Mason stood in front of the auditorium and waited for the police to escort Bill and his friends out. He waited for the noise to wind down and then gestured for folks to take their seats.
“So, in the eight years since I’ve been writing and drawing ‘Dark Angels’, there have been a lot of guesses, but no one has ever heard the real story of where the idea for the stories came from.”
The crowd quieted further. Mason sat on a tall bar stool that had been left for him, the house lights still down, a single spotlight shining on his head from above, creating a nimbus of light around his head. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair.
“What I haven’t shared with a lot of people, is that ‘Dark Angel’ is real.” Nervous laughter ran through the audience, as if they were expecting a punch line. “No, not real, as in, fantasy come to life, but real as in, an Angel rescued me.”
I couldn’t believe he was doing this. I knew his story, of course, but for him to share it with all of these people… His courage amazed me.
Mason paused and pictures showed up behind him, pictures of a young Mason, obviously institutional photos. School photos with black eyes, pictures with bruises. There was an audible gasp across the hall as the attendees realized what they were seeing.
“There are over fortymillionvictims of human trafficking in the world every year. Ten years ago, I was one of those victims,” he said, his eyes grabbing mine, holding on for dear life. I felt tears begin to prickle at the corners of my eyes as he started to share his story. I was so fucking proud of him.
A picture of a woman, probably a little older than Weaver was right now, showed on the screen. Her face looked Native American, her skin a natural golden color, her hair the same blue-black color of Mason’s. The resemblance was so pronounced, she had to be his mother.
“When I was twelve years old, my mother died. She had been molested by her brother from a young age. She became addicted to drugs as a way to escape. She died chasing her next high.
Child Protective Services placed me with her brother, the same one who molested her. He viewed me as property. From the time I was twelve years old until I turned eighteen, I was forced into prostitution.”
Picture after picture showed up on the screen. Photos of advertisements, online postings, old Craigslist postings advertising escorts, with Mason’s picture next to them, at varying ages.
The audience, which had been quiet before, now held its breath as photo after photo flashed on the screens.
“This was my life, until I finally made the decision that dying was better than the life I was living, and I tried to escape,” his eyes bored into mine. He was talking to me, as if I was the only person in the room.
“I didn’t get far on my own. Three days,” he sighed, his shoulders rounded a bit as he spoke, his eyes dropping to the ground as if waiting for a blow to fall. “Three days was all it took for him to find me.”
More pictures appeared, this time so incredibly much worse. They were obviously police photos from after the attack. Mason with his eyes swollen shut from the damage his uncle and Dowling—no,Dreyven, I reminded myself—had caused. His arm in a cast in the hospital, bandages covering much of his body. Clinical reports covered the background behind the photos, detailing his horrific injuries.
“My arm was broken. I was raped multiple times by multiple people. My skull was fractured. I was beaten almost to death. I would have died, too, except that I was saved by my very own Dark Angel.” The screen flashed to a drawing, a silhouette of a man, a cane in one hand, a smoking gun in the other.
“My Dark Angel shot and killed my uncle, who was raping me at the time and who intended to kill me when he was finished. My Angel got me to a hospital.” His eyes had darkened, his gaze sinking to the stage as he continued. “I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for him.” He looked up then, his eyes locking on mine.
“I was so lucky that my Dark Angel found me. Not everyone has one. Many kids are kicked out of their homes by the people who are supposed to love and protect them. Over one million LGBTQ youth experience homelessness every year. Almost half become homeless when their parents discover their sexual orientation. Over one-fifth of all homeless youths become victims of human trafficking.”
He paused for a moment before speaking. “Those numbers… are staggering.
The LGBTQ community, as a whole, is more likely to experience violence in our lives than heterosexuals, and even more likely to experience further violence by those who are supposed to help us. Fifteen percent of transgender individuals report being sexually assaulted while in police custody or jail, and this number more than doubles for African American transgender people. Five to nine percent of transgender survivors report being sexually assaulted bypoliceofficers.” Mason paused as a photo of Reckner in uniform appeared on the screen. “Another ten percent were assaulted by health care professionals.” He shook his head, as if even he couldn’t quite believe the numbers he was quoting.
“Dark Angelisa work of fiction, but it has its basis in reality. My reality…ourreality. This is the world we live in. But Dark Angel is based on thebestof us, not the worst.”
His gaze swung back to me, and though I knew he really couldn’t see me well with the lights shining in his eyes, I couldn’t look away from him, could hardly even blink. I couldn’t let him relive this nightmare by himself.
“I was rescued by my own Dark Angel, but there are so many kids out there now who aren’t as lucky as I was.” Mason stood and began pacing.
“That’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you about a new foundation that I’m starting. This foundation is called ‘Dark Angel Rescue’. Dark Angel Rescue is designed to help anyone, male, female, transgender, cisgender… anyone who is stuck in the web of human trafficking and wants help.
We will provide support to law enforcement, social services, and other non-profits in helping victims of human trafficking. We will provide direct assistance to escape any situation that is a danger to a victim of human trafficking. We will provide education and job training to assist victims who want to start over. We will provide help and connections for those victims who are addicted to drugs, to complete rehab and escape the vicious cycle that put them on the streets again and again. Legal help to minors who need to escape. But most importantly, we will provide access to mental health services forall those affected by human trafficking, so that they can learn that it’s not their fault, and they don’t have to handle it all alone.”
“My name is Mason Cameron… Malone. And Iwasa victim.NowI’m choosing to be an Angel. But I can’t do it alone. Who’s with me?”
The roar of the crowd was deafening, and without conscious thought I found myself standing on the stage, my arms wrapped around Mason’s shoulders as we kissed and laughed and cried in equal measure.
Mason had decided to stop running.
33
Mason
