Fiona
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Fiona came to Jakarta inside a shipping container. They were all
immigrants from around the Pacific Rim, but none of them were legal and none
were free. Some would obviously become laborers. There were those that she
couldn’t identify, perhaps too poor to get to a new life any other way, but not
so poor they were being sold into slavery. Fiona was one of two dozen women;
they all knew what they were headed for.
That had been nearly two years ago
Fiona was still unadjusted to this life. She had learned to fake
it. Violence was a fast teacher. Terror and fear worked as well. It was lonely
and rotten and she lived in an old hotel room with four other women. None were
friends, but at the end of a long night, they could all count on the others to
share a sad glance and a moment of understanding. Sometimes they partied
together. Sometimes separate. When someone came back with a new bruise or
something broken, they all shared the pain.
Vik was her driver tonight. He never took advantage of any of the girls.
That counted for something. He wouldn’t talk to her, but Fiona could respect
him a little. He would watch her in the rearview mirror, sometimes with pity, sometimes
a long stare like he was trying to understand something about her. Fiona
figured he would open up sooner or later and then perhaps she could use that to
her advantage. If was a kind soul, she might be able to find a way out of this
life.
Tonight, her normal routine had changed. She and several others
had been working out of Club B. But the club had been raided a few weeks ago
and business still hadn’t returned. Tonight, she was working at a private party
in a high-rise down town. Maybe they’d have alcohol or drugs there and she
could blackout fast enough to not remember much of the night.
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