Mox had his license, and they had an agreement that Seth had priority, but Mox could use it if Seth wasn't. "You'll have to give me your address."
"No," she said. "I'll meet you there. It's not too far for me at all. See you there in an hour?"
"Okay," he said and before they could exchange proper goodbyes, she hung up.
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The diner was less than five minutes away by car. So, Mox took a shower, even though he'd taken one when he left the gym that day. He could remember when he and Suzie were together down in the basement, that the basement had a bathroom, but it only had a sink and a toilet, no shower. They had washed with the sink as best they could, but with nothing but a couple rags and no soap, it was hard to get truly clean.
"It smells down here," she'd said after a few days, wrinkling her nose.
He had nodded, but didn't tell her what it was. It was the smell of sweat and the smell of sex.
He didn't smell like sex now, but he wanted to make sure he didn't smell of sweat either. Because she'd probably remember what his sweat smelled like. And it would probably remind her of sex.
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He was at the diner twenty minutes early, but that was fine. He wanted to get a table and establish that he was there before she arrived. Also, the place was known to be busy on weekend nights. But, he was there at the right time, after dinner rush, before after movies or after closing time rush. The hostess showed him to a booth that was along the wall of windows that overlooked the parking lot. He ordered coffee and drank it, texting Roman about anything but what he was doing and sneaking looks out in the parking lot. When he saw a figure walking across the crushed shell parking lot, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, pulled up and covering her face, he knew it was her. The waitress was nearby, and he asked her for a double order of Mozzarella sticks with extra marinara sauce. The waitress had just walked off when "Toril" walked in the door. She pulled back her hoodie, and he saw her face. He motioned her over, realizing one sleeve of her hoodie was empty. when she awkwardly took off the hoodie, he saw her right arm was in a cast. He wanted to get up and help her, but he instinctively knew she didn't want his help.
When she finished, she slid in the booth across from his. "Hey," she said, her gaze only resting on his for a moment, then looking around nervously.
"Hey," he said, feeling more than a little nervous himself. What next? he thought. How's it going now that you're not a human sex toy anymore? That seems a little harsh. "Did you want coffee?" he asked her, motioning to his own cup, "Or would you like something else?"
"Just water," she said.
She was looking around and her gaze fixed on a waitress bringing a milkshake over to another table, and he saw the look of raw hunger on her face. "Look, Toril," he said. "This is on me. I asked you here, and I want to pay. So get what you like."
She stared at him. "This isn't a date," she snapped. "I didn't agree to go on a date with you!"
"No, it's not a date," he assured her. "Just a chance to... talk and eat food together, food that I'm paying for. So do you want a milkshake?"
She hesitated, and he had the feeling she wanted to refuse him, wanted to tell him he could shove his generosity right up his ass, but he saw another look too, and that look said hunger. She nodded.
"Good," He said, handing her a menu from where they were kept in a metal rack on the table. "Order what you want."
She looked at the menu as if, well, as if she were a starving person looking at a menu. He studied her, she wasn't overly thin, in fact, she had good muscle on her, from what he could tell. She was wearing a t-shirt and he saw the muscles in her arms. She's broke, he concluded, she probably hasn't eaten all day or maybe even a couple of days. She lives hand to mouth and that broken arm probably pushed it out of her hand and thus out of her mouth.
The waitress came over with the plate of mozzarella sticks with extra sauce and put them down. Toril's eyes went wide when she saw them. "You remembered," she whispered.
Mox nodded.
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She spent a lot of that first day, crying on and off as the cold, mean, reality of what she was thrust into settled around her like a black fog. At one point, because she couldn't process it all, she looked at Mox and whined, "I want some mozzarella sticks! With extra pizza sauce!"
He knew that far more than the food she wished for, she wanted to be let go of this nightmare and taken home. The mozzarella sticks were just something she could put into words. But he played along with her. "What are mozzarella sticks?" he asked her. He honestly didn't know.
She gave him an incredulous look. "Fried mozzarella cheese!" she said, as if he might be the dumbest person ever. "They're crispy on the outside and full of gooey cheese on the inside, and you dip them in pizza sauce, it's like only eating the best part of a pizza!"
