Suitcase Girl

Imagine finding a suitcase with a little girl stuffed inside and realizing she looks exactly like you.

Agent Abby Kane discovers an unlikely connection with a lone little girl abandoned outside FBI headquarters: They look exactly alike.

Abby takes the girl under her wing, hoping a nurturing family environment might trigger her lost memories. What initially seems like a case pointing toward human trafficking takes an unforeseen turn. As Abby digs further, unsettling clues hint at something inexplicable and, quite frankly, unexplainable. Who is Suitcase Girl?

Ten minutes later, Medina heard the engines of vehicles approaching. Two black vans came into view with their headlights off, stopping a few feet away from the forklift. Two individuals exited each one. They always dressed the same when they showed up: black jeans, black hoodies, and Wayfarer sunglasses. 

He didn’t know their names or what they looked like under their disguises, although he did figure out one of them was a girl.

There was never a discussion. The arrangement stood the same as always. Medina would move the container to a set location, send a text, and wait for their arrival.

He watched as one of them dealt with the lockbox on the container before pulling open the double doors. 

Medina never allowed his gaze to linger; he felt it was better to give the impression that he had no interest in what they were removing from the container. Occasionally he took a peek.

He lit a cigarette and ignored the two individuals entering the steel box with flashlights. He could hear them talking, in Chinese—at least that was what it sounded like to him. A little later they would begin unloading their goods from the container. 

The shipment was always the same. 

One by one the girls exited the container, walking hunched over with their arms crossed over their chests. They were clothed and wore shoes. Some shivered, but that was the extent of any dramatics.

Medina never made it a point to count, but it seemed each shipment contained between eight to twelve girls. This was the third he had been involved with. He took a long pull on his cigarette, and the tip flared a bright red.

The girls were directed toward one of the vehicles where two other individuals waited. One, a man, held a clipboard. His female cohort would shine a small penlight into each girl’s face as they looked over paperwork. Satisfied that the girl in front of them matched their list, the female would then help the girl into the rear of the van.

That night the process deviated when the fifth girl approached. After the flashlight check, they had her wait next to them instead of loading her into the van. She, by far, was the smallest of the group. She didn’t shiver or cry or fidget. She just stood motionless with her head down. 

Not much later the men in the container appeared with the last two girls and escorted them to the van, where they were also checked against the list.

The group then had a brief discussion about the girl who’d been pulled aside. Medina detected English, but he was too far away to make sense of their conversation. A few moments later, the last two girls and the one who had been separated were then loaded into the other van. 

One of the men, the tallest, approached Medina and handed him an envelope. Medina always waited until the vehicles drove off before looking inside. The count was never off. Always five thousand dollars in crisp one-hundred notes.

* * *

The two vans drove in tandem across the Bay Bridge toward San Francisco. The city skyline twinkled in the night. When they reached the city, they continued to a neighborhood just north of the Tenderloin. 

The vehicles parked outside a six-story residential building. For four hours they sat in the vans, waiting for pedestrian and vehicle traffic to die down. By one o’clock it had, and the girls were led quickly into the building. 

Two hours later, one of the men exited the building with the girl they had taken extra time with at check-in. They got into the van and drove off. The man made a series of lefts and rights, venturing into the heart of the Tenderloin. 

At that time of the morning, the place was barren. It was late enough that even the residents who made their livings on the streets at night had retired, and those who roamed during the day weren’t up yet. 

The van turned onto a street where a tall building with a concrete plaza in front occupied the entire block. He brought the vehicle to a stop next to the curb and cut the engine. Not a soul, not even a rat marred the silence. 

The side door of the van slid open, and the man exited with a suitcase. He looked left and right continuously as he hurried straight toward the entrance of the building, the wheels of the bag bumping along behind him. 

When he arrived at the front of the building, he looked around briefly before releasing the suitcase handle and walking away. He never once looked back. 

There was nothing special about the suitcase, the dimensions were thirty-one inches by twenty-two by thirteen. Fairly typical. If there were something conspicuous, it would have to be the fact that something inside of the bag shook it.