Sold Into Freedom - 11. Chapter 11

 

Dante exited the shower, wiped his lean, muscular body with a towel, and then pulled on some sweatpants. He was off duty now but understood if Black needed him, he was expected to be there for his boss.

The P.A. stood before the mirror to comb his hair. Almost every day for how many years now? But without him, where would you be, D? A man he barely recognized stared back when he glanced in the mirror. You'd be fucked up or worse. He sighed and stared at his face. "Look at you. Fuck. You shouldn't look this bad at thirty-five." He leaned in and squinted. "Doesn't matter, fucking wrinkles. No one to give a shit anyway." After running his tongue over his teeth, he turned without looking back as he walked away and settled down at his tiny desk. Pulling the laptop a bit closer, he lifted the lid and pressed the on button.

Dante regularly searched various sites for worthy males his boss could purchase and resell. He also occasionally looked at The Market.

There is nothing else to do at the moment. So, it can't hurt, I guess; the more I find for him, the better the money I make. He waited for the computer to connect to the internet. Dante leaned back in his chair. "I should have enough saved to leave this job by the time I'm forty." He grinned and whispered, "Who'd a thought I'd get fucking old."

Black's P.A. leaned forward and typed in the password for The Market. The site was crappy and made as cheaply as possible. It was not pretty; it simply had pages with pictures of humans and other rare stuff for sale. If interested, click on the image to learn more and place the order.

There's not much here. All these people are in terrible shape, used up, and dumped. Mr. Black does not want to pay or wait a lot while they heal up.

He continued looking for possible candidates while pushing thoughts of their futures out of his head. Not my problem. Dante scrolled through, barely glancing at the pages. Then something caught his eye. Leaning closer again, with a finger on Control, he scrolled up to zoom in.

What's that? Wait, who is that? He looks familiar.

Dante stared at the young man. He was a mess—long and thin with unkempt hair, visible ribs, and pale. The poor guy huddled in a corner. The picture, being unfocused and grainy, didn't help matters.

The sailor stared at the screen.

Who are you? I know I've seen you before.

Frustrated that a name wouldn't come, Dante shut down his computer. He decided to go work out and later met up with John, the barber. They ate a steak dinner and followed that with a couple of beers. John was pleasant company, and the pair had become good friends.

"You gonna take some time off, D? You've not left the boat for months." John swallowed the last of his drink. He picked up the next can of beer and popped the top. "You should come with me when I go home. Black is taking off for a few months, right?"

"Yeah, he is. The boat needs to be taken out of the water for some work."

"Jeanie and I have room. We live outta town up in the hills. We have some acres. It's peaceful and we have some swinging times now and again. You might enjoy it."

Dante grinned. "Swinging? Like … swinging?"

"Yeah, just like that. It's open and friendly. No pressure." John patted Dante's shoulder. "Nice girls and guys … whatever you want. But not all the time. We often just walk to the river or hunt some. Just enjoy the land."

"It sounds nice." Dante drank the last of his beer. "You sure? I mean …"

"Yes, I'm sure. Wouldn't ask otherwise. Get off of here. Come and meet some folks, relax. We have space."

"Okay, that sounds terrific." Dante chose now to bring up something he wanted to speak to John about. He'd overheard John talking about his plans once he moved on from his present job aboard the yacht. "I wanted to talk to you about the future."

John swallowed the last of his drink. "What do you mean?"

"I've got a lot of money put aside. I heard you saying you'd like to open a restaurant bar. I was wondering if you needed a partner?"

John nodded and replied, "I might. It's something Jeanie and I have wanted to do. That's why I'm here. Money's good and we're saving as much as we can." The barber got to his feet. "Tell you what. You come and stay with us when we dock and we'll have a serious talk about it. That work?"

Dante grinned. "That works." He suddenly felt a chance that something positive could happen in his life.

"Great," John tapped the tabletop. I'll let Jeanie know we have a guest for vacation."

"That's … thanks. Tell her thanks too."

"I will, and you can when we get there." John was silent momentarily and then said, "Last sale of the year soon. I have them all to prep over the next couple of days." The big man rose and stretched. "Gonna hit the rack. Night."

"Yeah, night, John." The last sale of the year. Those words swam in Dante's thoughts along with the face he'd seen on The Market. Who are you? I know you.

In the following days, Dante was busy with the presale work. Pushing the dazed and frightened cargo around to prepare for their sales and ensuring the streaming setup was correct and ready kept him busy.