He might not have known what they were then, but that "best part of a pizza" part appealed to him. He was trying to keep things realistic for her, because fantasy could sometimes make it worse when you realized where you were and what was happening, but he figured a little break from reality would be good. "I'll tell you what," he said, "if we get out of here, I will buy you a double order of these mozzarella sticks."
"You'd better!" she told him, and then burst into tears. And Mox knew she thought she was crying about mozzarella sticks, but in truth, she was crying for so much more.
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"I owe you," Mox said, looking at the mozzarella sticks. Before the waitress could leave, he motioned for her to stay. "I need a -" He glanced at Toril.
"Chocolate" "Toril" said.
"-Chocolate milkshake," Mox said. "Extra thick. The biggest one you make."
"And a Coke," Toril added. "Ice cream makes me thirsty," she explained with a shrug when Mox looked at her.
"And a Coke," Mox repeated to the waitress. She's loading up, he thought. She's trying to get as many calories into her as she can to make up for the coming days where she might not get anything to eat. He knew that game, he'd played it himself when he was held captive in that basement. Dennis and Simon often controlled what he ate, but any chance he had to sneak extra food, he took it.
When the waitress left, Toril's gaze went from the mozzarella sticks to him, and he was puzzled, then realized she was waiting for him to go first. "Help yourself," he said.
She didn't need to be told twice.
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She ordered the meatloaf dinner, with mashed potatoes and gravy. Mox had them add a salad to that, thinking she probably needed a little vegetable matter. When they brought the salad, her eyes lit up because it came with two packages of crackers in lieu of croutons. Even though she was down one hand, she made those crackers disappear into a pocket of her sweatpants. Mox had ordered a salad too, because Mom Jen lived in his head, and she always wanted him to eat a salad. He handed Toril his crackers and she made them vanish too.
He let her eat, barely saying anything while she demolished every bite of food, using her dinner roll to wipe up every last bit of gravy. He ate his chicken breast sandwich on Rye bread, something that wasn't too horrible for him. He asked for chips instead of fries, knowing they would give them to him in a sealed bag. He offered the bag to Toril, who took it without a word and tucked the bag into one of the pockets in her hoodie. She was adapting remarkably well for someone who only had one arm.
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When dinner was finished, and she was enjoying a slice of apple pie with ice cream, he thought she might be food sedated enough to be honest with him. "So, uh, how did you get away?"
She shrugged. "I did." And the way she said it, told him this was a story she wasn't ready to tell him.
He understood that, even respected her for that. So, he changed tactics. "How did you get involved in this whole underground fighting thing?"
Another shrug, but she gave a better answer. "I like to fight," she admitted. "I spent some time in Detroit before I came here, I made a friend, and she got me into it. She trained me."
"Is she still around?"
She shook her head and offered no explanation.
"Does it pay good?" he asked.
Another shrug. "When you win it does. When you lose it sucks. Sometimes they give you a fee for being there, but it's not much. And some places won't pay you at all if you lose. But that gig you saw me at? That's not the only place around I can fight. There are a few other clubs. When I'm at peak, I fight three to five times a week."
Considering the brutality of this fighting, Mox knew three to five times a week was probably pretty dangerous. Then again, wrestling was too. "Uh, what about your arm?" he asked.
She looked at her cast with a distasteful expression. "It sucks," she said. "There are places that will let me fight with it. I was going to try to give it a couple weeks at least, to let it start healing, but I don't think I'm going to do that."
"Why not?" He asked, but he had a feeling he knew the answer, everything about her screamed the answer clearly, "Money."
"I've got to live," she said, her voice flat. "I was staying in a hotel where I could pay by the week, but I had to leave. I had to pay some veterinarian my stash to set my arm. I'm busted now. I found an abandoned building to crash in, but that isn't going to help me get food."
"How long did the vet say it would take to heal your arm?" he asked. She wasn't the first person Mox had heard about who went to an animal doctor instead of a doctor for people, just to save money. He had seen a veterinarian once for stitches when he was in the indies. It gave them a little extra money under the table, which many of them used to help the pets of owners who couldn't pay. Their offices were clean and their equipment sterile. A vet that would do first aid on a human was often better than a free clinic with some overworked doctor and maybe a nurse who barely had any time to clean, but a vet still expected money.
