The Bracelet

By Charles A. Bonner

The story that will end child sex slavery in the world! The lines between fiction and nonfiction are blurring and giving rise to a new form that might best be called "true fiction". 

Brought to light are the established mafias that dominate the trade. The big players in Europe today are Russians, Albanians, and Ukrainians (and recentl

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors Press
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643143910

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Copyright © 2020 by Charles A. Bonner

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

AuthorsPress

California, USA

www.authorspress.com

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PERSONAL THANKS

Praise for THE BRACELET

DISCLAIMER

ABOUT THIS BOOK

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO VICTIMS OF CIVIL AND HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATIONS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To family, friends and loved ones, and to all who gave me the gift of your precious time, contributing to this effort at storytelling with your thoughts, knowledge and insight–you know who you are.

And to the five women who raised me–Bernice, L.B., Aunt Nell, Aunt Leola and Aunt Liz. Again, thank you!

PERSONAL THANKS

My heartfelt appreciation and thanks to my talented editor, Carol Givner.

Jennifer Givner, thanks for the brilliant art of the cover design and logo.

Many thanks to Jeannie Evers and Bonnie for their editorial contributions. Special thanks to Karan for all the typing, creative decisions and discussions of the story; and to Debbie, a special expression of personal gratitude for the brain storming, enthusiastic and unwavering support. To Akram, a special thanks and affection for your stories, which inspired some events in this book. Neda, I appreciated and used your inspired art and design ideas. A warm thanks and unreserved love and appreciation for spiritual guidance I extend to my dear Sunday School Girl.

And my loving gratitude to Ilse, for days and months of thoughtful and insightful editing, for your support of my dreams and of every twist and turn of the story.

Praise for THE BRACELET

Every man and woman needs to read this powerful, captivating book to grow stronger and wiser for the protection of women and children of the world.

- Rev. James R. McGraw, Author of Prayers from Ground Zero

Charles Bonner has written a long overdue wakeup call to our society. Enthralling…non-stop action, victims who overcome and triumph over injustice.

- Prentice Earl Sanders, Ret. Chief of Police, San Francisco, Author of The Zebra Murders

…A gripping and important expose, sadly based on truth, of man’s inhumanity to women. Bravo, Charles Bonner!

- John L. Burris, Civil Rights Attorney, Author of Blue vs. Black

DISCLAIMER

All characters in this book are completely fictional and not intended to portray or represent any person, now living or deceased, in any way. Although some true events may have inspired some of this story, all references to people, names, places and time are purely fictional and do not, and are not intended to be any representation of any person or any private facts regarding anyone.

Any mistakes in my conception of public facts are solely mine.

ABOUT THIS BOOK

ONE

W ho the hell is that?

Tanda pulls back into the shadows as the old blue and white American car slows and stops.

Round about midnight, Macie has noticed the bright headlights slowly skimming along the street and rolling towards Tanda’s house.

I don’t know, she whispers and tries to shrug off the fear rising in her stomach. She huddles closer to Tanda. How far would I need to run to make it inside from the porch? She tries to push the stories she’s heard from her mind. Syracuse’s most violent hood is home.

The window of the driver side slowly glides down, and in the moon of midnight a black face turns to them sitting on the porch, making Tanda shrink farther back into the shadows of her parents’ dilapidated, grey Victorian house.

Hey, girls, come over here, the man calls out.

Macie reluctantly stands up first, and Tanda follows. Can’t do any harm to see what he wants; two against one. They walk down the stairs and through the small, faded, white picket fence. They cross the street and walk along the beams of the headlights to the driver’s window. The street light reflects off the driver’s black face.

You girls wanna go to a party?

Sure, it beats sitting here with nothing to do, Macie defaults, looking over at Tanda.

The man leans forward, close to the steering wheel of this two-door car, while opening the driver’s door. Macie climbs into the rear of the car, but before she is fully seated, the car suddenly accelerates. The door slams violently shut. He speeds up to the intersection, tires squealing, and the car makes a sudden U turn and races back passed Tanda. The street light illuminates Tanda, frozen on the curb with her hands outstretched as if to ask, What the hell is happening here?

Still pinned against the back seat from the force of the quick acceleration, Macie leans forward, yelling, Where the fuck are you taking me?

Don’t worry, we’re going to a party, but first I have to stop by my work. He never turns to look at Macie as he speaks.

