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Signs in the Dark

By Susan Miura

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Chapter 1

Haylie
Wednesday Night

A squad car flashes red and blue as it races down the street, its siren swallowed by silence. Just like the fireworks bursting over Navy Pier. Music. Thunder. Voices. Sounds that will never be my reality, and yet…being deaf has its advantages. People think I have a sixth sense, but it’s just a matter of noting the shift in a person’s eyes, the prickle of electricity in the air when a storm is miles away. No storms ride the breeze in this alley tonight, though; there’s just me and that fat harvest moon, illuminating the autumn sky like a cosmic jack-o-lantern and whispering a silent warning that creeps along my spine and lingers at the base of my neck.
Something’s wrong. Nathan should have been here by now. My eyes scan the alley one more time before I reread his text.
"Need to talk. Can you meet me in 10 behind your garage?"
Unexpected, but then, I have no point of reference for what to expect. I take a mental tally of what I know. He’s a swimmer, with a nice smile and dark eyes that look at me like I’m…someone special. He’s Latino, I think. And he’s friends with that soccer guy everyone thinks is so hot. He seems to be doing okay in our physics class, so he’s got some brains. And I’ve seen him from across the lake, playing with his dogs in the backyard – extra points for that. Not much to go on, and yet…there’s something about him. Something that makes me excited for our date on Friday.
Movement by the gate startles me. I jump, too on edge from standing in the darkness alone, then see my little brother heading toward me with something flopped over his arm.
“Mom says it’s cold.” Ben signs better than any hearing person I know. He holds up the hoodie I bought last week when me and Kamiko spent the day in Chicago. I happily put it on, remembering how I almost left it under the seat on the Metra train.
Instead of heading back down the gangway, Ben stays put, scrunching up his nose as he sniffs the air around us. “What’s that smell? It’s the same one I smelled when we were hiking in Brazil. Remember? That day we saw the anaconda and mom freaked out?”
A fun memory, though I was happy to put some distance between us and that terrifyingly beautiful snake. I ponder whether to answer Ben’s question about the familiar sweet, earthy aroma that often lingers in the alley when the breeze carries it from our neighbor’s yard. “Nothing. Somebody must have been cooking.” Mom or dad can explain weed to him. He doesn’t need to know tonight.
“It’s stinky.” He attempts to wave away the scent with his hand, which makes me laugh, but we both stop and squint as a car turns into the alley, catching us in its headlights. It stops, pauses, and backs out onto the street.
“That was weird,” Ben says.
I nod, wondering if it was Nathan. Would Ben’s presence cause him to leave?
“You got a package right after you went out.” He climbs the low fence separating the alley from our yard and perches on top. “It’s a little one from your original dad.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Ben’s name for my bio father makes me smile, but really, what else would he call him? It must have been strange finding out mom was married before and I’m only his half-sister. He never even questioned the difference in our skin color – mine milky white and his mocha latte, until the conversation a few months ago. There’s nothing “half” about it to me and Ben, though. We’re all in, for better or for worse, through thick and thin, the whole enchilada and all the other clichés.
“When can I meet him?” Hopeful eyes peer at me through the darkness. He hates feeling left out.
The answer eludes me. It’s only been two months since my father re-entered my life. We’ve got a lot to unpack. Having him meet Ben isn’t a priority. Not yet. I look at my brother, with his sugar plum heart ready to trust anyone, and want to place him in a bubble where no one can ever break him. He doesn’t know what it’s like to get left behind. To carry a dark, bitter load of hurt and hate. That will never be part of his world. Not while I’m alive.
“I want to get to know him better first, okay? So, it might be awhile. Sorry, kiddo.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a kid anymore.”
The intensity in those eight-year-old eyes makes me want to laugh, but I stifle it, knowing my little brother is sensitive. “Sorry.”
“He’s nice, right?”
Ben thinks that’s an easy question. He waits for me to say “yes” because my father’s been “nice” for the past two months, but there’s about fourteen years of radio silence to consider. The occasional birthday or Christmas card only served as painful reminders that he walked out on me and mom when I was three. A girl can’t just let that go.
“He visits you and texts you and bought that big stuffed bunny.”
All true. All good. Cutest bunny ever. And yet, after each visit, I wonder if it will be our last. “It’s complicated. Give it some time, okay? And go back inside.”
“Why do you get to have two dads?”
His words imply I won the lottery. As if there weren’t a hundred nights I laid in bed wondering what I did to make my father go away. And when I got older, a hundred more wondering how he could choose gambling over me and mom. Over his job. Over everything. Because in the end, that’s what he lost. Ben doesn’t get it. He’s the lucky one. The dad we share, who loved me enough to adopt me when my bio father signed away his rights, would never leave us.
“Just go back inside. Please. We’ll talk about it later. Go play Pokémon with Dad.”
“He’s not back from Wild Things yet. One of the tigers has a tooth infection. I think it was Fang. Or maybe Mika. Yeah, Mika. Anyway, I like it here. Look at the moon. It’s so big and orange.”
No wonder Mika’s eating has been off the past couple of days. I take comfort in knowing our beautiful Bengal is in good hands with the best wildlife vet in the business. She sure wasn’t in good hands before she came to our rescue center. At least now she can live in peace, with room to roam. My eyes return to the mesmerizing moon. “It’s gorgeous, but you still need to go. I’m meeting someone.” My words hold far more optimism than my heart.
“Who?”
“A guy from my class.” I’m done answering questions, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Ben’s not done asking them.
He wraps his arms around himself in a body hug and makes a kissy face.
Chances are slim he can see my eye roll through the veil of night, but I do it anyway. “Go in. I’m serious.” His stupid kissy face might have been funny some other time, but not when I’m feeling like an idiot for waiting out here. I turn away, but his tug on my sleeve brings my attention back to him.
“Who’s that guy on the phone?” He points down the alley, behind me.
My head whips around to see the glow of a phone illuminating a face that isn’t Nathan’s. Must be someone from the neighborhood just needing a little privacy for a call. He turns his back to us and walks away.
“No one. A neighbor. Go now, Benjamin. My friend will be here any second.”
“Fine.” He stomps the entire way down the sidewalk to let me know he’s offended.
I look at my phone again, which makes no sense, but neither does standing in this stupid vacant alley. It clearly says 10. My yes got sent, so Nathan must know I’m here. Twenty-five minutes of wondering what’s going on makes me think he’s cancelling Friday’s pizza date. It would have been nice to see if he was really as smart and funny and decent as he seems. To be close to him somewhere other than a classroom, where hands might touch. Or lips. To get lost in the depths of those ebony eyes that draw me in like an unmarked path in the rainforest. But if he needs to talk, it’s probably not going to happen. Maybe I was wrong about him.
His loss.
Wind scatters gold and crimson leaves along the fences and garage doors as I zipper my hoodie to the top. Two more minutes, that’s it. Mr. Nathan Boliva is about to get a message stating very clearly he can forget about Friday. If this is how he treats girls, he’s definitely not the guy for me. Still, that nagging feeling remains. Something’s wrong. My eyes are drawn to the sky again, where black clouds drift in front of the moon, shadowing the alley into a darker shade of dark, and channeling a thought as undeniable as it is unexplainable.
The something wrong isn’t Nathan.
Vibrations emerge from behind me, followed by familiar waves of warmth. A car. With no headlights. In a dark alley. Too cliché for a horror flick, and yet…here it is. And I know it’s real because my adrenaline just leaped into overdrive. Phone Guy runs toward me. Hope rises. He’ll help, or at least call the police. But there’s something weird about his face. The shape is off. No features emerge through the darkness.
An ogre hand clamps over my mouth, jerking my head backward toward a silver coupe. Phone Guy reaches me; close enough for me to see his black ski mask. It obscures his face, but not the creepy eyes that glare rivers of terror through my heart. Did Nathan do this? Why? I’m nearly to the car door. I can’t let them get me inside. Staying alive and out of that car are my only goals.
Wide shoulders, thick arms, they’re definitely men. Screams quiver my flimsy vocal chords, their sound blocked by a salty, sweaty hand. They’ve pinned my arms, but my feet strike out in every direction. From the shallow front pocket in my jeans, my cell crashes to the ground.
There goes my lifeline.
My right foot lashes out frantically and strikes a shinbone. My fingers find flesh and dig in like tiger claws, but in the end, these small victories matter little. Despite my best efforts, the whole grab-n-go takes seconds. Rough hands shove me into the car’s back seat.
Now they can take me anywhere; do anything. Anything.
This battle is lost, but the war is on. These guys are about to find out there’s plenty of fight left in me and I’ll use it until my last breath, which may come sooner than I ever imagined. I picture Mika, strongest tigress at the shelter, and try to channel her power. Her aggression. Nobody messes with Mika. That’s who I need to be right now.
The faceless demon shoves a rag between my lips with pudgy fingers I try to bite. Instead, I catch my lip, which bleeds into the rag. It’s sickening, metallic taste churns my stomach, but that’s the least of my problems as they expertly flip me face down on the seat and bind my wrists. Plastic ties cut into my skin. I struggle to break free, kicking the door, the window, anything, but in half a heartbeat they’ve got my ankles bound, too.
Deaf, voiceless, and almost completely immobile. The tiger in me has been conquered. For now. An icy wave of despair sweeps through my body. The driver reaches back and hands something to the guys who hold me down. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse a syringe.
Oh, God!
I send up desperate pleas to Heaven, but no angelic armies swoop down to block their escape. No knights in shining armor or fairy godmothers materialize to save the day. Instead, a sharp pinch in my upper arm sends my panic soaring to a higher level, knowing who-knows-what is streaming through my veins. And as the car speeds off into the darkness, even my sixth sense fades in the face of a black tidal wave.

