Securing permission is not always this easy. I’ve been thrown out of homes. Had beer bottles tossed at my head, vicious threats spewed in my face. For some, rage is easier to handle. And many families do have secrets to hide.
I don’t think Guerline is one of those people. Emmanuel... He knows more than he’s saying, I’d bet. But I’d also bet he thinks he’s protecting his sister with his silence, meaning my real job will be convincing him otherwise.
I rise. I don’t want to overwhelm Guerline or alienate Emmanuel. Not when I can tell both truly want answers.
I focus on Guerline. “Ricardo, the community officer. Can you give me his information and let him know I’ll be in touch? Or I can give you mine to pass along to him if you prefer?”
Guerline nods, and I scribble down the number to my Tracfone.
“If you could call Angelique’s school, give permission for the principal or a school counselor to speak with me?”
Another faint nod.
“I’m living above Stoney’s,” I repeat now, seeing the exhaustion starting to take over. “I also work there several nights a week. If you need to reach me in person, please feel free to find me there. I am not just here for Angelique but also for you.”
Emmanuel mutters something sardonic under his breath. But Guerline grasps my hand firmly this time. I am unexpected and unfamiliar to her, but she is a woman with nothing to lose.
This is how most cases start. With a bubble of desperate hope and tentative trust. Where things go from here, how Guerline and Emmanuel might view me months from now...
Emmanuel walks me back downstairs. He doesn’t speak a word, relying on the rigid set of his shoulders to radiate disapproval.
“You love Angelique,” I state softly when we reach the lobby. “She’s a good older sister. She looks out for you.”
He glares at me, but I see a bright sheen in his eyes. The pain he’s trying hard not to show.
“You really done this before?” he asks roughly.
“Many times.”
“How many people have you actually found?”
“Fourteen.”
He purses his lips, clearly taken aback by that number.
“Good night, Emmanuel. And if you think of anything I should know.” I stick out my hand. This time he takes it.
Then I exit the triple, out into the crisp fall night, where the sun has set. Bright lights wink in the distance. But on this block no streetlights are working. Not the best idea for a lone woman to be walking around after dark, but I hardly have a choice.
I square my shoulders and head briskly back toward Stoney’s, grateful it hadn’t occurred to Emmanuel to ask the next logical question:
Not just how many people I’d found but how many people I’d brought home alive.
None.
At least, not yet.