The car speeds through the familiar streets of the hood and careens on to the freeway. Macie looks at the green freeway signs: East Syracuse Exit. DeWitt-Right Lane. They turn towards DeWitt onto another freeway, Interstate 690, rolling passed large houses with big, rich cars parked in their driveways. The car turns right, passed a large golf course and more large houses, their horseshoe-shaped driveways filled with SUVs and boats. Finally, the car stops in front of a large, light blue house with white trim around the windows. A white garage door opens. The man drives into the garage; the garage door closes with a heavy thud.

Get out, the black face commands.

Scared, confused and mad, Macie steps out into the chilled, musty air of the dark garage.

Come in, come in, the man beckons.

Macie obediently follows him up three stairs, through a door that opens into a kitchen; he closes the door and points to a chair. Have a seat.

I don’t wanna sit. You told me you were taking me to a party! Take me home right now! Macie demands. And you left my friend standing in the street in the cold!

The black-faced man replies, Look, I think you’re pretty, you’re lovely, and I wanna have sex with you. Here’s twenty bucks. He reaches into his wallet, pulls out a dirty, crumpled bill and thrusts the twenty toward her–with a white hand.

I’m not gonna have no goddamn sex with you, take me home, Macie screams, staring in disbelief at his white hand. You’re not even black, how come your face is black when you’re a white guy?

I wanna have sex with you, the man demands again. I’m not gonna fuck you, no way, now take me home!

Macie yells and backs towards the door.

You see my dog? He’s a Doberman. I’ll have to sic him on you if you don’t do what I want, he threatens, pointing at a dark corner of the kitchen.

Fear grips Macie as she focuses on the huge dog and the man’s wet, pink lips, while he repeats, You will have sex with me. He walks towards Macie, takes her hand and pulls her into the adjoining room, the master bedroom. I’ll take you home in a few minutes, and I won’t let my dog harm you if you just cooperate.

The room is dark, dimly lit by the old yellow lamp on the night stand next to the head of a big, rumpled bed. He walks up close to Macie and begins to unbutton her blue, knit sweater, his hands moving eagerly. Macie stands paralyzed with fear. He slowly slides the sweater from her right arm, then the left. Meticulously, he folds the sweater and places it on a chair at the foot of the large bed. He admires her lacy bra and soft cinnamon skin, holding her shoulders with both hands. Then he walks to her right and, standing at her back, pulls the elastic of her bra, releasing the hooks. He reaches under her arms and cups a breast in the palm of each hand, admiring her young tenderness, releasing a libidinous sigh. He circles back, facing her, continuing to touch her shoulders, moving his hands to maintain contact with her breasts. She feels the scratch of his stubbly beard on her breast as he frantically begins to suck her left nipple. She stands motionless, looks at nothing, and feels nothing, except fear. She is only hoping he quickly finishes this and takes her home.

Now he moves her to the foot of the bed and lays her down, her head pointing towards the lamp. He unbuttons her pants, removes and folds them neatly, and places them on the chair on top of the sweater. He kneels and lifts her right foot in both hands and begins kissing her toes, slowly moving to the top of her foot, continuing up her ankles and her legs. When he reaches the inside of her thighs, he pauses and stares lecherously at her red thong. Slowly he strokes her skin, softly illuminated by the amber light of the lamp. His eyes devour her pretty, inverted navel, her breasts standing firm, and the soft mound hidden by her thong. His breathing is deep and raspy.

Suddenly he stands up, tells her to stay put and enters an adjoining bathroom. She looks quickly to the door for an escape. She jumps up, tiptoes to the door and peeks around the corner, searching for the dog. The fearsome black and brown Doberman is lying near the kitchen door leading to the garage, his eyes menacingly fixed on her face. Her mind races between fear of the dog and fear of the man. She hears the shower stop; her heart pounds and she quickly returns to the bed. The bathroom door opens and the thin, tall, grey haired white man with a stubbly white beard stands naked at the foot of the bed. Terror rises in her body like a wave on the stormy sea. She has never seen a naked white man before. The grey hair on his chest and his pasty, pale skin fill her with revulsion.

In just a little while I’ll take you home, don’t worry, the white man says, kneeling on the bed along Macie’s right side. He slowly admires her body, pausing and staring at her perfectly formed breasts, quickly moving his hands up her pelvis, burying his head between her legs, inhaling deeply.

Macie shivers convulsively and looks at the ceiling, praying that he’ll finish whatever he’s going to do and take her home. He moves between her legs, slides his hand along her thighs, pushing and probing. She looks up at his angular face, noticing his long, sharp nose, accented by the deep creases running from his nose down to his lower lip. His brow is slightly furrowed, with deep creases across his forehead. His rank breath washes over her while he pants with growing excitement as he explores her soft, smooth body. He climbs on top of her, invading, thrusting heavily and endlessly until he cries out in perverse release.