"Six weeks," she said, shrugging and taking another fork full of pie and ice cream. "I can't go that long without money."
"How about if you could stay somewhere?" Mox said, before he could talk himself out of it, "Someplace with a roof over your head, and where you'd be fed?"
"What, some halfway house?" she said, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "No thank you."
"No, my place," he said. "Well, I share it with a guy named Seth. He's pretty much another brother."
She shook her head. "I'm not going to stay with you and your roommate."
He knew what she was not saying, I'm not sure this Seth person won't expect me to suck his dick in return for staying there, so thanks but no thanks. "It's not like you think," he said. "Seth has his own room. It's a two bedroom house, but you'll have my room." He could sleep on the couch, it was a futon anyway, so it was just like a bed. Toril would be able to have a room of her own. With a lock on the door, something he knew she would appreciate. It wasn't a simple lock that could easily be picked with a credit card. The house had been a rental for a number of years, and at some point, one of the tenants must have had some privacy problems, because they had replaced the doorway and the interior door with a strong, exterior door and an expensive, keyless lock. It was the smaller of the two bedrooms, but Mox had picked it because he liked the lock. He wasn't really afraid someone was going to break in and attack him, but the lock made him sleep a little bit easier.
"I don't want to be a bother."
"If you were going to be a bother, I wouldn't have asked you," Mox said. He studied her for a moment. "Look, Toril, if you're out on the streets I'm going to be worried about you."
"I can take care of myself!" she said, a little louder than her normal voice, with a tinge of anger. "I don't need protecting."
"Yeah," he said, although he doubted she was totally able to fight off anyone. Someone with a gun or a knife would have an advantage, but he knew that being able to protect herself was a point of pride. "But you can't protect yourself against the weather. It rains all the time in Florida. Finding a good place to really get some sleep must be hard. I'm not asking you to move in forever, just until you get on your feet."
She scowled, sipping at her Coke, the milkshake long gone. Mox said nothing, letting her chew it over. When there was nothing but ice at the bottom of the glass and the plate of pie was empty except for crumbs, she finally drew in a deep breath. "You aren't going to try to keep me there?"
He shook his head. At least not by force, he thought, although I might try to do some verbal persuasion. "All I'm asking is that you don't do any of this fighting stuff until your arm is healed. I'll make sure you have food and a roof over your head, but you've got to agree not to fight. Let it heal."
Her scowl deepened as she thought, then she looked at him. "And you or this Seth guy won't ever touch me?"
He thought about explaining the lock, but decided it would be better to show her. "Yeah," he said. "Seth and I won't ever ask anything sexual of you. We won't want to hurt you. Besides, Seth gets enough action, forcing himself on women is not one of his things."
"Is it one of yours, Timmy?" Her eyes were narrowed.
"Mox," he said,"I mostly go by Mox. And no worries from me, I'm the master celibate. I still have the parts, but I might as well be an Eunuch."
"You sure weren't when I first met you," she said and her tone wasn't friendly at all.
I deserve that, he thought, but ignored it. "Again, I'm making the offer. Stay with us. Let your arm heal properly."
She hesitated a bit longer, but in the end she agreed. When he asked her if they needed to go someplace to get her things, she told him she'd hidden her duffle bag and backpack in a group of bushes down the road a bit from the diner. "I didn't want to look like I was, you know, walking around with everything I own, even though I was."
He nodded. While he paid the bill, she ran and got her things. When he got outside, she was looking around for him. He motioned her to Seth's car and he stashed her things in the back seat. He was glad to see she automatically put the seat belt on when she got into the car.
When she had settled into the car, he turned the key. As the car came to life, he smiled at her. "Ready to see your new home, at least temporarily?"
She nodded. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the house.
Author's notes: Once my arm is fixed, I plan to finish this story as quick as possible and post whatever I have left. I have 18 chpt prewritten. I hope I'll have it finished in 20-21. I know most folks don't care, but I want to at least finish this. Still embarrassed that I never completed the Corbin story.
Sorry, arm problems have me depressed. Don't know how much you need something until it's gone. Might be my right hand, but I only write w/left. Do most everything else with right.