Daughters

Thousands of young American girls have been abducted or lured from their normal lives and made into sex slaves. While many Americans have heard of human trafficking in other parts of the world -- Thailand, Cambodia, Latin America and eastern Europe, for example -- few people know it happens in the United States. The FBI estimates that well over 100,000 children and young women are trafficked in America today. They range in age from 9 to 19, with the average age being 11. UNICEF estimates that 2 million children per year are exploited in prostitution or pornography.As many as 300,000 American youth may be at risk of commercial sexual exploitation at any time. Especially vulnerable are the homeless and runaways…one third of runaway youths—girls and boys both—will be lured into prostitution within 48 hours on the streets.Emotion in the house where Emma grew up was rare, so, when Emma disappeared it took a couple days before her aunt actually realized Emma was missing. Then a month went by, quickly. A little late to call the police. Aunt Evelyn knew of only one person who, maybe, would care Emma was missing, who, maybe, would do something about getting Emma back, and, who—as she recalled—would do anything for Emma:Bailey Forbes. If Emma’s mother—Aunt Evelyn’s sister—hadn’t died, Bailey would have married her and adopted Emma. Yes, that was the plan. Little sister was so in love with that man…but little sister did die, and that changed everything. Auntie Evelyn allowed Bailey and Emma to have continued contact for awhile, but it couldn’t go on. No blood was involved, and Auntie Evelyn had never bought into the idea that blood wasn’t necessary for true bonding.But eleven years had passed. Would Bailey even remember Emma? Or care?An excerpt from C1 Loss of Innocence “Well,” Emma gripped her mop and pail, “I have to get home….” She stepped to his left, if she could just… But he stepped in front of her, “Merle tells me you just had a birthday.” “Yes.” Emma’s hands tightened. “Merle said you just turned eighteen.” His smile changed, to not a smile at all. “Yes.” Emma made plans. If she threw the pail at him then she could hit him with the mop. She’d lose all her cleaning stuff, but, “I need to get home, sir.” “Hey, sweetie, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ My name’s Jackson.” His eyes had lost all smile, just a cold stare now, “I’d like you to stay awhile. Hell, I’d even sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you, baby. A girl only reaches eighteen once, you know.” “Sir, I want to go home.” No longer was there any doubt she would have to fight her way out. Her body stiffened. With her left hand she threw the pail at Jackson’s face, screamed, then grabbed her mop with both hands and hit him in the face, and screamed again. And she heard her own scream. It reminded her of the screams made by professional female tennis players when they slammed that ball back at their opponents. She had always planned to maybe play professional tennis someday, and she had played, a little, in high school, and had planned to play even more in college, and had planned to practice that scream, but never had, until that moment hitting Jackson with the pail and kind of a little scream, and then the mop with a bigger really good scream. Jackson wasn’t expecting such an animal sound either, and fell back from the scream more so than from the pail and mop, “Little bitch!” Emma moved immediately and, almost, made it. She even got the door open and pushed it, but only a little before Jackson’s hand clamped onto her left wrist. She screamed a third time as he jerked her back into the kitchen and pulled the door closed again. “Stop that screaming!” Jackson swung an open-handed slap.