Now you can take me home! Macie says vehemently, her voice filled with anger, elevating in rage. The repulsive man rises from the bed and enters the bathroom again. He returns, urging, Get dressed, we are leaving now. Macie eagerly hurries and follows him out of the bedroom, into the kitchen, down the stairs into the garage and quickly to the passenger door of the Mercury. Just as she opens the door, the old white man gestures, Come here for a minute, I’d like to show you some video camera equipment and then we’ll go.

Macie accommodates, thinking this will help speed up getting out of his house. She follows him to the rear of the large, rectangular basement. He kneels and crawls through a 4’ x 4’ opening in the winter green cinder block wall, waving her on to follow him. She hesitates…then follows. Inside, he walks ahead through one dimly lit room into another, waving her on, and then positions himself in front of the only exit door. She hears the rattling of a chain, then suddenly feels cold metal on her wrist. Click. Click. And then on her ankle. Click! Click!

What the hell are you doing? she quickly explodes, as she looks at him with renewed fear, feeling the heavy metal chain tightly around her ankle and wrist.

Be quiet, he responds coldly. I work for very powerful people; police officers and people in high places. They say I need to keep you, and you need to have sex with me before I can release you. I’ll let you go on November 17th if you cooperate. He points to the date on the black and white calendar hanging on the cement wall in the dimly lit cold room. He leaves hurriedly.

Despondently, Macie looks around, and then sinks in exhaustion onto the foam bedding on the cold stone floor, and cries herself to sleep.

Macie wakes as she hears the white man enter the dungeon, the two concrete 10’ x 12’ rooms. The chain on her right ankle rattles as she rises up from the bedding on the floor. She rubs her eyes, looks up at him, gathers her courage, and says bravely, Take me home! Take this goddamn chain off my leg and arm!

He silently unties his robe and kneels on the pallet, touching her thighs. Just cooperate with me, and keep having sex with me so the people I work for will permit me to release you. He rapes her again, while she lays silently, seething with disgust. Then he puts his robe on again and reaches into the right pocket and pulls out a key as Macie looks on, hardly breathing in anticipation of her imminent release. He takes hold of her left hand...admires the sparkling chain circling her dainty wrist...and after pausing for what seems to Macie an eternity, he unlocks the chain on her wrist. Silently, he slowly leaves the room.

A while later he returns with a plate of spaghetti with a cut-up hot dog, bread and orange juice, hands it to her, and asks, What’s your name?

Macie stares at the food and says nothing.

How old are you?

Sixteen, she replies hesitantly.

He moves towards a chest of drawers, opens the top drawer, and pulls out a black police hat with a badge affixed to the front. Look at this. I told you that I work for powerful people, including police officers. They will kill you and your child if you tell anyone about me and this house.

Terrified, Macie stares, her gaze fixed on the badge of the police hat, shocked and scared, wondering, How’s he know about R.T.?

He then reaches back into the pocket of his navy blue, terrycloth bathrobe and pulls out another silver and gold badge. It is engraved with a smoke-stacked train, encircled with the words: Police Officer, East Syracuse Police, NY.

Macie’s fear of the police is almost as strong as her fear of dogs. She stares at the badge in a complete state of confusion and horror. Her fear grows. Weeping, she says, I need to go home. Haven’t you got what you wanted? I won’t tell nobody!

You cooperate and I’ll let you go on November 17th as I promised. I can’t let you go before then.

She gets angrier. Why are you keeping me here? Take this goddamn chain off my leg! I need to go to the bathroom.

I’ll take you to the bathroom.

He detaches the chain attached to the metal hook near the floor on the concrete wall and leads her out of the dungeon, through the kitchen and into the bathroom.

She waits, and then says, Get outta here. I need to use the bathroom. He sits on the side of the bathtub, holding the silver 10-foot chain in his hand, ordering, Use the bathroom.

She sputters, No, not with you here.

Just use the bathroom.

I can’t use it with you in here. Use the bathroom.

Macie, defeated, relents. He leads her back to the dungeon, reconnects the chain to the hook, and leaves.

Scared, alone and bored, Macie looks around the dingy room at an old, color television and an old, oak dresser with two drawers on each side. She notices that the walls are covered with graffiti: HEATHER was here. Our Lady of Guadalupe. On the corner of one wall she notices a drawing of a shamrock with a crucifix painted on top of it, and the stem of the shamrock protruding as the foot of the cross. In the center of the same wall, she sees a sun-shaped drawing with a face, red and yellow rays emanating from the center; and then another drawing, a purple flower with a yellow center, rising from the stem above broad, green leaves that surround it. She opens the