(A CHAPTER BOOK in progress.)
Suite Justice — WHERE REVENGE STAYS. Lady Justice drops the scales and blindfold to choke up on that sword!
Stricken by a crisis of faith, a woman abandons divine retribution to confront human traffickers in Alaska, only to discover that true victory over evil lies not in power or might but in spirit.
When justice is done, it is a joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers. Proverbs 21:15
I’ve been fighting human trafficking, boots on the ground, for the last 15 months. I have a story to tell. Welcome to my therapy.
Sabrina Stratford
Chapter 1: “Friend’s Plumbing”
THEN THE LORD SAW THAT THE WICKEDNESS OF MAN WAS GREAT ON THE EARTH, AND THAT EVERY INTENT OF THE THOUGHTS OF HIS HEART WAS ONLY EVIL CONTINUALLY. GENESIS 6:5
In a dirty corner of Anchorage, Alaska, where graffiti-covered walls tell stories of rivalries, boredom, and wasted talent, a panel van emblazoned with a hand-painted “Friend’s Plumbing” logo rumbled to a stop. This house was an enigma, with its news-papered windows guarding mysteries from prying eyes and tall chain-link fence, like a fortress defending its secrets. Inside the cluttered yard, a muscular dog stood guard, its imposing presence giving the impression that it was nobody’s best friend. As the van halted, the watchdog inside the yard barked loudly, announcing the visitor’s arrival, and, in response, another dog from a block away echoed the news.
The van’s door creaked open, and Timmy, with a quick adjustment of his sagging pants, smoothed his newly corn-rowed hair and snapped into his overconfident swagger. He opened the gate and slammed it shut with a clank as the yard dog's tail wagged enthusiastically and lurched towards Timmy in recognition, but instead of a pat on the head, it received a swift kick to the side. The mutt yelped and retreated to the porch with its tail tucked.
The door hung from the jam by one hinge. Timmy pushed it open, stepped into the darkness, and stopped long enough for his eyes to adjust. A pungent smell filled the air—a mix of stale smoke, urine, and unwashed bodies. A diverse array of individuals are scattered around, each seemingly lost in their own reality. In the corner, a woman sat on a tattered mattress, cradling a grubby pillow and rocking back and forth to a silent lullaby. A younger man lay unconscious next to her, his colorful hair splayed out around him like an unholy aureole. Nearby, a man with eyes glazed and heart racing held a crumpled piece of black foil and inhaled something illicit through a glass tube, lost in a trance-like state. A teenage girl anxiously tied off a piece of rubber tubing around her upper arm as she struggled to find an unmolested vein. The puzzle pieces of pain fit together in a kaleidoscope of despair.
Timmy stepped over a comatose vagrant and followed the arrows on the sign above his head leading to the lower level of the house. The cryptic dollar signs next to the arrows promised secrets waiting to be unveiled but were enough to queue the addicts upstairs that they were not allowed to descend unless they had a stack of cash they were willing to trade for darker habits and obscured desires. Timmy clomped down the stairs and requested entrance to the den with the customary two slow knocks on the heavy door. The sound seemed to awaken unseen mechanisms as a series of locks disengaged and the heavy door swung open, revealing a partially unfinished basement and a makeshift movie set. There, amid this clandestine domain, was Elroy, consumed by his artistry and engrossed in his world of camera equipment, computer monitors, and cinematic plotting.
Dim light played tricks on the shadows, creating an aura of mystery around Elroy. His face bore a tattooed mask, giving him a facetious facade and concealing his true emotions behind a sinister perma-grin. The tattoo was not just an ornament of mystery but a shield that veiled the frown etched deep within his soul, a testament to the trials he had endured and the secrets he held close. His eyes bore witness to the untold stories that danced before him, and with each video he recorded, he immortalized moments of vulnerability and resilience. He fancied himself to be a true visionary, embracing creativity in unconventional ways. His camera was his tool to capture raw emotions and expose the essence of life in these hidden corners of the world. He was an artist of the underground, a master of storytelling through visuals. This was a place of unfiltered authenticity, where art met the rawness of reality. The air in the dimly lit room grew tense as Elroy’s sharp voice cut through the silence. “You’re late, asshole,” Elroy spat.
Timmy, looking a bit flustered, tried to explain himself. “I was working." But Elroy was having none of it. “Shut the fuck up and get over here,” he retorted, his eyes narrowing with an intensity that sent shivers down Timmy’s spine. With a resigned sigh, Timmy reluctantly made his way toward Elroy. There was an air of tension and a not-too-subtle undercurrent of power dynamics at play. As he got closer, he could see the determination in Elroy’s eyes—a relentless drive for perfection and control. Elroy’s piercing gaze never wavered as Timmy approached. He could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on him—the unspoken demand to toe the line and conform to the underground’s unyielding principles. In this world, allegiance was the currency that bought acceptance and belonging. Elroy was the gatekeeper, the guardian of the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface, and he demanded absolute loyalty from those who sought shelter in this realm.
