Rescuing Hope: A Story of Sex Trafficking in America

Copyright © 2012 by Susan Norris

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Published in association with Robin Stanley, publishing consultant and author representative. www.robinstanley.org

Manuscript Support: April Line, freelance writer & teacher, www.AprilLineWriting.com

Cover design and photography: Studio Absolute, Russ & Cheryl McIntosh, www.studioabsolute.com

Author’s cover photo: Donna Kay Johnson, www.photographybydonnakay.com

Restoration Song, ©2005, Clay Edwards. Written by: Clay Edwards, Audra Hartke, and David Brymer. Used by permission.

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Unless otherwise noted, all scripture verses are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Scripture quotations marked kjv are from the King James Version.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6623-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6625-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6624-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923078

First Edition 2012

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

iUniverse rev. date: 05/14/2014

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

A LETTER FROM

SUSAN NORRIS

DISCUSSION STARTERS

GET INVOLVED

This book is dedicated to the survivors of human sex trafficking, their families, the detectives who rescued them, and the organizations on the front lines who trusted me with their stories. Hope’s story is a mixture of your stories. You are my heroes. You’re strong and fearless.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I love to read. When I get my hands on a good book, everything else comes to a screeching halt. Never in a million years did I envision myself writing a book. I ran from it as hard and as fast as I could. In many ways, I felt like Jonah running from what God called him to do. In the end, God won out. He always does. This story had to be told. Lives are depending on it.

To the survivors, my heroes, I cannot wait to see how the next chapters in your lives unfold. I am committed to being a voice for the Hopes I’ve met and those who are still held in bondage.

I thank my husband, Mark, who is my biggest cheerleader and best friend. I wouldn’t have had the guts to do this without you. To my children, I love you both and love how you’ve taken up the cause in your own ways to fight for what is right, even if it means standing alone. To my parents, thank you for teaching me how to be an advocate for others. To my prayer shield, the most amazing group of prayer warriors I know, thank you for always having my back, for pushing me when I needed it and for walking by my side throughout this wild ride. To my agent, Robin Stanley, and my editor, April Line, thank you both for pushing me constantly and stretching me to make this story the best it could be. To Mary Frances Bowley of Wellspring Living, thank you for educating me on the issue, opening doors for me, and encouraging me to write this story. To RiverStone Church, thank you for holding true to the vision of community transformation and challenging us each to find our place in that call. To the staff of the Daily Grind, thank you for allowing me to have a satellite office in your coffee shop to write and process. To Brian Shivler and Resolution Hope, thank you for getting behind this story and spreading the word. Most of all, to my Savior, the Lover of my soul, thank You for allowing me to partner with You in Your work. I’m humbled and amazed by You daily.

To my readers, thank you for taking the time to read about a difficult subject, when it would be easy to turn away. I pray Rescuing Hope stirs something inside you to propel you into action. Find your place in the fight against the commercial sexual exploitation of children. There’s room for everyone in this battle. We need your voice, your gifts, your talents. What part will you play in becoming a voice for hope?

What you are about to read is fiction. However, the events in this book are based on interviews with survivors of human sex trafficking, their families, detectives, people from religious and rescue organizations on the frontlines, and a former pimp. Some of the content is mature, and though we have strived for a PG-13 treatment of it, this book should be read with adult supervision.

We encourage you to take any questions to an adult you trust.

You may choose to look the other way, but

you can never say again that you did not know.

—William Wilberforce

CHAPTER 1

I need my money. She pulled her tank top back on in the dimly lit room. The scent of their act still hung in the air. She gagged on her shame. Most days she could go through the motions like a robot. But tonight she saw a price tag hanging on her that read clearance, damaged goods.

You’re nothing, he said. It was like he took a chunk out of her already pulpy soul. The low-watt bulb dangling from the crumbling ceiling was a spotlight that revealed her.

Pay you! You’ve got to be kidding me. You weren’t worth the time I spent away from my family. He threw her jeans in her face. Get dressed and get out, you little tramp.

I can’t go back to T without my money. Her voice cracked and rose. She knew T wouldn’t take it lightly. He’ll kill me. Then he’ll come kill you too.

I really don’t care what he does with you. I’m going to get cleaned up and then I’m out of here. Make sure you’re gone when I come out.

