Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) (24 page)

V
anna was pregnant. She’d never been pregnant before, but, like her mother used to say, “Sure as eggs is eggs,” she knew. She hadn’t seen her period for more than two months, and the cramps that always preceded it never materialized. Her boobs were bigger, too, and tender. She wasn’t showing, at least yet, but she would be. Soon.

When Vanna told her, Jenny, already five months pregnant, said, “How could you be? You’ve been here. You haven’t been doing tricks.”

The girls were kept in separate but adjacent rooms at the farm. They’d discovered a vent in each of their rooms at roughly the same location. If they lay down beside them, they could communicate.

“Keep it down,” Vanna said in a whisper.

“But how did it happen?” Jenny’s voice grew quieter.

“Vlad. He checked me out a couple of months ago. Made me parade in front of him downstairs in hooker clothes. He’s been coming out here a few times a week.”

Jenny’s voice went flat. “So it
is
you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The guards said Vlad had a new girl. But they weren’t sure who it was. I should have known.”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Vanna said.

“Yeah, I know.” But there was a judgmental quality in Jenny’s voice, as if Vanna could have done something about it if she wanted. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s had all of us.”

“You’re kidding.” Vanna couldn’t help feeling deflated.

“Yup.” Was there just a hint of “I told you so” triumph in Jenny’s voice? “And now I’m pregnant.”

“But that was—while we were on the junk, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. And now he ignores me. Like I was the one who fucked up. Even though they were the ones who put us on the shit.”

“How come you never told me?”

“I thought you knew. I thought he was fucking you too. And now”—Jenny’s voice caught—“he is.”

Vanna kept her mouth shut. Vlad had come out to see her just two days ago. In fact, she was getting used to him. He could be cruel; then again, there were times he was quite sweet. At least to her. One night after they fucked, she thanked him for getting her off the dope.

He nodded. “No one should be on that poison.”

She curled up next to him, something he rarely allowed. “When you’re on it, you don’t think it’s bad.”

He actually put his arm around her.

She snuggled closer. “Anyway…,” she said, “now I know you care.”

When he bought her a pair of earrings for Christmas, dangly things that sparkled in the light, she was sure of it. She was different from the other girls. She and Vlad had something special.

Now Jenny interrupted her thoughts. “This isn’t good, Vanna. When we were downtown, there were rumors. The girls—when they get pregnant—a lot of them disappear. And never come back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that. After they go into labor, they’re gone.”

“What do you think happens to them?”

“What do
you
think?” Jenny whispered.

Vanna swallowed. “No. I don’t believe it. He probably just sells them to other pimps.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

Vanna hesitated. “It—it makes no sense.”

It was Jenny’s turn to be quiet.

“And,” Vanna added, a chill running through her, “it would mean we’re next.”

T
hat night Vanna couldn’t sleep. At one point she heard the crunch of cars on snow and gravel. She’d heard them before, but her room was on the other side of the house and she’d never actually seen the cars or the people in them. She only knew they hadn’t come into the house. Once she thought she heard a woman cry out, but when she asked, Zoya said she must have been dreaming.

Then there was the barn. All the time she’d been at the farm, no one had allowed her near it. She’d tried. One of the guards, Sergei, was almost human. He nodded when he saw her; even smiled once or twice. She begged him to let her go for a walk, and he consented, but, of course, he went with her. Anytime she ventured in the direction of the barn, he steered her away. Which, of course, made her more curious.

Now she wondered if the cars arriving at night and the barn were connected to what Jenny had told her. She didn’t see how. She wasn’t even sure Jenny was telling the truth. Girls who got pregnant, and there did seem to be a lot of them—four or five in the time she’d been at the farm—were probably given abortions, then sold.

If she’d learned one thing about sex trafficking, it was that there was always a supply of new girls. Fresh off the bus, duped into thinking they were going to be nannies, actresses, or models. Once snared by assholes like Lazlo, they were sold into trafficking, then hooked on heroin so they couldn’t buy their way out. Except for the ones who got pregnant. Like her, they were forced into withdrawal. But Jenny had a point. She never saw any of the pregnant women once they delivered.

If that was true, though, why was Vlad coming out here three times a week to have sex with her? And why was he fucking other girls, many of whom, according to Jenny, got pregnant as well? It made no sense. And yet, if it
was
true, she and Jenny were sitting ducks.

She didn’t want to leave. For the first time since she’d come to Chicago, for the first time since her father died, in fact, she’d found a sort of security. Sure it was crazy to think that being trafficked was stable. But Vlad had rescued her from the worst of it, and she didn’t have much to do except wait for his next visit. She wasn’t stupid enough to call it love, but it was
something
. He came to see her regularly, they had sex, they talked. She liked that part—the talking—best of all. They were getting to know each other.

