at Ottawa Hospital in emergency. The one by the experimental farm,” she whispered, feeling perhaps she had now gone too far in giving out both her name and location. “A man who said he was my friend forced me … He’s in emergency … This is the first phone call I’ve made in months … Please help me. Please help me.”
“Samantha, do you see a security officer?”
The line went quiet. “No, I—wait—yes.”
“I want you to go that person and tell them that a member of Parliament is coming to see you. Can you do that? I’m coming to you right now.”
“Please hurry. I am so scared. If he knows I phoned someone he’ll … he’ll …” Deep, heavy breathing. Then a chilling whisper. “If he knows I phoned someone he’ll kill me. Do you understand me?”
“I’m on my way.”
Joy heard the line go dead.
Joy parked her car, then hurried in the pouring rain through the emergency entrance. She approached the security desk, scanning the area for a fragile, terrified teenager.
“Joy Smith?” a voice said.
Joy turned to her left. A shell of a girl approached her. Dishevelled red hair. Pale white skin. Blue miniskirt. Skimpy grey shirt. Sunken cheeks. Lifeless green eyes. She looked like a ghost. There was so little left of her that her frail appearance made it seem she could disappear into thin air.
“Samantha?”
She nodded.
“Everything is going to be all right.”
The moment Samantha heard those words, something in her relaxed. Like she was in the presence of safety. Like she was a young child and her mother had come into her room to calm her fears of a lightning storm.
Joy turned to the short, well-built security officer, introduced herself, and asked if there was a private room they could use. The officer led them to a small room with a table. Seeing a vending machine nearby, Joy pulled out her wallet and inserted her credit card.
“What kind of drink would you like, Samantha?”
She seemed shell-shocked by the question. Her brain tried to imagine what it was like to be given a choice. She tried to recall something as simple as making a decision for herself.
Joy understood the look of indecision in her eyes. “Whatever you like, Samantha. What’s your favourite?”
She stalled. Blinked. Her mind tried to turn into gear. It was like getting a car started that had been left frozen over winter. Her difficulty breathing spoke of the unbearable trauma she had experienced. She sounded like a wounded child when she asked, “Is there a sports drink?”
“There is. Any particular flavour?”
She bit her lip, as if she feared repercussions if she asked too much. “Red?”
Joy hit the button. She gave Samantha the drink. They sat down. Joy closed the door.
“Thank you for calling me, Samantha. That took a lot of courage. Can you tell me what happened?”
Samantha’s hands began to tremble. Like a voice inside her mind was warning her of impending doom. That perhaps she wasn’t as safe as she thought. She leaned her elbows on the table, placed her hands on either side of her head, and gripped tight, as if it was the only thing she knew how to do to keep it from exploding.
“If he knows I’m here, I’m going to die.”
“You’re safe now. I promise you that. I have many, many friends, and I assure you I will get you to a safe place. Everything is going to be all right.”
Tears began to stream down Samantha’s face. How did it ever come to this? She covered her eyes, as if doing so could prevent her from looking back into her past. She stayed that way so long it was as if she had turned into a statue frozen in unimaginable grief and pain. Then, finally, she let out a breath.
“I met him online. Then we met in person. Became friends. It all seemed so great.” She gripped her head even tighter. All those awful memories. It was bad enough to have experienced them all one by one. But now, sitting here, it was like having to relive each of those moments combined in one instant.
And it proved to be an unbearable task.
“Then everything changed. I was forced to have sex with so many men.” It all became too much. She shook her head. Pushed herself to continue. “It was awful. I worked for him for months. Eating when he told me to eat. Sleeping when he told me to sleep. I was beaten so often. There were times I was sure I would die. My friend Crystal wanted to leave. So…”
She rubbed her temples. She looked straight ahead, focusing not on Joy but on some imaginary point behind her. She was so exhausted, her bloodshot eyes seemed slightly crossed. She closed them. “He strangled Crystal to death with an extension cord.”
Samantha became silent to honour Crystal’s death. It felt wrong to continue speaking until she had at least tried to remember her dear friend in a sombre moment.
“He told me he would do the same to me if I ever tried to leave.” She stared at the red drink on the table. Desperately thirsty, yet somehow unable to make the connection to reach out and take it. “He got into a fight a few hours ago. He got knifed. Badly. I rushed him to emergency.”
She looked at Joy. A curious expression came over her. She blinked. Focused on Joy. “Strange, isn’t it? Trying to save the life of someone who will kill you?”
She reached out and grabbed the bottle. Twisting off the cap, she chugged half of it. “Now he’s in surgery, and the doctors tell me it doesn’t look good.”
Voices in Samantha’s head spoke to her.
He’s not dying. He’s going to get off that operating table, grab a scalpel, find you here in this little room and finish you off once and for all.
“He told me if I ever went to the police he would kill me. But he didn’t have to threaten me. A friend of mine in the game tried that once. But the police said they had nothing to charge him with, and she had to live with the fear of him finding her. I never heard from her again.”
This woman can’t help you.
She finished the bottle. “Word on the street was that you help girls like me. Is that true? Does a person like you help someone like me?”
You’re making a mistake.
“Samantha?”
The caring tone, contrasting so much with the negative voices in her head, was too much for Samantha, and she couldn’t meet Joy’s eyes.
“Samantha?” Joy asked again.
Something in Joy’s tone encouraged her to take a chance. She looked up. Their eyes met.
“I believe you, Samantha. I believe everything you told me.”
Samantha broke down. She squished her eyelids together, forcing out a stream
