What was lost

The night was eerily silent. The beige colors of this mundane one-story house were barely visible under the piercing moonlight. The wind sat paralyzed by the intensity of the madness that was about to unfold. Shadows were scattered around this quaint house, and every light was set to slumber inside the neighboring homes as if everyone chose to rest at the same time each night. The homeowners who now dreamt of their hopes, dreams, anxieties, extramarital affairs, and anything else you could dream of remained perfectly innocent to the clandestine operation taking place outside their front doors.

The men and women surrounding this seemingly average southern California home continued to grow anxious with anticipation. This was the moment that Federal Agents dream about after months of gathering info and building the right team. The moment had finally arrived.

“This is for Aliyah.” Rondell thought as he kissed the silver necklace he wore.

This signal went off. A raised left hand, motioning forward with four fingers pointing to their target.

Rondell’s eyes darted forward. “Go time.”

A dozen Federal agents leaped up from the shadows seemingly and dashed toward the front door.

“THIS IS THE FBI! WE HAVE A SEARCH WARRANT! OPEN UP!”

Lights flipped on and off quickly. Footsteps were heard scurrying about on the inside.

Agent Colson turned around. “Open her up.”

Two other agents in body armor shared the task of carrying the battering ram, aka The Enforcer. And without another word, they went to work.

BOOM!.... BOOM!.... BOOM!

After the third strike, the door came tumbling down. FBI agents immediately fill the residence and begin their search. Rondell is among the first to enter. Lights at the barrel end of Glocks, SIG Sauers, and Remingtons.

“Clear!” was yelled from each room until they found it.

“Sir! We found it. The entranceway is in this closet!”

POW POW POW POW POW POW

Shots rang out from behind the doorway, hitting the agent and putting him down.

Rondell had just gotten to the back room. “Got damn it!”

“Yall better stay back! I’ll kill’em all if yall try to come in here!”

There was a breeze that blew through the small cracked window in this secret room, but adrenalin was in overdrive. The man’s heart pumped too hard to notice that minor detail.

“Listen!” started Rondell. “We are not here to harm you. We are here to get those children!”

The man, who had sunken eyes, balding greasy hair, and missing teeth, grunted loudly. He then looked over to his left, where 14 pairs of terrified eyes stared back at him. The oldest of the group had a scowl on her face. They all were draped in ragged clothing and appeared as though they hadn’t bathed in weeks. The man was sweating profusely, holding the handgun aimed with both hands at the entranceway.

“Ahhh… Shit!”

In a fit of panic and confusion, the man grabs up the smallest of the children.

“You better get back, or this one is dead.”

Rondell closes his eyes. His gun is clutched tightly between both hands and pressed firmly against his chest. He inhales deeply as a sweat bead drips down his melanated skin. Then he exhales every ounce of air from his lungs.

“Hey, what’s your name, man?” Rondell asked.

“The hell you wanna know my name for?”

“Seems like you're holding all the cards. I at least wanna know who I’m talkin to, ya’ know?”

The man grunted and then went silent.

Rondell broke the silence. “Hey man you-“

“Chris! Chris is my name.”

“Alright, Chris. I’m Rondell, by the way. I think there’s a way we can solve this without getting anybody hurt. That sound good to you?”

“Whatdayya want?!”

“Well, how about this, Chris. I come in there with no gun, no body armor, no earpiece, and we talk about it. How’s that sound, Chris?

“What, you think I’m stupid?! I seen those movies. You take off all that stuff, but you still got your gun on your ankle. You just tryna get a better shot.”

Rondell sighed. “No tricks, Chris. I just wanna talk.”

Silence fell over the house again. The agents were all frozen in place, awaiting their next instructions, and remained prepared for any eventuality that may occur. Then tension became more than the elephant in the room. It was now the t-rex breathing down your neck right before it found a delicious meal for the evening. This extended silence was unbearable.

“Just you!”

“What’s that, Chris?”

“I said just, you Rodney!”

“Alright, Chris. I’m walkin in with both my hands up. Is that okay?”

“Al-Alright.”

“Thank you, Chris.”

Rondell cautiously stepped into the once hidden backroom, taking in every detail he can grab hold of with his eyes. The first sensual affront was the smell. The room was much smaller than he expected, thus condensing and strengthening the scent of damp rotting wood and tainted body odor. The air tasted sour and felt weighted.

Besides the small stature of the room, there was an unimaginable number of holes, rips, tears, and scratches covering the walls. There was one light bulb flickering in the left corner and moonlight coming through a tiny window. In the right corner, Rondell counted 13 pairs of eyes all huddled together. These children were the sole reason Rondell had shown up.

“So, whattaya want, Rodney?”

“Well, more importantly, Chris. What do you want?”

He was surprised by the question. “Pull up your pant legs, untuck your shirt, then spin around?”

“Still don’t trust me, Chris?”

“Just shut up and do it!”

“Alright, Chris. Alright.”

Rondell did as he was told.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

Again, Rondell did as he was told.

“We all good, Chris?”

