It was a quiet neighborhood, lush with well-tended lawns and big shade trees. The neighbors were friendly but not given to poking into other people’s business. It had never been necessary to call police to settle disputes. So it was beyond shocking the day a ragged, bruised, and bloody woman came pounding on the Miller’s door, screaming for help.
“Por favor!” she pleaded. In broken English, she told a story of captivity and sexual slavery right next door. As the investigation proceeded, several adult women and a few teen girls were rescued from a sound-proofed basement.
My story today is loosely based on a true story from a few years back. The man who enslaved these women was quiet, kept to himself, and never caused any trouble–for anyone outside his home.