But now Jenny was saying that it wasn’t real. That they were in danger. A tiny voice nagged Vanna and said Jenny was right. Vlad wasn’t her father, and the voice said he couldn’t be trusted. She would be smart to put some distance between herself and the farm.

Reluctantly, she and Jenny hatched a hasty plan. The next night they waited until it was late. Zoya allowed them to keep emery boards in their rooms, and they managed to tear them into pieces and wedge them into the back plate so that the door locks didn’t completely catch. They piled on as much clothing as they could, which wasn’t much since they no longer had boots, coats, or hats, and crept down the stairs. They sneaked out of the house and even made it partway down the driveway before a pair of bright lights kicked on and the guards soon overpowered them. After they threw them back in their rooms, Vanna heard Zoya on the phone.

T
he next morning Vanna was driven to a warehouse somewhere in the bowels of Chicago. Eight girls were already there, and the place was filled with camp cots, sleeping bags, makeup, and trash. Like in the apartment she and Jenny had been kept in before she’d gone to the farm, a clothing rack held all sorts of hooker clothes that, presumably, were shared. The women ate only one meal a day, usually sandwiches from a nearby deli. Most of the girls didn’t speak English, but they chattered incessantly, so much that Vanna had a persistent headache. The only peace she got was when they were out hooking. For some reason she was no longer sent on booty calls. She spent the entire day inside the cramped quarters of the warehouse.

The only consolation was that Sergei had come with her. She tried not to think how low she’d sunk to consider a Russian goon her ally; it was clear he was supposed to keep an eye on her. But she smiled when he brushed by, and when they were the only ones in the warehouse, he would perch on the edge of her cot. He didn’t speak much English, nor she Russian, but they were able to communicate through pigeon English, pantomime, and gestures.

Sergei, Vanna learned, was not only a guard, but also Vlad’s part-time chauffeur. She asked him where Vlad was; she hadn’t seen him since they’d brought her here, and that was nearly a week ago. Was her “relationship” with him—she wasn’t sure what else to call it—over? Or was Vlad punishing her because she tried to escape? Did he know she was pregnant?

Sergei shrugged. “I not know. No ask.”

Vanna pursed her lips. “Am I going to be here forever?”

He shrugged again, implying, at least to Vanna, that she was better off not knowing.

A
week later the cold was so bitter that the space heater’s red coils seemed like a bad joke. It was about ten at night and all the girls were out. Vanna was huddled on her cot in sweats and a blanket that Sergei had managed to rustle up. It was ironic—if she’d still been turning tricks, she wouldn’t be cold. She was hungry, too, and about to ransack everyone’s belongings for a candy bar or cookies when a car pulled up outside.

The door slammed, and a man came in through the back. She recognized the burly bull of a man: one of Vlad’s bodyguards. He took a look around but gave no sign he recognized Vanna. Then he went back out. Another car door opened and closed, and a moment later, Vlad strolled in. Vanna’s pulse sped up—she couldn’t help it—and a kernel of hope took root. Was he here to take her back? Forgive her? She scrambled off the bed and started toward him.

The look on his face made her halt midstride. No crooked smile tonight. No enthusiasm, not even a glint of desire. His expression was blank. Vanna took a step back and ran one hand, then the other, up and down her arms. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this cold.

“They say you try to run.” His voice was as neutral and flat as his face. But that, she’d learned, was Vlad at his most dangerous. He was sizing up his prey. Making adjustments. Soon he would strike. “After how I treat you, Vanna?”

She hung her head, hoping a sign of submission would win him over.

He reached his hand out toward her. She cringed, expecting him to slap her—or worse. But all he did was finger one of her earrings.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. When he’d given the earrings to her, he’d ordered her to wear them all the time. She did. Now she waited for him to tear them off her ears, waited for the excruciating pain and blood and bits of skin that would follow. Instead he dropped his hand.

“Look at me.”

Slowly she raised her head. His eyes were chunks of ice. There was no anger in them, but no forgiveness, either. She could have been a chair or table as far as he was concerned. She swallowed. Rage she could deal with. Lust, too. But this—this glacial emptiness—terrified her, and her composure evaporated. His presence sucked out her teenage arrogance, cynicism, and know-it-all attitude, as if he’d run a huge vacuum cleaner over her psyche. The only thing left was fear, and an overwhelming desire to make it go away. Maybe if she tried to please him, tried hard, she could regain her position as Vlad’s chosen.

She tried to muster some of her flirty ways, but they wouldn’t come. Instead the words slipped out. “I’m sorry.”

“I could kill you,” he murmured after a long pause. “No one would know. No one would care.”

Maybe he should. That would solve her problems. What did she have to live for if he didn’t want her anymore?

“You like that, wouldn’t you?”

She jerked her head up. Was he reading her mind?

