Each descriptor showed within my lifeless green eyes.
Even the makeup Miss Warner applied didn’t hide the hallowed shadows, stark cheekbones, and thinning hair. I lifted my hands to my hair, having not given it much thought over more pressing issues like food and survival.
“Girl, your new owner is waiting,” she called from the other side of the door.
New owner.
The title rolled off her tongue.
“Yes, ma’am,” I managed as I swooshed aside the cape and sat on the toilet. New tears filled my eyes as I emptied my bladder.
In the quiet solitude, the reality of my future settled heavily upon my shoulders.
I had once again been sold.
Mr. Ivanov said I had worth.
Now, again standing, with warm water flowing and the sweet scent of black-cherry soap filling the air, I rubbed my hands. As I did, contradicting emotions brought the small hairs on my arms and neck to life and drained any color from my cheeks.
Fear and faith.
My rational mind told me that I should be terrified of leaving with Mr. Ivanov. My thoughts should be filled with the numerous possibilities of what could happen once we left. God knew I had life experiences to fuel scenes that to most people were reserved for nightmares. This was the waiting point, the part I detested even more than the acts that followed. I should open the door and beg the woman to help me.
And yet my fear wasn’t of the man waiting for me.
It was reserved for the cell and Miss Warner.
What if Mr. Ivanov changed his mind?
Would I be sent back?
What if Andros Ivanov realized that I was hopeless and decided that I wasn’t worth the money he’d paid?
What would happen to me and my baby if we went back?
Instead of fearing Mr. Ivanov, he’d somehow earned something I’d forgotten existed: faith. Wiping away the tears with a tissue, I threw it away and opened the door.
“Are you ready?” the woman asked.
What kind of question was that to a woman in my position?
Are you ready to rejoin your new owner and spend your life as someone’s purchase?
Instead, I chose to think of it another way in my damaged, hungry, thirsty, and frightened comprehension.
Are you ready to get farther and farther away from the cell where you’d been held?
Taking a deep breath, I willed my shoulders back and spoke, “Yes, ma’am. I’m ready.”
With only a nod, she led me back to the door where Mr. Ivanov was waiting. As we neared, my steps stuttered. My new owner was no longer alone but talking quietly with the senator. They were both standing in their expensive suits, chatting as if they hadn’t recently completed a transaction to sell and purchase another human being.
As we came closer, I lowered my eyes, bowed my shoulders forward, and tugged the cape closer. My desire to once again disappear into invisibility was attempted too late. Both of their gazes had already come my way, scanning me from head to toe as if the cape had again been removed.
“Look up, Madeline,” Mr. Ivanov said.
Though tremors rattled my limbs, my chin rose.
“Tell Senator McFadden goodbye.”
Before I could speak, the senator did. “Really, Mr. Ivanov, consider it a goodwill gesture for my assistance with your acquisition. I’d like one more shot with her. It wouldn’t take long.”
Mr. Ivanov scoffed. “Senator, I will keep your shortcomings to myself.”
Senator McFadden patted Mr. Ivanov on the shoulder with a feigned laugh. “Okay, my boy. I can have others. Enjoy her. If it’s a boy, you got off cheap.”
Mr. Ivanov’s dark stare was upon me, slowly scanning. He lifted his chin with a snap. “I’m content with our deal.”
“We will be in touch,” the senator said as the woman opened the door.
Beyond the well-lit porch was a circular driveway lined with trees. Above it all, the early morning sky was a black hole of nothingness. Closer to the ground, leaves rustled in the summer breeze.
Waiting for Mr. Ivanov was a long black limousine with a driver standing near the open door.
With only a small amount of pressure upon my back, Mr. Ivanov directed me into the car. Unlike the warm air outside, the car was cool. Indirect lighting allowed me to see that the seats formed an oval; the only openings were on each side at the door.
Tucking the cape around me, I sat across from the door I’d entered.
Once Mr. Ivanov was inside and settled on the seat facing the front, the door shut.
Was I riding to my life sentence or to a new life?
Madeline
More than sixteen years ago
The long limousine pulled away from Senator McFadden’s home. After everything that had occurred, I should be exhausted, yet anticipation and trepidation had me waiting for Andros’s next command.
Soft music I didn’t recognize with lyrics I couldn’t understand filled the inside of the car. Removing his cellular phone, Mr. Ivanov pushed buttons, sending a text. I busied myself by watching the world beyond the windows. The car stilled as a large gate moved to the side, allowing us to exit. Tall trees, stately streetlights, and iron gates dominated the view until large houses appeared, and eventually we sped up, entering a wide highway. Tall lights on posts showcased the increased traffic.
With each car we passed or one that passed us, I wondered if the people inside knew that a life such as mine existed. Could they comprehend that within the sleek long black car was a young woman who had just been sold by a man who represents their state?
After Mr. Ivanov received a message in return, he put the phone back into the pocket of his jacket and turned my way. Without a word, his dark eyes absorbed everything about me.
Was he disappointed?
“Sir,” I said softly, “I don’t know what you want me to do. If you tell me…”
His lips curled upward. “First, as I said, my name is Andros. Others will call me sir, not you.”
“Yes, sir—Andros.”
He nodded. “We’re on our way to my plane. It’s late. I’m tired and have business to deal with in the morning. The drive to Detroit is too long.”
My eyes widened as I imagined what he was saying.
“Madeline, speak.”
“I’ve never been on a plane.”
“The flight isn’t long. I’ve messaged ahead to have something waiting on board for you to eat.”
As if his words were the cue, my stomach growled.
“The options on the plane at this short notice are limited,” he said. “In the future, are there any foods my cooks should avoid?”
“You’re asking me?”
He nodded.
“Any food?” I asked, thinking how any food would be welcomed, well, except one. “Maybe peanut butter and jelly.”
“Noted.”
The quid pro quo of the cell came back to me. Gathering my courage, I asked, “Andros?”
He looked my way.
“What do I need to do to receive food?”
“I’m not sure I follow?”
“What do I need to do or what will you do to me?”
Inhaling, he leaned back and loosened the buttons on his suit coat. “Are you asking if I want or will require something sexual from you for food?”
Hearing him say it sounded blunt, but it was my question. “Yes.”