“When is Mommy coming back?” I whined with wide innocent eyes, looking up at my hero.
“Mommy isn’t coming back but I’m here and I will never leave you.”
Rhonda yelled out to the man who had mandated the order to tie my shoes, “She did it and we are going outside now.”
She grabbed my hand and we scurried out the door together, giving him no time to refuse us.
The bright Puerto Rican sun caressed my young face. I loved it here. It was a great place to grow up, other than the fact that the roaches never died because of the climate.
Once again, I was free to roam and play on the naval base where my family and I were housed. I looked at my hero, Rhonda. No matter what, she was always there when I needed help. She had taken on the role of mother, as many older siblings do in the case of dysfunctional homes.
From my earliest childhood memories, I can remember having to step over my mother’s drunken body to get to the TV. Meals were not cooked, but a refrigerator was kept on the screened-in porch and when we got hungry, we went there to retrieve food.
My days were spent running the streets of Puerto Rico from sun up, until sun down. Nothing but the grace of God kept me safe as I wandered and roamed, alone with no supervision.
This day, Rhonda and I had made our way to the rodeo. A man, of Puerto Rican descent, had placed Rhonda and another child on the horse and he finished up by placing me on the horse’s lower neck. I listened in embarrassment as the men in cowboy hats with brown skin laughed when the horse lowered his head and I slid down the front, landing on my bottom.
“It’s okay, chiquitita, we will get you back up there.” Once again, he placed my small frame back on the horse and then stated, “Now, this is for you and your sister. I only have one candy bar so one of you gets the candy and the other can have this money.”
Rhonda was behind me yelling, “One of those is mine!”
“No, they are both mine,” I stated as I ate the candy bar as fast as my small mouth was able.
Later that day, as I lied down for a nap, I placed the coins in my mouth, unaware of what would befall me. The next thing I knew, there was a woman standing on a stool, violently shaking me to dislodge the money that was quickly cutting off my air supply. That is the first memory that I have of the woman that was soon to become a prominent part of my life. Her name was Thelma and she was the woman that had adopted my birth mother. Now, she was here to rescue Rhonda and me from the pedophile that had been molesting my sister.
Yes, this latest man that my mother had subjected us to had been violating my sister. Tragically, the mark that was left on her psyche was one that she would carry with her until her early death at the age of 21…
I look up, horrified at what I just read in my trainee’s journal. I had no idea. I was aware that she had faced daunting circumstances in her life, but I had no idea as to the sheer depth of pain she’d suffered. One thing I am certain of is this kind of pain goes deep. The death of her sister—the only person to provide her any kind of nurturing in her young life—had to have been devastating.
My purpose in getting this journal was so that she would bond with me and become a loyal member of Undercover Elite. I hadn’t anticipated it causing me to bond to her. That’s exactly what it is doing… Her pain is becoming my pain.
Johnnie
It takes me a moment to gather my wits as I wake up from my nap. Images of what happened before I went to sleep flood my memory and I can feel my face flushing red in embarrassment. I find myself being grateful that Cash is not in the room to see it.
I have no idea why this man, who looks like he walked off the pages of GQ and Forbes put together, is so obsessed with me. I want answers and I have every intention of getting them tonight over dinner. The man seems to know a hell of a lot more about me than I do him and I plan on rectifying that situation.
I reach over to grab the box left on the king size bed. I didn’t open it before I fell asleep and I’m curious about its contents. I pull the ribbon and watch it fall, taking the top off and lifting it to reveal its contents. I reach down and lift up a stunning, black, sequined evening dress with matching shoes. Out of curiosity, I check the sizes and I’m shocked to see it is the correct size eight dress and size ten shoes. I have no idea how this man has managed to acquire all the details about me that he has. He’s clearly done his homework.
I’m hoping he can give me some answers that will put my mind at ease. It would help to know where he works and why he is so obsessed with having me in his home. As much as I hate to admit it, there is an element of truth behind his statement that I’m my own worst enemy. If he is so concerned, maybe he can offer me a way out of the hell that has become my life.