CHAPTER 18
They are Ámbar, Camila, Dylan, and Alexander.
It didn't matter if they were tired or if they could no longer walk. If they were asked for, they had to obey. Many times Ámbar and Camila were unconscious; sometimes they preferred not to see, not to feel. Their mothers no longer saw them, because they had been taken to another country. They were very young, barely over 22, and they never saw them again.
They were never called by their names inside the brothel. To them, they were objects. Since they were aware of anything, they couldn't remember a single day without suffering. The rape was not the worst part… or at least that's what they tried to convince themselves of. Many times they were only spectators, but they knew that eventually it would be their turn.
Because the more they grew, the less interest they sparked. And that meant that, sooner or later, they would be sacrificed.
"You're badly hurt," said nurse Vianney while stepping away from Ámbar and pulling down her skirt after she had been with one of her regular clients of the day. The room smelled like cheap disinfectant mixed with sweat, and the yellow light made everything look sadder. "You need to rest or it will get worse."
"But I can't do that," Ámbar answered with her still childlike, sharp, trembling voice. "They'll get angry."
"I know," Vianney replied.
She carefully stood up and opened a drawer that creaked as it moved. She pulled out small pants that seemed to be Ámbar's size and offered them to her. The fabric was worn, but clean.
Ámbar lowered her head.
"Isn't it…?"
Vianney gently shook her head. Ámbar looked down. Her hands clutched the fabric as if she didn't know what to do next. Vianney stroked her head carefully, avoiding looking into her eyes. She knew that if she did, her heart would shrink at the reminder that she was just a child living something no one ever should.
"I'm sorry… I know you were friends," she murmured.
The silence filled the room until the door burst open. A man they recognized for always coming on Fridays entered carrying Camila. She was convulsing, foam coming from her mouth, and Vianney rushed toward her when he threw her carelessly onto the stretcher.
"Bring me another one, she's useless now," he said to Vianney, as if asking for someone else were the most normal thing in the world.
But Vianney was already focused on Camila. Her hands moved quickly as she opened vials, prepared medication, and filled a syringe.
"Didn't you hear me?" he insisted.
Vianney turned with the syringe in her hand. Her job was traumatic. She wasn't one of them… but she could have been. She stayed because she kept them alive, and that was all that mattered.
She hated them. Outside, many of them had apparently perfect lives: family, money, even fame. But behind that façade, they destroyed innocent people.
"Don't mess with me. I'm just here to take care of them," she said, stepping toward him firmly.
The man took a step back. Vianney immediately returned to Camila, checking her breathing. The ceiling light flickered, and the air smelled of alcohol and fear.
"Bitch," he muttered as he exited.
The slam of the door left the room silent again, broken only by Camila's uneven breathing.
Camila, after a while, began to sleep steadily. Even so, Vianney knew that both she and Ámbar were still at risk. Since they were little, they had been subjected to it, and her body was already paying the price. If they couldn't keep doing it, they would end up in the news as just another death.
Ámbar and Camila stayed with Vianney in the small room where she treated them. She informed her superiors when they improved, but that day she begged for them to rest. The room was silent, dimly lit by a white light that made everything feel cold. The girls slept.
But her request caused one of her superiors to summon her "upstairs." That's what they called the rooms where everything was done for money.
Vianney didn't move.
She stayed there, in her workspace. She looked at the girls once more and felt something inside her break. Her breathing became heavy. She stepped back and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, still watching them.
She pulled out her phone with trembling hands and dialed.
"Fabiola… I can't anymore, I'm going to lose my mind," she whispered, grabbing her hair desperately.
"They can't die… I can't, I really can't watch this anymore."
"Vianney," said Fabiola on the other end.
"Yes?" she replied, still breathing unevenly.
"We're getting them out… we're going to save them. But it has to be without suspicion."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I'm going to buy them," Fabiola said firmly. "In my husband's name. That way they'll be legally free. I'll handle everything."
"But… that's very risky…"
"Listen to me. Just stay calm. Act normal. Don't let anyone notice. I'll contact your boss."
"You're really going to do it…?"
"Yes. And this time we're getting them out."
Vianney ended the call and checked the time. She approached the girls and covered them with a blanket because of the cold. She grabbed the keys and left, locking the door. The thought of someone entering and hurting them terrified her.
She went upstairs.
"They're waiting for you," said the guard with a gun at the door. "Go in."
The door opened, and the scene in front of her nearly made her collapse. For a moment she stopped breathing when she saw her boss holding a young woman, about 22 years old, kneeling in front of Dylan and Alexander, who were brothers. Alexander was two years younger than Dylan.
It was their mother.
And Vianney understood that her time had come.
She had expired… as they called it.
"They're children, not very useful around here… what do you think, Vianney?" he turned to her while gripping the young woman's arm. Without lifting her head, the woman mouthed words Vianney could read.
Help me.
Help me.
"They're children, but at least I'll give them a chance to live and leave here easily," he said while signaling one of his assistants, who stood motionless.
"You know what… I've changed my mind. It's boring to always do the same thing," he said calmly.
Without warning, he threw the knife straight at Vianney.
"You're fast," he said when he saw her.
Vianney avoided his gaze.
Then she looked at them, crying and holding each other. A generation she knew too well. Children of her dead friends… or those about to disappear.
And that didn't just anger her.
It hurt.
Then he grabbed her arm hard. She was awake, and the scream filled the place when he, with both arms, broke her arm in two, revealing the bone and the blood falling from him.Vianey couldn't bear it and went for the children to take them.
"Stay there, Vianey, stay there," he said while watching her with a darkened gaze. The children's mother couldn't vocalize from the shock; Vianey's face was pale and she looked like she was about to vomit.
"They're children, they're innocent, you can't do this to them," said Vianey while they clung to her as their only hope.
"Vianey, if you don't step away from them, I'll kill you and Liam."
He released the girl and left her on the floor bleeding out to go after Vianey, touching her face.
"Love, don't throw away everything we've lived through."
"Miss Vianey, don't leave us," said Dylan while stuttering without letting go of her sweater.
"I'll leave them alive," he said, looking at her.
"No, no… don't lie," she denied, unable to believe what she was hearing. She was about to have a panic attack.
"Yes, yes I will," again he looked at the assistant. "Bring me the glasses, please."
She watched as the glasses were exchanged and how he approached her. He lifted her and let blood fall into the glass, filling it up to fear in both containers; strange things could be seen and they were probably meat parts.
"I'll leave them alive for life. I'll never bother them again if they drink from these glasses."
Vianey's eyes were wide open. She was shaking. He really wanted to… he really…
"You're a fucking sick man."
"What? Why?" he asked, not understanding. "Honestly, I'm being kinder. I've never done this before. What do you think?" he asked the woman, who still had her eyes open.
Vianey held the two of them so they wouldn't turn and see the grotesque scene.
"Dy… lan… chi… ldren…" she said, dragging the words. "Please… li… ve… do… it…"
Vianey shuddered when she heard the last part, and he smiled as if that were good news.
He approached Vianey with the two glasses.
"Give them to them or I will," he asked, then shrugged. "Better I give them myself."
Dylan barely turned and took the glass. He looked at it, then lifted his gaze to his mother's body and she blinked less and less each time.
Then he looked at Vianey, who was still trembling while holding Alexander, as a tear slipped from her left eye.
They lived.
Because their mother kept them alive.