As the seconds ticked by, Timmy swallowed his pride and kept his eyes downcast, a silent acknowledgment of Elroy’s authority. He didn’t dare acknowledge or look at anyone else in the room until this matter was settled. With a subtle nod, Elroy seemed to acknowledge Timmy’s submission. The tension in the room dissipated, but the air remained thick. In this underground sanctuary, where authenticity and rawness intertwined, relationships were forged amidst the clash of personalities and the pursuit of unfiltered truths. Timmy found himself drawn to the camaraderie among the individuals in this subterranean realm, where judgment was left at the door. In the heart of the underground, he discovered a new appreciation for the unfiltered experiences of life. It was a world that mainstream society often misunderstood, but here, it thrived in silent agreement. Elroy, with his stern demeanor and uncompromising standards, would forever be a central figure in Timmy’s tale of self-discovery. Their focus simultaneously shifted when a strained whimper escaped from the corner of the room.
Outside these walls, the city buzzed with life, oblivious to the horrors that unfolded within the hidden chamber. Yet, for those who dared to venture into this labyrinth of darkness, there existed a grim truth—that the world held secrets far more disturbing than anyone could fathom. In the shadows, the oppressive weight of evil loomed, casting a pall over the room and a young woman’s precarious fate. The pungent smell of fear hung heavy in the air as the woman, her once elegant black dress now shredded, struggled against the restraints that bound her wrists. Her eyes darted nervously, searching for a glimmer of hope in the unforgiving shadows, but she found only darkness. Her heart pounded like an imprisoned bird desperate to break free, yet she could do nothing to escape the clutches of her tormentor. The room seemed to close in around her, amplifying her vulnerability, and the metal table loomed ominously before her.
Elroy’s enigmatic gaze flickered over the camera tripod as if it held the secrets of a universe waiting to be unveiled. The scent of creativity and anticipation filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of testosterone and fear. A fat man in a western shirt and cowboy boots appeared from the curtain behind her, his countenance epitomizing gluttony and his malicious intent unmistakable. He rushed towards the girl and stomped on her hand with the heel of his boot. A sickly snapping sound preceded her gasp as she fought to hold back a scream of agony for fear of exciting her tormentor further. She sucked the blood from her fingers and then cradled her mangled hand in her lap to protect it from further attack. “Hey, broken bones cost extra!” Elroy quipped, his inky grin raising at the corners. He was a maestro of his craft, a virtuoso weaving dreams into reality with the lens of his camera. Beside him, Timmy nodded eagerly. “Move that back about two feet,” Elroy instructed, his angry edge still glinting. Timmy complied diligently, adjusting the camera’s position with meticulous care. As he did so, Elroy turned his attention to the computer interface, his fingers dancing gracefully across the keys. He was a technological virtuoso, using it not as a cold tool but as an extension of his artistic soul.
“Elroy, are we ready?” Timmy asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. The weight of the moment bore down on him, knowing that he was about to be part of something extraordinary. Elroy’s eyes met Timmy’s, and a flicker of pride shone within those depths. “Ack-Shun!” he announced in his theatrical voice. The camera’s red light blinked to life, the heart of its machinery awakening. A sense of electricity filled the room as if the very air was charged with emotion. Time seemed to slow as the scene unfolded before them. The focus of the camera zoomed in, revealing the face of a girl. The fat man’s eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as he grabbed the young woman by the nape of her neck, her delicate form trembling under his grip. With a cruel force, he effortlessly hoisted her frail body up and, without a word, brought her face crashing down upon a cold, unyielding metal table. The nauseating sound of impact reverberated through the room, a haunting echo of the brutality that unfolded in this hidden domain. A piercing scream shattered the tranquility, the raw anguish of pain reverberating through the studio. The crashing of soft flesh against uncompromising metal resounded again and again. At that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and the studio became a cocoon of shared emotion.
Her once-radiant face now bore the marks of savage torment, a stark contrast to the innocence that had been stolen from her. A nostril drizzled warm blood into her mouth, yet, despite the pain and degradation, there was a flicker of defiance in her swollen eyes. She refused to succumb entirely to the darkness that surrounded her, her spirit unyielding even in the face of such unspeakable cruelty. The fat man unbuckled his belt and mounted her broken frame from behind with his greasy thrusts. His malevolence painted a harrowing portrait of the abyss that humanity could descend into, a glimpse of the horrors that lay concealed behind masks of civility. The camera captured every nuance of the girl’s fear, her defiance, and her terror laid bare for the world to witness. It was a powerful portrayal, an unfiltered glimpse into the human experience. Elroy knew he had captured something extraordinary—a fleeting fragment of truth that would linger in the hearts of those who beheld it.
The scene was a testament to the darkest recesses of humanity—a world where innocence was traded for power and suffering was met with indifference. In this chamber of torment, a predator’s hunt and chase were eliminated, and the attack was effortless. The young woman found herself at the mercy of a merciless beast. In this hidden space, the girl’s muffled cries for help fell upon deaf ears, swallowed by the inky abyss of her captor’s domain as her defiance dwindled and died.
As the scene concluded, a hush settled over the studio. Timmy switched off the camera, his eyes wide with awe and reverence. He had just witnessed the art of storytelling in its purest form, transcending the boundaries of medium and technology. Elroy approached the girl, his aura dripping with fabricated sympathy. He stroked her hair in a synthetic offering of solace and understanding. “You were incredible,” he said softly.