It happened when Dante was taking the next man to see John. He opened the door to the room where the cargo sat. The young guy in the corner, slim, dark hair, reminded him of someone. An image flashed brightly before his eyes.

The guy on The Market in that picture is Matt. Jesus.

Dante rushed the young man to the barber and returned to his room. He didn't have much time to waste.

Shit, I wonder if he's still there? The sailor paced while the laptop booted up. The ship had good internet, but it could take a short while as it connected. He was sold about two years ago.

Finally, let's see. Dante slumped on his chair and impatiently signed into the necessary sites to get to The Market. He began to scroll through the pages of things, drugs and people for sale there. He looked at his watch.

Damn it! I don't have time for this now.

Dante jumped to his feet and closed the laptop. I'll check later.

⸛

Mr. Black took his seat. "Dante, is everything all right? You seem rather out of sorts."

"I'm fine, sir. Just tired, I guess." Dante faced his boss with what he hoped was a pleasant smile.

"Hmm, well … stop for a moment. I'm sure everything is all right for the auction. Sit. We have a couple of minutes before we need to start the stream."

Dante dropped into a chair. "Look, I'm sorry …."

"No need. I want you to take an actual vacation this year while the yacht is attended to. Is money an issue?"

"Money? No, sir. Money isn't a problem. I've been invited somewhere. I'm gonna, I'm gonna go … I think."

Black observed his faithful employee. "See that you do. I'm going to give you all some bonus funds. You deserve them. Go and relax somewhere. We'll talk about the business once we reconvene on the boat." Black looked at his watch. "I guess we'd better get started."

Dante stared at his boss. "Yes, sir." He turned around and spoke to the others, ready at their assigned stations. "Okay, let's get started."

⸛

Yawning, Dante stretched his arms over his head. A dull thumping in his temples threatened to worsen if he didn't sleep soon. It was now early morning. The auction had gone well. Dante and the crew had the cargo ready for delivery.

Dante watched as the last boat left the yacht. It carried the remaining cargo to the next port in their journey to new lives.

Lives? Is that what they'll have? Dante tried to push away these unproductive thoughts. "Why do I fucking care?"

He walked back to his cabin. I need some sleep, that's all. And some R and R. He smiled again, pleased he'd spoken to John about the future.

Exhausted, Dante pulled off his shoes and clothes and lay on his bunk. The light on his laptop blinked in his peripheral vision. "Fuck you. You can just wait." The sailor turned onto his side and stared at the wall.

Each time he closed his eyes, he could see the picture of Matt from The Market.

"Fuck it! Fine!" Dante turned over and threw his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll fucking look for him." Leaving his bunk, he sat at his desk and pushed open the laptop. It took a few minutes to awaken and connect.

The connection to The Market ended long ago, so he logged back on and began to look at each page again.

Fatigue made his eyes heavy. He looked at each picture and page at least twice. I can't do this now. Dante rubbed his burning eyes. You need to find him, D. You need to see him. For some reason, that little prick was important to you. He continued to scroll on.

Until ….

There. There he is.

The grainy picture swam before his eyes. He pressed his forefinger onto the screen. And now what, huh? So, what now, you asshole? You can't buy him or help him. So, what was all this for?

"No, I can't help him. But he can."

Dante jumped to his feet.

Where is his card?

That fucking writer. Christ, his visit to the boat was a pain in the ass. Dante pulled open the small drawer in his tiny desk. He sifted through all kinds of paper and junk until he found it. He stared at it for several minutes.

I'll call. He can decide what he wants to do if anything. We'll see. If his book sold well enough … maybe he's all talk. But it's all that I can fucking do.

Dante pulled out his mobile and dialled the number, heedless of the time differences. He was surprised when he got an answer.

"Hello?"

"This Andrew MacCabe?"

"Yes, it's he."

"My name is Dante, um, D. Do you remember me from the auction?"

"I do."

Dante noticed the change in the man's tone.

"How can I help you? I never really expected you to call."

"You asked me to watch The Market. I have. Log on and look at page eighty-four, fourth down on the left."

"Okay, but who is …?"

"I don't fancy a chat, Mr. MacCabe. I did what you asked. Now you do what you feel is best. I can't do more, and I won't call again."

⸛

The call disconnected. Andrew stared at the screen on his phone. I didn't expect to hear from him. Ever. Well, let's have a look.

After briefly sifting through his desk, Andrew retrieved his notes with the steps to find The Market online.

