For weeks, seven people subjected Sam Nordquist, a 24-year-old Black transgender man, to unthinkable horrors inside a cheap roadside motel in Canandaigua, New York. His mother and sister desperately tried to reach him, sensing something was wrong. They called the police, pleaded for a welfare check, and begged for someone to intervene. But by the time anyone took real action, Sam was already dead—his body dumped in a field, wrapped in plastic bags like trash.
Sam’s tragic story isn’t just a brutal crime—it’s a chilling reflection of how trans lives are devalued and how the system repeatedly fails to protect its most vulnerable.
A Love Story That Became a Nightmare
Last fall, Sam left his home in Minnesota and traveled over 1,000 miles to be with a woman he met online: Precious Arzuaga, a 38-year-old mother living in upstate New York. They had spent hours talking on the phone, and Sam was eager to begin a new chapter in his life.
But Arzuaga wasn’t the person she pretended to be. She was manipulative and controlling—what experts call “love bombing”—overwhelming Sam with affection before isolating and abusing him. He ignored warning signs, convinced that he had finally found someone who loved him for who he was.
“Sam was vulnerable. He looked like he was 15, young,” his mother, Linda Nordquist, said. “She love-bombed him.”
By mid-September, Sam had packed his bags and traveled to New York, expecting to stay for just a week. But he never returned home.
A Town That Didn’t Notice—Or Didn’t Care
Sam and Arzuaga ended up at Patty’s Lodge, a run-down motel in Canandaigua, New York. It wasn’t a place for happy couples. The single-story, pale-brown buildings housed people in crisis—homeless individuals, registered sex offenders, and those living on the margins of society.
The motel, surrounded by farmland, wasn’t the type of place that attracted much attention. Some rooms were rented using vouchers from the county’s Department of Social Services. Others, like Room 22, became places where horrors could unfold unseen.
Sam kept up appearances online. He posted TikTok videos with Arzuaga, smiling and dancing. But behind the camera, he was already trapped. His responses to his mother’s texts became sporadic. His tone sounded off.
His mother knew something was wrong.
On October 13, she called New York State Police and requested a welfare check. A trooper knocked on the door of Room 22. Sam answered and said he was fine.
But he wasn’t.
“They said that they talked to Sam and everything appeared to be fine,” his mother recalled. “Well, that’s because Precious was right there.”
For months, Sam’s mother and sister fought to get help. Each time, authorities dismissed their concerns.
Sam tried to downplay the situation, possibly out of fear. “He didn’t sound like himself,” his mother said. “It’s like he was being coached on what to say.”
Weeks of Hell Behind Closed Doors
From New Year’s Day onward, Room 22 turned into a torture chamber.
The seven people accused of Sam’s murder allegedly starved him, beat him, and forced him to endure acts of horrifying cruelty.
Court records describe a nightmare:
- Beaten with sticks, dog toys, ropes, bottles, belts, canes, and wooden boards
- Forced to kneel for hours facing a wall
- Doused with bleach
- Sexually assaulted with foreign objects
- Forced to eat feces and drink urine and tobacco spit
There were children in the room—two young kids, reportedly coerced into participating in the abuse.
Despite weeks of torture, no one in the motel reported any suspicious activity. No one called the police.
Even when police returned for another welfare check on February 9, the people inside denied knowing Sam.
It was only after his family filed a missing person’s report in Minnesota that the case was taken seriously.
But it was too late.
His Body Was Thrown Away Like Trash
On February 13, police found Sam’s decaying body in a field, 20 minutes from Patty’s Lodge.
His body had been wrapped in plastic and dumped. Investigators believe he was killed at the beginning of the month.
By February 14, five people were arrested. Days later, two more suspects were taken into custody.
Those charged include Precious Arzuaga, 38, Jennifer Quijano, 30, Kyle Sage, 33, Patrick Goodwin, 30, Emily Motyka, 19, Thomas Eaves, 21 and Kimberly Sochia, 29.
Each faces first-degree murder, kidnapping, conspiracy, and concealment of a human corpse charges. Four suspects also face aggravated sexual abuse charges.
Arzuaga, the woman Sam had traveled so far for, is accused of forcing children to take part in the attacks.
No Hate Crime Charges? Seriously?
Despite the gruesome nature of this crime, authorities have not charged it as a hate crime.
Assistant District Attorney Kelly Wolford claims this case is “bigger” than just Sam’s race or gender.
But LGBTQ advocates aren’t buying it.
“This was torture, not just a crime,” said one advocate. “If this doesn’t qualify as a hate crime, what does?”
Sam’s brutal killing mirrors that of Matthew Shepard, the young gay man whose murder in 1998 sparked national outrage and led to federal hate crime protections. Yet, over two decades later, trans people are still being slaughtered, and justice remains elusive.
Sam deserved protection. Instead, he was ignored—by the police, by social services, and by a community that let him suffer in silence.
A Final Goodbye
After weeks of vigils and protests, Sam’s body was returned home to Minnesota. His mother finally brought him back.
The room where he suffered—the infamous Room 22—is now silent. The rainbow flag and Puerto Rican flag that once adorned its windows have been taken down. Only white blinds remain.
But the questions won’t go away.
Why wasn’t Sam saved? Why didn’t anyone listen? And how many more trans lives have to be lost before real change happens?