Page 1 of The Road to You
Prologue - Bruqlyn (Brooklyn) Carter Sampson
Years Earlier…
Jackson, Mississippi
She just couldn’t understand why her father was the way that he was. The biggest question in Bruqlyn’s head was how her mother was ever attracted to a man like Carter Sampson. He was the devil. “Mama, how could you ever love a man like him?”
She lay in her mother’s arms in the playhouse that was built when Bruqlyn was eight years old. It was one of the last nice gestures that she remembered from her father. Her mother, Bridget, knew that the playhouse was nothing more than a way to keep their daughter out of his hair. Carter didn’t allow his daughter to have friends over, so imaginary friends and dolls were her entertainment in her youth. At twenty-two years old, she had become accustomed to not having friends.
Bridget hugged her daughter on the bed that they lay on in the bedroom of the playhouse, which over the years, had transformed into an apartment of sorts. Bridget made sure she upgraded the house because she acknowledged that, the more Bruqlyn was out of sight, the less likely her father was to turn his abuse in their daughter’s direction.
“Baby, I’m so sorry he’s like this. I promise he wasn’t always like this. When we first met, he was the sweetest, most generous, considerate, and loving man that I knew. Now, in hindsight, I can admit that it may have been a ploy to reel me in. It was like one day it just turned,” she said.
He went from passive insults, to blatant verbal abuse, to flat-out physical abuse. Bruqlyn was fifteen when she found out what her father’s real source of income was. On the surface, Carter Sampson owned a few textile mills with hundreds of workers each. It allowed the family to live an extremely comfortable lifestyle. At least that was what she thought was the reason for their lifestyle. One day, she overheard her father on a business call while he discussed the transportation of people. A lot of the workers in the mills were undocumented workers.
These were the people that he transported. The proper word for it was trafficking. He trafficked people. Bruqlyn was horrified. She tried to keep it to herself, but her disgust at the mere thought of it encouraged her to confront her father. At sixteen, that was the first time he beat her to the point of hospitalization. Bridget was mortified and infuriated. Later that evening, she was the next to be admitted into the hospital because of a brutal beating.
“Mama, why didn’t you leave him when you realized he was the devil?” Bruqlyn’s head tilted up to lock eyes with her mother. “I’m not judging you. I just want to understand.”
Bridget thought about how she would answer the question. Did she have a valid answer that would be sufficient to explain why? She wasn’t sure if she did, but all she could do was give her answer. “Fear of not having what I needed to raise you comfortably. You were around four when I started to see the shift in your father. It was just toward me, so I figured that it would be fine if it was just me. It was just me until you found out his secret.”
Carter had no real interest in his daughter until she invaded his world and knew his secret. Bruqlyn went from his daughter to a problem that he needed to control. She already had limited freedom, but after the discovery, all her freedom was stripped. He withdrew her from school and forced her to get her GED. He didn’t allow her to get a job for fear that she would uncover the depravity of his side business.
“I hate him. I’ve never wanted anyone to go to hell as much as I want him to.” Tears fell from her eyes as she spoke her heart. “I feel like a prisoner,” she mumbled.
Bridget’s soul tumbled to her feet. She always felt that her daughter felt that way, but to hear her say it was a different thing. As a prisoner herself, she knew what it felt like, and she didn’t want that for her daughter. “Bruqlyn, I don’t want that for you. God, I don’t.”
Carter had made it clear that if either of them ever left, he would find them and kill them. He was a man who lived in constant fear that everything would come to an imploding end, resulting in him spending life in jail or worse, killed by the group that employed him. Everyone was expendable when it came to keeping his secret.
For over a year, Bridget had been busy with a plan to get her daughter out. It was time, and she knew it in her heart and spirit. Did it terrify her to be alone with the man who had made the last almost twenty years of her life a living hell? Of course it did, but she would suffer to ensure that her daughter could be free.
Her body turned into Bruqlyn. “Baby, I think it’s time that you get out of here. It’s time for you to go.”
Bruqlyn’s face tightened at her mother’s words. What did she mean that it was time to go? “Mama, what are you talking about? Are you feeling alright?”
She had to be sick. There was no other explanation for it. Bruqlyn lifted her hand to touch her mother’s head. Surely,there was a temperature present. “Bruqlyn, don’t make me hurt you, girl.” Bridget laughed at her daughter’s silliness. It was an attribute that her mother thanked God her father was unable to take from her.
“Bruqlyn, as long as you’re here, you will never be able to have the life that you deserve. Your father will make sure of that, and it must stop. It’s one thing for me to feel like a prisoner, but I will not have that for my daughter.” Bridget spoke through tears. “It is my job to protect you, and I need to do a better job of it.”
Nope! She would not allow her mother to think for one second that she hadn’t protected her. Protection didn’t always look the same. “Mama, you have protected me. Have you forgotten that I’ve seen you take licks for me?”
The Sampsons lived on land that was passed down to Carter. The textile business had also been passed down to him. If his ancestors knew that he would eventually use the business that they had put their blood, sweat, and tears into, they would have never given him the honor to be a part of the family business. It was a beautiful piece of land that had a lot of hiding places that Bruqlyn used to her advantage. It was an advantage to her, but a disadvantage to Carter, who thought it would be how she would escape him at some point. Bridget took the licks for her daughter’s whimsical behavior at times.
“Yes, I remember, but that is not what I want for you.” She moved Bruqlyn’s body to get up. “Wait here. I got something for you.”
Bridget left her daughter’s sacred place as it had become to get a very special gift. It was a gift that Carter surprisingly approved of. A part of his control was to give his wife and daughter a certain level of superficial satisfaction. The mother-daughter duo had a lot of things.
Once she had what she needed, she walked into the bedroom where Bruqlyn still lay in the bed. When she saw what hermother had in her hands, her back shot up off the bed. “Mama, is that for me?”
The excitement in her voice brought joy to Bridget that she desperately needed. She was so tired of Carter’s shit, but she knew that she had to plan the escape just right. It was a layered plan, and the first layer was getting Bruqlyn out. Carter had gotten to the point that his disrespect when it came to his infidelity was bold. He didn’t hide from his daughter or wife that he had whores.
The previous night, Carter had company, which meant that his wife slept in a guest room. Yes, he was disrespectful, but at a point, Bridget no longer cared. As far as she was concerned, if he was busy with whores, then he wasn’t bothering her. That was another aspect of it that Bruqlyn didn’t understand. She would never allow a man or anyone, for that matter, to disrespect her. Carter may have been abusive toward his daughter, but she never took it without fighting back. The older she got, the more she fought back.
“Yes, he is for you. I thought that you might need a friend when you embark on the new chapter in your life. I don’t want you to feel alone out there,” Bridget told her daughter.
She didn’t want to hear that bullshit from her mother. Bruqlyn had no plans to leave her mother in a house with the devil all alone. “What should I name him?” she asked. “Is he a rottweiler?”
“Yes, he is a rottweiler. You can name him whatever you like. He’s ten weeks old and all yours, Bruqlyn.” She sat there while her daughter rambled through different name options. As much as she wanted to partake in the name-picking activity, there were more pressing matters that needed to be discussed. “Bruqlyn, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but baby, I need you to listen to me. I need you to take in what I am going to tell you and follow my instructions when the time is right.”