The bathroom door closed with a bang. She slid her jeans over her bony hips; she’d always been thin, but this life made her gaunt. Then she saw his wallet on the dresser. She’d pay herself. He wouldn’t know until she was long gone. She picked up the wallet and counted out what he owed her just as the water turned off. She put the wallet back exactly where she’d found it, grabbed her shoes and opened the door to leave.

His hand reached over her head and slammed the door shut. His face twisted with rage.

You little thief! He grabbed her hands, forcing them open. The money spilled out onto the floor as the color drained from her face.

Now you’re going to pay!

He threw her up against the wall. His fists crushed into her chin; sour blood slid over her tongue. Stars exploded before her eyes when he grabbed her hair and tossed her to the floor. He unleashed his rage on her, his strength and bulk enfeebling her attempt at fighting back. He wasted her, again. She lay curled on the floor for moments, listening while his breathing slowed. The door opened and signaled the end of his tirade.

Now get out before I throw you out.

With her last bit of energy, she crawled out the door on her hands and knees. He locked it behind her. She pushed her body into a sitting position and dug in her pocket for something to wipe the blood dripping down her chin. How had this happened? She’d forgotten T’s number-one rule: payment before pleasure. She would have to face T’s wrath when she showed up without the money, and because bruised doesn’t sell. She was stuck. She couldn’t turn a trick looking like she did. Her best bet was to get back to the apartment and face what was coming to her.

She made it back to the building but had difficulty finding number twenty-two on the elevator buttons. Her right eye was swollen shut. As the elevator rose, so did her heartbeat. What would T do to her? She knew he wouldn’t offer her an ice pack. She began to shiver, even though the elevator was warm.

When she walked in the door, he was talking. On the phone? A girl stood in the doorway to the kitchen, trying to convince him to keep her there instead of sending her out for a job. Hope snuck to the bathroom, she didn’t dare turn on the light. A pounding drum had taken up residence in her head. She managed to turn on the water and get undressed. She anticipated relief, but tiny needles penetrated her skin instead. She got out of the bathtub fast, then pulled on sweats she found on the floor.

She’d given up looking at herself in mirrors, except when she applied the heavy makeup T demanded she wear, night after night. Her haircut and color weren’t the only changes since she met T. She was dead inside. All that remained was a shell.

Back in the living room, T stood alone, still on the phone. The girl was gone, probably off to collect what mattered most to him … money. T would sell his own mother if the price were right.

She walked out on the balcony for a smoke while T was distracted. Cigarettes were just one of the many coping mechanisms she’d acquired. Her hand trembled as she lifted the cigarette to her lips. Her heartbeat sounded like a jackhammer in her own ears. T would be beyond furious.

As she flicked her cigarette over the balcony, she shivered, sensing T behind her. Answer time. She turned. His jaw dropped.

What the hell happened to you?

She knew better than to pull away from him, but his volume sent her head spinning.

I asked the guy to pay me, but he said I was going to pay. He left his calling card on my face. Her legs were shaking so hard, she didn’t know if they would hold her up. T got violent when people ripped him off.

He did this to you before you did the job? He stepped back and started pacing.

No, she almost whispered. When I got there he started moving fast. He said I was late. I wasn’t late, T. You know. You dropped me off. I didn’t have time to get the money beforehand. I know I messed up, T. Please don’t be angry with me. Please.

T didn’t say another word, which scared her. Her body trembled. He stormed into the apartment smacking the glass door as he went. It cracked. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a couple of guns and a knife. He yelled down the hall, Get up, Rick! We got a score to settle.

Her heart raced as she looked out over the city. Just as her breathing started to settle, he came up behind her again. This time he grabbed her, having no concern for her injuries, and dangled her over the balcony by her feet.

No! T, please! Please don’t drop me! I’m sorry! I promise I won’t ever do it again. I’ll always get the money first. I promise. God, please don’t drop me! She choked back tears. I promise. Please!

Don’t you ever show up after a job without my money! You hear me? If you do, I’ll drop you and you’ll be replaced before you even hit the ground. You got it, bitch?

She nodded as he let her fall in a heap on the balcony floor and stormed back inside. Her body wracked with sobs as T yelled, Let’s roll!

