c a l u m:

I've been so preoccupied with Gwen lately, that I almost forgot about Michael. Key word, almost. He was my best friend and I'd never neglect him on purpose. We both had separate lives and I was confident that if he ever needed me, he wouldn't hesitate to call or text me. Call it unmanly or whatever the fuck you want because the separation between Michael and I was taking a toll on me. I missed my best friend damn it, and I just wanted to spend time with him.

Michael had been M.I.A. lately from both school and in life. And while I was supposed to go to the Outreach Center to do more hours with Gwen, I had to ditch her-- much to baby girl's dismay. So I drove out to Michael's house instead, parking my car in the drive way like I always did and stepped out of my vehicle. It was almost sunset and it was still hot as the Devil's ass cheeks and I quickly took off the stupid long-sleeved button up the moment I was out of my air conditioned car.

I walked up the concrete path to the front door and gave the doorbell a ring. As I waited for the door to open, my eyes darted around the premises. Their entire front lawn needed some upkeep, as the grass was long and weeds were sprouting out and into the driveway. I guessed Michael has been lazier than normal, or hasn't been listening to his mother these days.

"Calum," a voice took my attention away from the lawn, back to the door in front of me. Mrs. Clifford stood at the open barricade with a smile on her face.

"Hi Mrs. Clifford. Is Michael home?" I asked her.

"In his room sweetie," she opened the door wider for me to slip in, "you know the way there."

I smiled at her, kicking off of my shoes and neatly placing them off to the side. I may have change my extra curricular activities, but there was one thing that remained the same: my respect towards Mrs. Clifford. She was like a second mother to me, as was Ashton's mum, and I loved them like my own.

I ran up the carpeted steps and down the hall to the last door on the right. I knocked on the closed door, the sound of a muffled Cab song drifting through the cracks. Suddenly, the music slowly faded before the door bursted open. Behind it was Michael, who looked like he could use a day or five of sleep.

"Whoa man, what's up with you?" I asked, letting myself into his room. "You look like you haven't slept in eight years."

"I feel like I haven't," Michael shrugged.

There was something definitely going on with me. I'd like to dismiss his behavior as the menstrual cycle, but seeing as Michael was a male, I was about 95% sure that bleeding lady holes weren't the answer in this case.

"You okay, man?" I asked again.

"I don't want to talk about my feelings," Michael grumbled annoyingly. He plopped down onto the bed, grabbing a magazine in the process.

"Well something is obviously bothering you, so spill the shit," I insisted.

Michael was silent for a while, and I guessed this is how Gwen must feel whenever I don't share things with her. I can see how offensive it could be, and how it kinda does sting the heart. That was something I wouldn't admit out loud though. Michael still wouldn't talk and because of this, the two of us just sat on his bed listening to music and reading magazines. We were acting like my sister whenever she had her friends come over for sleepovers when we were younger.

I wasn't going to push Michael to talk, because I hated when that shit happened to me. Instead, I kept quiet. I continued to observe him though-- watching him jump every time a little crack was heard, or how he'd furiously skip pages in a magazine whenever his eyes would land on something that made him uncomfortable. That was the weird part: nothing ever made Michael uncomfortable, but whatever was eating up his mind, had a touch of death to it.

I ended up knocking out, only to wake up several hours in the very early morning. Though the room was dark, I could see that Michael was still awake. He stood by the window of his room, looking out of the glass like some cliche drama flick my mother would watch. It wasn't until I slipped out of the bed, did Michael finally speak up. He let out an agitated sigh, the kind you give out when you're frustrated. With his eyes still pinned to the outside world behind the glass, did he speak.

"I know what Fiora's new import is," Michael breathed.

My eyes widened, "what is it? Meth? Heroine?"

"I-I-I c-can't tell you," Michael stammered, turning his head to look at me, the color draining from his already pale face, "it's something I have to show you."

So that's what we did. We hopped into my car, Michael in the passenger seat, clearly on edge. I kept the music low incase he wanted to suddenly burst into some dramatic monologue. All I knew was that I was going straight to the docks. I parked my car behind an old warehouse, stepping out while catching glimpse of the clock. It was nearly 4AM, the heat had decreased several notches, and there was a slight breeze.

"Follow me," Michael whispered.

I followed him without muttering a word, keeping my senses on high alert as the two of us sauntered out of the shadows and into the eerie, dim lighting. We both crouched down, and as stealthily as we could, power walked to a docked sailboat. Michael jumped in first, then I, and I watched as Michael carefully peeked his eyes over the edge.

"What are we looking at?" I asked him.

"That," Michael pointed to a large utility ship that was inching itself closer and closer to the dock several yards away from us.

