Gilda Salinas - Ananke

She has no bag, where could she have left the one that… she really needs a bag for support as she walks toward the stairs.

Two steps, a series of long, winding stairs, and her heart is still racing, it doesn’t let her breathe. She’s terrified because any minute now… “Mother of God, please pray for me that I make it to the street. Just get me there.”

Somehow, she musters strength and is able to stand up straight and go down without much concern, even if every step feels like an eternity. Just a bit more.

Shadows, voices, someone is climbing up, and she is still halfway through. Terror crawls inside her through her navel, and grabs onto reason, like a freezing claw ripping her apart.

She murmurs prayers again. All she wants is to cry, kneel down, run back upstairs. No. She faces the wall to act as if she just dropped an earring. I’m not even wearing one. Who the fuck cares? She stays down, scratching the dirty rug despite her head is spinning. Her ears can’t decipher the conversation of the people coming upstairs, but one thing is for sure: that’s not Dahlia.

The couple finds odd the sight at their feet: a woman crouching on the floor, messy hair all over her face, her fingers stretching over the worn carpet, but they’re only distracted for a second before resuming their hurried—and horny—steps toward the first floor.

Mélida is able to reach the lobby. She walks toward the midday sunlight. Doors are open. She hears someone mutter “Hey, wait,” but the voice is drowned out by the revving sound of a motorcycle.

She doesn’t care where she is walking, as long as she keeps doing it. If she’s lucky, today she’ll hold her baby boy once again. If she’s lucky, the nightmare will be over.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going?”

That’s definitely aimed at her.

She tries to hurry, but the platforms are heavy. It’s impossible to walk. She quickly takes them off and runs barefoot with all her might. The noisy street prevents her from hearing the insults aimed at her. She can’t feel the pavement as she runs against the wind. A quick turn to the left and then through the street. The voice behind her. A car honks. Insults. The voice. Her pulse. Nausea. She wails.

She looks back to find her chaser, and suddenly she clashes against a taco stand. She almost trips, but she’s able to stop in time before falling over the boxes. Her hands are in the air, and everyone’s watching.

“Is something wrong, miss?” Someone asks.

She looks up. It’s a cop. A good cop? She turns around to escape, to go back, but the fat man chasing her is six feet away from her. The rage in his eyes, the threat in his face. What can she do? Protect me, dear God .

“Please help me. I’ve been kidnapped.”

Mélida is nervous. Fear can’t stop coursing her body while she waits in the parking lot next to the taco stand in the alley. Every customer stares at her while they order their tacos. I’ll have one with longaniza. For me, three al pastor . She can hear them chew. Eyes are fixed upon her, wondering why she is barefoot and almost naked. Shame and fear mix inside her. I’m not an animal! This isn’t a show! A voice inside her shouts, but she is powerless to actually say the words. What the fuck are you looking at? Even a small dog that eats leftovers from the floor sniffs around her.

But the possibility of Darío finding her worries her more. He could arrive at any moment in his truck and shoot everyone, including cops. Yes, despite her efforts, she is afraid. If they suddenly blew her brains out, it would be fine, but it sucks waiting to be killed. Maybe she shouldn’t have escaped. It feels like an eternity has passed, and she is getting cold.

Not to mention that the officers aren’t moving. What are they waiting for? Darío’s face haunts her, always looking from the passenger’s seat, as if claws could come out from his eyes and grab her. The cops won’t let her move, but her entire body aches to run away. They called for backup, or they’re waiting for instructions, something like that. They always have their freaking codes, and there isn’t a patrol car on sight.

Some memories make her smile, though, like when the fat man stopped dead at the sight of one of the cops. The other cop, his buddy , stepped toward him, ready to pull out his gun. “Is that the man who kidnapped you?” he had asked. “No, he’s in charge of the hotel. A group of pimps had me.” After that, the fat man’s face was filled with terror, his eyes grew larger, and he fled from the scene. She wanted to laugh, call him a sorry-ass motherfucker, and shout any and all curses until she ran out of breath, or until she cried, but her eyes had gone dry for a long time now. She didn’t know what to do. She had no plan, nothing to say.

What’s bred in the bone will come out in the flesh , she told herself: If anyone could lend her some money to get to the bus station and ride to Zacatelco, she’d be fine. “Don’t be foolish,” the cops had told her. “The first thing the pimps will do is look for you in your house, your town. You’ll risk your entire family.” That triggered an image of his baby boy covered in blood, and that was enough to change her mind. Then what?

Another cop, the commander, as he calls himself, arrives. He wants to know everything: Who? What? Where? He looks at Mélida up and down, and then he scolds the other cops. “Why on earth did you keep her here? Can’t you see it’s dangerous? Get her in the fucking patrol right now!” He takes one of the cops with them for the report.

First they go to the police station. And so it begins…

POLICE FACTS SHEET

Subject: On October 24, 2012,the acting staff states that they called the Assistance Center for Victims of Sexual Abuse, where they spoke with María Silvia Páez Jiménez and asked her to send a social worker, clothes, and food for the informant.

Paper after paper. The sound of a computer keyboard.

With acknowledgement of receipt of the official request issued to María Luisa Flores Castilloon October 24, 2012 from the police station in the District of Tlalpan, Department of Legal Affairs, for the purposes of taking the informant’s statement.

Another patrol car, more cops, and the growing concern in Mélida’s face.

With the statement of police officer Tadeo Carrasco Pérez, who brought the informanton October 24, 2012, who states the following: ‘On…

At last, one kind face explains they are taking her to the Human Trafficking Unit to help and protect her.

Is this for real?

With the attorney’s attestationof the medical report of the informant, on October 24, 2012, hereby signed and issued by Gregorio Escudero Rivas, appointed medical expert witness, which includes two sheets describing the results of a psychophysical examination: The informant was conscious, she was able to speak fluently, and coherently; there are no signs of dehydration, she was able to walk in a straight line, her pupils are equal and reactive to light; her coordination results […] She is sexually active since the age of 17; she is 20 years old and has had multiple sexual partners; she was a sex worker with use of preservatives (condom) as protection method; no clinical data of infection, stds or pregnancy; four samples were obtained from vaginal swab, and the samples were placed in glass test tubes with cotton plugs for forensic tests of semen; blood samples were obtained for elisa assay. They were given properly to the officer in charge of the investigation to take the samples to the laboratory.