She clung to the sliding glass door for support as Rick came in the room, pulling his shirt on. What the hell? He stared at her.

We ain’t got time for this, T said. We got a score to settle. He tossed Rick one of the guns. Some prick did this and sent her home without money. I’m gonna kill his ass. Don’t nobody mess with my money! He rushed out ahead of Rick. Rick followed with a glance back before the door closed.

CHAPTER 2

Eighteen months earlier

The door to the choir room burst open, startling Hope Ellis. She needed a minute to settle her nerves.

You won’t believe it, Hope. The place is filling up faster than last year. Sydney Clarkston’s words flew out of her mouth. They’ve already started seating people in the overflow room.

So much for a moment of peace and quiet.

Youth Sunday was one of Hope’s favorites. She had butterflies in her stomach as they approached the sanctuary. Hope and Sydney had been best friends since they were little, and today they were going to sing Restoration. Everyone said their duets were angelic. I can’t believe we’re finally going to sing this song. I think it’s my all-time favorite. Hope threw her arm around Sydney as they headed onto stage.

The praise band took their places on the raised platform in the front of the sanctuary wearing T-shirts that read Rocking with the Rock! Hope and Sydney had bedazzled theirs with rhinestones and puff paint, and the lights shone off their sparkles as they took their places.

When the band was ready, they began to sing, You bring restoration, You bring restoration, You bring restoration to my soul.

The congregation joined the song; some of them held their palms up in praise. The first time Hope heard the song, she felt like it was written for her alone. As people spilled into the front of the Moriah Church for prayer, she realized the song resonated with other people too. After they sang the last chorus, Hope and Sydney continued to play softly. Hope knew God would take the shattered pieces of those kneeling and put them back together.

After the service, the youth group moved like a caffeinated herd while they made plans for a celebratory lunch. Hope’s mom grabbed her from behind. Hey, you! I am so proud of you. You and Sydney sounded amazing. That song makes me cry every time I hear you sing it.

Me too, Mom. I barely made it through without losing it. Hope hugged her mom. Though her dad had been gone for two years, she was still raw over it. But the divorce had knit her and her mom tighter than ever.

Can I go out with the gang? I won’t be late. I still have to finish my research paper.

Sure, but homework isn’t the only thing waiting for you. We have to start packing too. Be home by three. Hope’s mom gave her a kiss on the forehead.

I wish we didn’t have to move. I don’t want to change schools.

I know, sweetheart, but there isn’t another option. The last time I looked, we didn’t have a money tree in the backyard.

What would it be like in their new house? Who would she hang out with? She sure couldn’t run across town every day after school. She and Sydney were only fourteen. At least she’d be able to spend most of her summer with Syd.

After a spirited lunch with her youth group, and some bittersweet parting words—she really did feel like she was leaving the planet—she ran in her front door at two fifty-five.

Mom, I’m home! No answer. She walked through the house. Mom?

Her mom paced on the patio, talking on the phone. Her hair looked a little messy, and she was slicing the air in front of her with her free hand. She’d changed into her stained jeans and a T-shirt to start packing and cleaning.

Are you serious? We can’t reschedule the moving company. What am I going to do? Hope’s mom was typically mild. Even when she grounded Hope, it was done with love. But all the stress she’d been under made her a little touchy sometimes. Hope had learned it was better to just stay out of her mom’s way at times like those.

She gathered her things for her research paper while her mom finished. Hope didn’t even hear her mom come into the den.

Hey, honey. Gram called. Pops fell and he’s messed up his knee. It’s not serious, but Gram will have to stay home and take care of him and help him get around, so they’re not going to be able to help us move. Maybe my new boss will let me take a day off.

Mom, that’s ridiculous.

What choice do I have?

I’m old enough to handle it. What’s so hard about watching the movers take stuff out of one house and put it in another house? I’ll see if Mrs. Clarkston can give me a ride to the new house when they’re done or I’ll just ride in the truck with the movers. We’re paying them enough; they shouldn’t mind.

It would be nice if I didn’t have to ask for a day off work my first week, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you.

Mom, I’ll be fine. The Clarkstons are across the street and Syd can hang out with me. What could go wrong?

"You’re right. I’ll call the