The Aisha Prophecy Read Online Free Page B

send money to my family. Now they will arrest me and deport me.”
    “Go on.”
    He told her that he was in this country illegally. Last night, men came to get him in the food store where he worked. Men in suits and dark glasses. He did good honest work, but someone had betrayed him. He ran. He didn’t know what else to do.
    This was a gamble, but it seemed one worth taking. This was a woman who’d helped shelter so many Muslim girls. This woman, who might even be a Nasreen herself, knew a thing or two about illegals. He thought it unlikely that she’d turn him in. The question was would she be willing to help him? This would be so much easier if she were.
    She asked him, “Last night? What have you been doing since?”
    “Hiding. No sleep. I am so tired.”
    “Have you eaten?”
    “Not today. My stomach is all knots.”
    She shook her head as if having a debate with herself. But she started her car. She backed it out of her space. She said, “Okay, we’ll get some food into you. After that, I might know someone who can help you.”
    Her house was on the other end of the island. There were no rich peoples homes where she lived. They’d passed clusters of old trailers, most on dirt roads. On her street, however, there were mostly real houses, all small, all older, but neatly kept up. All her neighbors seemed to be black people as well. Here the streets were paved. Young children played on them.
    He was relieved to find that Bernice lived alone even though her house had four rooms. He had confirmed this by looking through her medicine cabinet. Prescription bottles showed only her name. All her toiletries suggested only one user. He saw no products for men in her bathroom, no clothing for men in her closets. The only evidence of family was in framed photographs on the bookshelves of her living room. Nor was she Muslim. On her shelves he saw a bible. Also he found bacon in her icebox. A small nook in her kitchen housed a laptop computer. He touched a key. It blinked on. Many people leave them on. Not such a good idea, but good for him.
    Before all this, of course, he drove a fist into her kidney as she was fixing him a sandwich and heating noodle soup. It took more than a fist. It also took two good kicks. This was a formidable woman. But he was able to bind her to a stout chair with arms and stuff a dish cloth into her mouth.
    The chair was in her kitchen. A rack of knives sat on the counter. He chose a thin filet knife for his work.
    For twenty minutes he inflicted great pain on this Bernice, prying at the joints of her knees with this knife. Even gagged, they beg to know why this is happening to them. They ask with their eyes and the sounds that they make and with a frenzied shaking of their heads. Even gagged, they beg to give you whatever you want if only you will stop hurting them. Stop too soon and some will curse you. You’d have to start over. It’s best to get them well softened up.
    At the end of twenty minutes, he said to this Bernice that he would now ask her where the Muslim girls had gone. He would pull out the dish cloth, but he’d shove it back in if she should feel disinclined to answer. He removed it and waited while she gagged and she retched.
    He jabbed her. “Kindly answer my question.”
    “Gone. Just gone, you miserable cock su…”
    She stopped herself short. Calling names was not prudent. But little by little, in response some encouragement, she answered the question more fully. There were nineteen in all. Mostly girls in their teens. Older women had come and packed them all up. Gone where? All over. Some as far as California. Mail? They had no mail. They never got mail. Or if they did, it never came through the office.
    Perhaps not. But what of emails? He told her that he knew that other students got emails. This seemed news to this Bernice. He saw that in her eyes.
    He gestured toward her computer. “Emails to you?”
    She shook her head. She said, “Never.”
    Well, thought Mulazim,