Once anchored to the dock several minutes later, a black car we knew so well drove closer. The door swung open, and suddenly the air seemed to get colder. I shuddered as Fiora stepped out of the vehicle and every happy thought I had about Gwen came rushing into my brain. Her smile, her laughter, her floral scent-- everything, was all I could think about. And I understood at that point, of her innate ability to worry the shit out of me.

"Don't freak," Michael suddenly advised.

I looked at him in confusion, but right when I was about to ask him why, the answer was right in front of me. Because shining beneath the moonlight in all his stupid pompousness, was none other than Luke Hemmings. Just seeing him made my blood boil and my fists to clench tightly. I glared angrily at the blonde who stood next to Fiora like a lost puppy and it made me sick.

But it was about to get worse.

As I kept my eyes glued to the shady business before us, did Michael and I witness one of the intermodal containers open up by a man on the ship. I expected Fiora's men go inside the cargo and haul out boxes of whatever was his latest import. But as I continued to observe the scene, I noticed that boxes weren't being exported out of the large tin. Instead, it was something more nauseating.

I felt my entire insides agitate, making me sick to the bone and I wanted to vomit. My breathing grew heavy, I was suddenly sweating profusely and I didn't notice my body submit to the shock until I felt my bum hit the floor of the ship with a thud. Michael saw the terror dripping from my face and quickly dropped down to sit with me. With my back pressed up against the ship's wall, I tried to regain my breathing pattern again.

"Breathe Cal, breathe," Michael whisper, "I know, I know..."

"Import... he's... what... no drugs... girls?"

My brain couldn't function at that point. It didn't know how to coherently put together a proper sentence and I didn't blame my brain at all for the lack of use. I couldn't unsee what I saw, because that image would forever be engrained into my head. Now I understood why Michael seemed so messed up earlier. This was more than just hard drugs imported from some distant country.

This was human trafficking.

I couldn't work for Fiora anymore. Not when his clients were purchasing people instead of cocaine. It was risky enough to be in the business we were already in, but this was taking risk to a whole new level. This was a life for a life-- literally, and I didn't want any part of it. But unfortunately for us, it didn't work that way. We were either part of Fiora's family or we were dead. There was no other choice.

"When d-did you f-find this o-out," I stuttered, rubbing my face in attempt to relax myself.

"A couple of weeks ago," he admitted. "I hate this so much and I don't know what to do. It sucks enough just seeing them from afar, but when you actually see them up close?"

"Wait, have you seen them get..." I couldn't even bring myself to say the word. It was a simple, four-letter word that was seemingly harmless, but put into this context, and it became a sickening, dangerous game no one wanted to play.

"Yea," Michael nodded, and a whimper escaped his lips. He ran the back of his hand across his face to wipe away the tears that suddenly trickled from his eyes, "they have all the girls line up and some disgusting, wealthy man comes to check them out like they're picking out slabs of meat at the grocery store. They don't even get names anymore, just numbers. Once payment is done, the girl is taken away, and... oh God."

"We have to tell someone," I suggested.

"How?!" Michael shrieked through gritted teeth. He sniffled, continuing to wipe away his tears, "you know Fiora pays off the authorities. You know he's filthy rich, he can make anything go away-- even us."

Michael was right. Telling someone would be risky and easily traceable. It would all lead back to us and Fiora could find out within an hour and then have us both slaughtered within the next. It was so frustrating because we didn't know who we could trust.

"They don't even keep the girls here," Michael revealed, sullenly.

"Where do they go?" I asked.

"I don't know," Michael shrugged. "Fiora doesn't trust me enough. He barely trusts me after letting me tag along when the last ship of imports came in... I can't do this."

Neither could I, and it makes me sick to my stomach knowing that there are more people like Fiora who sees human trade as a substantial and legitimate business. It was heartbreaking knowing that there were disgusting people out there willing to shop for young girls who were most likely ripped away from their families. I didn't know how the hell Michael and I were going to get out of Fiora's business, but I knew that we had to.

Or at least die trying.

//

So that is Fiora's new import.

I knew starting this story that the game was going to change in Calum's business. I was first thinking harder drugs but then I started thinking about things crazier than drug import/export. I vacillated between illegal organ trade, or selling faulty airplane parts, but when I watched an episode of Law & Order: SVU that dealt with human trafficking. From then on, I knew that human trade was exactly how I wanted to change Fiora's game from selling bricks of cocaine, to selling young girls. 

I hope this chapter and the future chapters to come aren't triggering for anyone. I promise it's not going to get too gruesome. I do have about 10ish more chapters planned out for this story so we are more than half way completed with "Run Baby Run." Thanks so much for reading my story, for commenting and for voting. If you've shared this story to friends, thank you so much! This story is almost at 60K views, which is so astonishing me! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!