Once he was there, he logged in and searched for page eighty-four. He zoomed in and stared at the poor picture and the man who sat nearly naked on the floor. The writer stared for several minutes, shocked at the skeletal figure. Realization dawned slowly.

You're the American boy. Matt or Matthew. Jesus, what have they done to you?

Panic gripped Andrew's heart. What do I do? He clicked on the picture and reviewed the purchase details. Delivery will be arranged at your cost—the purchase price is USD 3,500.

It's my fault you're there. He remembered watching the auction. The young men paraded nearly naked. There had been nowhere for them to hide.

Andrew turned his attention to the photo on the screen.

I can't buy you. But with shaking hands, Andrew worked the keyboard and found the purchase instructions. He followed them.

To his surprise, the webpage soon indicated his purchase was successful and that he had twenty-four hours to wire the funds to the address provided. The instructions went on to say that once the wire was received successfully, further details would be supplied. At that time, a delivery location and address would be required.

Andrew copied the page and saved it in a folder. Then, he logged into his online banking and arranged to transfer funds to the name and address on the purchase details page.

Closing his eyes, he wondered if he'd done the right thing. Panic again gripped him. He rose from his chair and paced.

What have you done? You effing idiot!

It's too late to stop it now.

I'm pretty sure there's a no-refund policy. They aren't going to say, oh, sorry, you've had some buyer's remorse. Of course, we'll send your money back.

Jesus.

Outside, the winds were picking up. The sea was choppy, and the clouds skidded across the darkening skies.

A storm is coming. How apt. My life is a trope.

He pressed his hands against the cold window glass. Staring out into bleak nothingness. But it's not Andrew. You've just purchased another human being. That is beyond wrong! BUT leaving him there would be a mistake as well. He was sold while you watched that night.

While you watched, you did absolutely nothing but make a few notes.

Andrew paced before the large window in his office. But what could I have done? Really?

I'm not going to keep him. Well, of course, you're not. How would you explain that?

The frantic pacing continued.

As soon as he's delivered here, he's free to go. I can help with at least one of them. I'll send him home, and he can get his life back. This is the right thing to do.

At least, I hope it is.

The knock at his office door made Andrew jump. "Yes?"

⸛

Back on the yacht, Dante refreshed the page. He smiled as he saw the diagonal, red sold sign appear.

I told you to jump, Matt. Maybe you can't right now, but maybe I've given you the life preserver you need. It's up to you.

⸛

The door opened. Maeve stood in the doorway. "Dinner is ready, Andrew."

"Huh? Yeah, okay. I'll be right there."

To the housekeeper, Andrew sounded stressed and nervous.“It’s a stew; it’ll wait a few minutes. No rush if you're in the middle of something."

"Ugh, no. I'm not. I was … um … just thinking." Andrew watched his housekeeper smile and close the door. He called after her, "I'll be right there."

Dinner was a quiet affair, interrupted now and then by gusts of wind that rattled the windows and creaked the house's massive roof timbers. The lights flickered from time to time.

Andrew ate mechanically, and Maeve watched her employer.

He dropped his fork onto his plate. He'd eaten all the stew and dumplings she'd served him. "This was great, thanks very much."

"You're welcome. Is everything all right, Andrew?"

"Yes. Fine. I'm sorry, I have some work that needs doing." The writer got up. "Thanks so much. Dinner was great."

"Hmm." Maeve watched him walk away. "I think I'll go and check the generator, lanterns and the candle supply."

⸛

Standing in front of his office's large window, Andrew watched storm clouds build and scud across the sky.

Where are you going to have him delivered? Oh, drop him off in Scotland somewhere? Andrew paced. Here? Here would be best.

Really? Are you out of your tree? How will you explain him to Maeve? Your parents?

Andrew sat down at his desk. He fiddled with his phone, slowly turning it around on his desk. Maybe … maybe I could just put him in a hotel for a few days, help him with a flight home and be done. He leaned back in the chair and sighed. You're panicking. It's not going to be that easy. He can't just fly home; he'll need papers and a passport.

No. Shit, what am I going to do? Who can I talk to?

Suddenly, he knew. Andrew picked up his mobile, hunted, and clicked the call button for the chosen contact. He put the phone to his ear and waited.

When the call was answered, Andrew said, "Dad?"

"Andy! How are you, Son?"

"I'm okay."

"Okay, I know that's a lie. I can hear it in your voice. So, what's going on?"

Andrew paused for air. He decided again to continue. "Yeah, you're right. I need to talk to you, Dad. Here. Can you come here?"