Chris stared Rondell up and down. Chris knew Rondell was up to something, but he couldn’t figure out just yet what it was. So Chris had to play Rondell’s game for now, but not for too much longer.

“So, Chris. What do you want outta all this?”

Chris didn’t have a real answer.

“Uh…Well…I want all these Feds the hell outta here!”

As he was saying this, he waved his weapon around recklessly. Rondell reacted accordingly by ducking, and the children flinched in the corner. Chris took no notice of either reaction; however, Rondell thought that was an auspicious sign.

“Okay, Chris, but first, let's keep the gun aimed this way.” Rondell pointed to himself. “Yeah?”

Chris’ eyes floated over to the children for a while, then back to Rondell.

“Yeah…Whatever.”

“Okay, Chris. Now you know the only way my colleagues will leave is if you let the kids go. Right?”

His eyes drifted over to the kids again.

“I ain't doing it! No freakin way!”

“What about half of them?”

“Not a chance.”

“Three?”

“No, man. Quit askin!”

Rondell felt frustration rising from the base of his spine.

“This guy won’t budge on at all.” Rondell thought.

All this time, the kids remained silent and motionless. They all had probably been in captivity for so long and were conditioned to be this way. It was eerie to look over and a crowd of eyes, devoid of any emotion. They all looked numb to the world, but Rondell’s job was to get them all out, and hopefully, someday, their humanity would return. But, first, he had to make it work.

“What about one, Chris? Just one.”

Chris paused for a moment, and for the first time, looked down at the little girl he was holding. A single tear rolled down his face. That’s the moment Rondell knew something different was afoot here. Chris wasn’t a child predator hoarding children or a smuggler protecting his property. He was doing this for another reason entirely.

Chris was acting out of fear.

Chris wiped away the tear. “Wha-What do I get outta the deal?”

“You’ll start to gain some favor with my team. That’s for sure.”

Chis paused again. You could easily see the internal battle taking place inside his head. This wasn’t a man without morals.

He began to back away. “No, I ain't doing it! I’m gonna write my demands on this paper, and you can show this to your buddies outside.”

“Okay, Chris. Give the list, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Chris went off into the corner with the young girl in tow. Rondell could hear the quick scribbles followed by the haphazard crinkling of the paper. Chris tossed the paper ball at Rondell, whose high school football tight end reflexes, as he snatched it from the sky. He instantly unfurled the small piece of paper and read the scrawl with widened eyes.

Rondell folded the note. “Got it. Let me take this out to the team and see what we can do.”

Chris nodded his head as Rondell turned and exited the room. However, there was a new development that changed the situation entirely. One that Rondell nor any of the federal agents saw coming. Rondell was not sure how to proceed.

When he exited the back room, Rondell was immediately pelted with questions. He raised his hand slowly before he spoke to halt the onslaught. There was something important he needed to reveal. He opened the note.

“They have my wife and daughter. If I let any kids go, they’re both dead. Help.”

Agent Colson hardened his face. “We have a situ-“

CRASH!

The sound of broken glass followed by a heavy thud erupted from the back room, and Rondell sprung into action. He grabbed his pistol off the nearby dresser and rushed through the poorly hidden entranceway. Chris’ body lay on the floor, unmoving and unfeeling. The small child stood over her captor and stared at the lifeless mass either out of curiosity or shock.

There was blood in her mangled locks of blonde hair, but if you look at her hair a certain way, you could see the outline of a pear tree, Aliyah’s favorite tree. Rondell got lost in this train of thought for a moment and froze.

Agent Colson came in behind Rondell. “Webster! The hell are you doing? Let’s get these kids out and get this guy to the coroner.”

“Sorry. Let’s get to it!”

And so they did. The coroner came with a clean-up crew. The children were ushered out to get cleaned up, fed, and into temporary protective custody. All was well.

Rondell clutched his silver necklace with a semi-circle gold pendant. He stared up into the early morning sky, and a smile spread across his face, followed by a single tear.

“Aliyah, we got them. We set another group of kids free, baby. We did good.”

He turned to watch the children file out, but one skin stopped in front of him and pointed to the necklace.

“You want this?”

The little boy couldn’t have been more than six, and his body was covered in bruises. He shook his head no.

“You wanna touch it?”

He shook his head no again. Rondell’s eyes began to water.

“You’ve seen it before?”

The boy shook his head, yes, and Rondell squatted in front of the boy.

“When did you see it?”

The boy held up two fingers.

“Two years?”

No.

“Two months?”

No.

“Two weeks?”

No.

Rondell’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. Two days?”

The boy shook his head yes. Rondell couldn’t believe it. His daughter had been taken three years ago, and everyone, including his now ex-wife, assumed she was dead. One day they decided to get matching necklaces, and Aliyah never took hers off. Rondell wore his every day to remember her and started a career rescuing trafficked kids because of her.

The boy had since walked off, but he had just re-lit a spark within Rondell. His daughter was seven when she was taken, so she was about ten now.

“Don’t you worry, baby, daddy’s gonna find you and bring you back home.”

Several miles away, in another boarded-up house, Aliyah began to smile.