***

We’re in a motel room. A dreamy, hazy motel room with a musty smell, peeling paint, and no bedding on the mattresses. I should be terrified. My heart should be pounding like a thousand drums. But I am calm. Limp. Subdued by the liquid serenity they injected into me. Indifferent to the mixed messages in my head saying “this is bad,” and simultaneously “all is well.” One of my captors carried me in. I laugh, thinking I probably looked like a drunk girl on a raunchy date with two masked men, but that’s not funny at all. It’s sad. That poor girl. But that poor girl is me, and there was no one around to see me. So dark out there. No lights. Where did the moon go? Such a big beautiful moon. I want to ask them if they saw it, but my hands are tied.
The shorter guy cuts my ankle ties and guides me to a chair. It is stiff. Wooden. Probably a desk chair. He eases me into it and a little voice inside whispers “Fight, Haylie. Fight!” But my body does not respond.
I’m reluctantly complacent as they remove my shoes and rearrange the ropes, winding them around my torso to secure me to the back of the chair. This is not me. There’s still a me inside that wants to bare my claws and fangs, but that message isn’t reaching my arms and legs. My attempt to scream fails miserably, with little more than a pathetic puff of air emerging from my lungs.
An hour goes by. Maybe. It’s impossible to tell for sure in this dreamy state of mind, but it feels like an hour. The fog is beginning to lift from my brain. Shifting air and vibrations beneath my feet tell me the men are moving around, but no one has touched me. Maybe that’s good. But the words “human trafficking” keep haunting me, and I can’t help wondering if this is my first stop on a journey into my darkest fears.
 

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