A Walk Across the Sun by Corban Addison

with CASE, the organization had offices in fourteen countries. He might have to wait, but something would open up. Bombay! It was the last place on earth he should search for peace.
    He left the laptop open and wandered through the house. He scoured the refrigerator for nothing in particular; he reorganized the wine rack by region; he watched a few minutes of a John Wayne rerun on television. After a while, he collapsed in the chair by the window and picked up the box of memories again.
    He sifted through the photographs, finding the one he was looking for near the bottom. He had trimmed it to fit in his wallet. The photograph showed Priya at the entrance to Fellows Garden. They had met there many times during his summer at Cambridge, always in secret, away from her father. Priya smiled back at him across the years, her eyes sparkling with mischief and delight. Love had surprised them both. It had been such a weighty thing. Was there actually a chance that they could find it again?
    Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, Thomas finally conceded. He stopped his pacing and walked slowly toward the stairs, compelled by a purpose he couldn’t begin to understand. He returned to the computer and sent two e-mails.
    To Porter he wrote, “ Set up a meeting. I’m free any time. ”
    And to Max Junger: “ I’ve decided to take your advice. I’m thinking about going to India to work with CASE. I hope Mark Blake and Wharton are satisfied. ”
    He entered the bedroom and looked at Tera asleep on Priya’s side of the bed. Her back was to him, and her hair had fallen over her face. This was the last time, he decided. It wasn’t her fault. She had been kind to him. But the charade had gone on long enough. He would tell her in the morning. She would be angry, but she would survive. He, on the other hand, was ready to commit himself. India? The fight against modern slavery? Facing his wife again?
    How in the world was he going to explain this to his father?

Chapter 5
    Darkness—black and painted—has come over me. O Dawn, banish it like a debt.
—R IG V EDA
    Mumbai, India
    After a few days in Suchir’s brothel, Ahalya and Sita began to lose touch with time. Each day took on the rhythm of India’s year, its two seasons defined by the presence and absence of the sun. Day was benign and filled with all things domestic—the chatter of the girls occupying the floor below, the diverse sounds of commerce drifting up from the street. Night, by contrast, was malignant, a soundscape of pounding feet, drunken shouts, squeals of seduction and protestation, and incessant moaning.
    The girls had few visitors during those first days. Sumeera came to check on them and brought their meals. Ahalya tried to hate her, but the animosity was difficult to sustain. Sumeera spoke softly, without any hint of command, and treated them like daughters.
    One morning she brought a doctor along to examine them. At first Ahalya resisted the gynecologist’s probing, but Sumeera said the examination was routine. All young women in Bombay had it. Ahalya thought of Suchir and agreed so as not to invite his wrath. Sita, seeing her sister capitulate, was quick to follow, though the examination caused her obvious shame and pain.
    After the girls had been poked and prodded, Sumeera spoke in low tones to the doctor.
    â€œYou are both healthy,” she said, clasping her hands together. “We want you to stay that way. You will see the doctor once a month. Treat him well.”
    When Sumeera was not present, the sisters searched the attic room for a means of escape. The room was a rough square, fourteen feet by thirteen. It had no window, only two small exhaust vents. The only door locked from the outside. Beyond it lay a stairwell with no exit except through the concealed door behind the bookcase. Ahalya had no doubt that the secret door could only be activated from the other side.
    After many fruitless