Timea E. Nagy - 28 May

THIS IS A WORK OF NON - FICTION , recounting traumatic events that took place between ten and twenty years ago. There is no such thing as a perfect memory, particularly through times of traumasome images and conversations are imprinted on the mind and heart with great clarity, while others are blurred. As such, we made every effort to check dates and other facts in police reports, court documents, and media articles when they existed, as well as with friends and professionals who were there at the time. Yet, there are periods of time about which there are no records of anything and we had to rely on memory. We worked closely together, recording hours of interviews in person, plus countless phone calls, email messages, and time together at Timeas presentations, sorting and examining memory and emotion, and reconstructing dialogue to the very best of our abilities. We have changed the names and identifying characteristics of certain people to protect their privacy. Because of the high level of trust between us, and the benefit of time and continued trauma healing, the story we have written in these pages is the most fulsome account of Timeas experience on record, and may at times vary in detail from past accounts or interviews. Some memories are shared here for the first time.

This is one womans story of being trafficked and it bears both similarity and difference to the stories of other victims and survivors the world over. With reverence and respect to all people affected by human trafficking, we thank you for reading. Please visit www.timeascause.com for references and recommended reading, should you need them.

Timea Eva Nagy and Shannon Moroney

March 2019

IN THE MIDDLE OF A FREEZING January night in 2010, my phone rang, startling me out of sleep. I pulled back my warm duvet, sat up straight and cleared my throat. Despite the time, I wanted to sound alert and ready. My heart was already beginning to pump adrenaline through my system as I answered.

Is this Timea Nagy? a deep male voice asked. I knew immediately that the caller wasnt a victim, since I always gave my aliasChristinato the people I was helping. It was to help prevent traffickers from finding me if victims were caught by them and forced to implicate me. The tables had turned and I was now a threat to the traffickers. I was still getting used to that idea, to the fact that I didnt have to be afraid all the time.

Yes, this is Timea, I said confidently.

My name is Mike Viozzi. Im an investigator from the vice unit at Peel Regional Police. Im sorry to call at this hour, but were wondering if you can come and speak with a sixteen-year-old girl we have here at our station. Its a difficult situation. We could use your help.

Ill be right there. Five minutes later, I was in my car and backing out of my driveway through the snow. Id grown up with snow, but the snow in Hungary was nothing like Canadian snow. In Budapest, it was wet and mushy, and did nothing to soften the sound of the Russian soldiers boots on the pavement as they patrolled the streets around my familys apartment complex. Here in Canada, where Id lived for a dozen years now, the snow was so many things. Tonights was old, and with the temperature well below zero, it had frozen into flakes so hard that they squeaked when pushed together under my tires, like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. My hands gripped the steering wheel, and I could see my breath as I headed toward the highway. I wanted to race to the rescue, but I kept an eye on the speedometer. If I hit ice and slid off the road, Id be no good to anyone, and I was the only one the police had to help a victim of human trafficking, especially someone whod been forced to work in the sex trade. I already knew that was the case without being told. The police called me because I was a survivor myself.

Half an hour later, I pulled into the police station in Brampton, a suburb of Toronto. I took my volunteer badge out of my purse and walked around to the trunk where I kept my box of suppliessoap, hand cream, clean clothes. I grabbed a pear-scented hand sanitizersomething a young girl might likeand tossed it into my bag with some snacks. Small items like this helped comfort someone in crisis and build trust. If I won a girls confidence, the police and I had a chance of saving her. But if she got scared, we could lose her. She could run from us, and back to danger.

Inside, Detective Viozzi came out to greet me. Thank goodness youre here, he said. He briefed me on the case as he led me through a maze of corridors to where the girl waited.

We found her on the side of one of the main streets not far from here, wearing only a tank top, yoga pants and a pair of very high heels. She was looking for help. She saw one of our cruisers, ran to it and jumped inside before the officers realized what was happening. She told them that she was running from her boyfriend and that hed be after her soon. Boyfriend, we both knew, meant pimp.

I see, I said. Good thing that car happened to be there.

Yes, that was pretty lucky. One of the officers had attended your trafficking training session. He knew not to ask questions, just to give her his jacket and drive away fast. Then he called me.

That was one of the things I always stressed when talking to police officersdont scare a victim away by asking too many questions and making her feel as if everything is her fault. The first thing to do is take her somewhere safe, make her feel protected. Only then can you ask for her story.

All we know is this girl is from outside Montreal, the officer continued. Shed wanted to make a little extra money and a new friend said his cousin was looking for extra help at his store in Toronto for the Christmas season. I knew those ploys well. There was no store; it was a nightclub.