There was a slight pause as Robert considered. He felt that asking questions right now was not a good idea. "Yes, of course. I'm going to talk with your mum, and then I'll catch the first flight tomorrow." Robert MacCabe took a deep breath. "Is there anything I can do now?"

"No. I need to talk about something serious, but it's not life-threatening or anything like that."

"Okay. That's something. Go to bed and sleep. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll get a water taxi at the docks. You just stay put, okay?"

"Yeah." Andrew felt somewhat calmer. "Thanks, Dad."

"Get some rest, son. I'll see you in the morning."

⸛

The sun rose in clear skies that held no trace of the previous night's storm.

Andrew got up early, unable to sleep any later. Now that morning had arrived, he felt foolish. I can't stop this now. Fuck. I bought him. I didn't call Kyle to report Matt was on The Market. What could he do anyway? Oh, I don't know. Maybe trace The Market's IP address? Maybe, or not. These bastards are good at hiding themselves. But anyway, no, my solution was to buy him. I must be out of my fucking mind.

Dad will be flying soon. He won't stop even if I ask him not to come. Shit!

Over a light breakfast, Andrew told Maeve the plan.

"My father will be arriving this morning, Maeve. I'm sorry it's such short notice." Andrew added some jam to his toast.

"That's no problem, the spare rooms are ready. I'll just go in and tidy them quickly." Maeve watched her young boss. Something is going on. He'll tell me when he's good and ready. "We're having soup and salad for lunch."

"Thanks very much, Maeve. I appreciate it."

⸛

Robert arrived just before noon. Once their guest was settled, Maeve served lunch and left the father and son alone to eat. She didn't mind eating in the kitchen with the book she was reading.

"So, Andrew. What is going on that you couldn't talk about on the phone?" Robert asked. He spooned up a portion of soup and ate it. "God, that woman can cook."

"Yeah, she can." Andrew smiled. "Dad, I've done something … kind of impulsive and, well, illegal."

Robert cocked his head. "Illegal? What do you mean?"

Andrew groaned. "Just that, it's illegal."

"Andrew, stop playing word games with me and just tell me what it is you've done." Robert sat up straighter and put down his spoon. "Tell me."

"I … you remember the boat I went to, for the human auction thing?"

"Yes, I remember. I think I'm unlikely to forget that."

"I asked one of the guys there, Mr. Black's assistant, to call me if he ever had any news of the guys that were sold that night."

"Okay, and?"

"He called me the other night to tell me one of them had ended up on a resale place called The Market."

"I remember that site. You mentioned it in your book."

"Yeah. I found the guy that D called me about and it was awful." Andrew covered his face with his hands. "He looked so bad." Dropping his hands, the writer looked at his father. "I couldn't just leave him there, Dad. So, I bought him."

Robert said nothing for several moments, then whispered, "Y-you bought him?"

"Yes, sir. They will get the money today and contact me for a delivery address."

"Jesus, Andy. What were you thinking?" Robert got to his feet to pace.

"Just that I had to get him out of there. It's always felt like I should have done more to help them." Andrew held up a hand as his father turned. "I know that's crazy, but I just felt that way."

"I see." Robert sat down. He thought for a few minutes. "I guess there's no going back now. So, the question is—where do we go from here?"

"I'll need to give them an address today." Andrew looked at his father. "Dad …."

"Listen, Andy, it's done. Have them bring him here. It's quiet. You'll need to tell Maeve, but she won't talk about this. She's behind you one hundred percent."

"Here?"

"Yes. Here. There's you, me, and Maeve who will know. Once he's here, we can figure out what to do next. You'll keep him here. He'll likely not be fit for much else." Robert leaned back, looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "He'll need a place to recover after what he's been through. Maeve will feed him and mother him. You'll talk and listen."

"He needs to go back to his family … Dad …."

"Eventually, yes. Not at first. You forget I've seen what war and confinement can do to people." Robert reached across the table. "You said you wanted to help him. Well, now you're putting your money where your mouth is. He's going to need care and time and friends. And then when he's strong enough, we'll need to tell your friend Kyle."

"What if he needs more? Like medical help?"

"Let's see how he is. If he needs medical intervention, we'll talk to Kyle earlier."

Andrew nodded and left the table. "Okay. I'll check my email and arrange delivery."

Robert got up, and together, the two men walked into Andrew's office.

"We need to talk to Maeve next, Andy."

"Yes, sir. I do."

****