He closed in. This time she was sure he would strike her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother had predicted it. Her teachers, too. She would come to no good. She was just a two-bit junkie whore who gave boys blow jobs in their cars. She deserved whatever was coming.

But Vlad’s punch didn’t come. She felt him cup her chin in his hand. She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to figure something out. Finally, a tiny crooked smile curled his lip.

“But I no kill you.”

She swallowed, unsure whether the wave of emotion rolling through her was relief or regret.

“You pregnant.”

Again, she was taken aback. How did he know? “Does—does that make you happy?”

Another crooked smile. Then he turned and called out to Sergei, who appeared from the depths of the warehouse. Vlad spoke in Russian. Sergei stole a glance at Vanna, disappeared, then returned with a cardboard box, which he handed to Vlad.

Vlad tossed it to Vanna. She didn’t catch it fast enough, and it fell to the floor. “You know what to do.”

She bent down and picked up the box. A pregnancy test kit. Of course he could tell she was pregnant. If he’d impregnated as many girls as Jenny claimed, he would know the signs. And if he didn’t, Zoya would.

He waved a hand toward the bathroom. “You bring back stick.”

Five minutes later she emerged from the bathroom, clutching the white plastic strip with a pink cross on one end, indicating a positive result. She passed it to him. He examined it, then nodded. “This is gut.”

She tried out a smile. “Yes. It is. I’m having your baby.” She hugged herself, pretending to be happy. “Can you forgive me, Vlad? I’ll never leave you again, I promise. I just want to have our baby. Together.” She wondered how many other girls had said the same thing. Would it make any difference?

Vlad looked around. She followed his gaze. No one had cleaned up the warehouse. The blankets on the cots were messy and crumpled; clothes and toiletries were scattered; trash littered the floor. But Vlad’s expression was absorbed. He wasn’t registering the scene. He was planning something, working things through.

Finally he turned back. “You want back to farm?”

She nodded. “More than anything in the world.”

He walked over to a small mound of trash on the floor and picked up a crumpled sandwich wrapper from the deli. He held the edge of it between his fingertips, as if it was contaminated by dangerous microbes, and backtracked to Vanna.

“You do this, I take you back.”

“Anything.” She smiled in a way she hoped was both seductive and submissive.

“Take.” He dangled the wrapper in front of her.

“S
ergei,” Vlad called. “Bring pen.”

Again Sergei materialized out of the gloom with a ballpoint pen, which he gave to Vanna.

Vlad motioned toward her cot. “Sit.”

She sat with the wrapper and pen.

“Make this good English.” Then he told her what he wanted her to say.

Her smile lost some of its wattage. “I can’t do that.”

“You do.” The icy look was back.

Vanna bit her lip. “But—but she’s my sister.”

“And I am father of baby.”

“I don’t want to see her.”
Not now. Not like this,
Vanna thought.

“You no do? If not, easy to fix.”

She would be dead before morning. Along with the baby. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to die after all. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll do it.”

Despite the cold, she was sweating. She wrote on the wrapper.

“Make English good.”

“I will. I am.”

Georgia, I am your half sister, Savannah. I’m in Chicago and I’m pregnant. I need your help. Please find me.

When she was done, she handed it back. “Why do you want her to find me?”

“Not your business.”

Her stomach knotted. “Why? Do you know her?”

“I say not your business.”

She blinked rapidly. She’d taken it as far as she could. She’d have to try another tack.

“We not finished,” Vlad said.

“What do you mean?” She felt the knot tighten.

“Sergei. Envelope.”

Sergei passed her a white envelope, which Vlad made her address. Georgia lived in someplace called Evanston. On Wilder Street. She didn’t know where Evanston was but figured it had to be close. She wondered if there was any way she could warn her sister. Vlad cut off her thoughts.

“Now give me hand.”

Vanna cocked her head. “Why?”

Vlad reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a knife. It looked like a Swiss Army knife, but thinner and sharper. Savannah gasped. She’d done what he needed. Now he was going to kill her. The blood left her head in a rush.

“Give me hand,” he said in a businesslike tone.

She tried to slip it into the pocket of her sweatpants. He was going to cut it off.

“Now.” He motioned.

There was nothing she could do. She extended her palm and looked away. Whatever was going to happen would be now. She felt a prick on the tip of her index finger. She turned back to gaze at her hand. A drop of blood oozed out. She stared at the blood, wondering what the hell he was doing. Then Vlad took the sandwich wrapper and rolled her finger across a corner of the wrapper until it was smeared with her blood. He handed it to her.

“Fold and put in envelope,” he ordered.

Vanna slipped the wrapper inside.

“Now lick closed.”

She did.

Vlad took the envelope, gave it to Sergei, and issued orders in Russian. Sergei nodded.

Without another word Vlad turned around and left the warehouse as suddenly as he’d come.