Lydia
The screams that woke me that night will stay with me for the rest of my life.
Cruz thrashed in the bed we were sharing, even though he’d withdrawn emotionally the minute my father had called. He’d wanted us to be together just in case something happened. It was sheer torture sleeping so close to him and not feeling free to touch him or curl up in his arms.
I sat up in the bed as the sound of a tortured animal emanated from him. I’d never heard anything more agonizing in my life, and suddenly, I realized just why Cruz’s vocal cords were so severely damaged.
Touching him lightly on the shoulder, I leaned closer. “Cruz. Cruz, it’s Lydia. Wake up, babe. You’re having a nightmare. Cruz…”
He tossed and turned violently, and I started to get a little worried that he’d accidentally knock me out. Not only would that not feel good; it was a sure way to heap more guilt on Cruz’s already overburdened conscience.
I slid off the bed and rounded to his side, keeping my distance from his flailing arms.
“Cruz!” This time I said his name louder and with more determination. It worked. His eyes popped open, but I wasn’t sure he was with me in the moment. “Cruz?”
“Lydia, my sweet Lydia. I’m so sorry. Help me. Please.”
I sank onto to the bed, taking his hands in mine. “I’m here. You’re here with me. You’re safe.”
His eyes were wild, his pupils dilated. Terror was etched into every line on his face. “You can’t be here. He’ll hurt you. The hooded man… Lydia, go! Run!”
I let go of his hands and shook his shoulders gently. “Cruz, there is no hooded man. I’m here. We’re safe. We’re in your cabin. Everything is okay.”
Lucidity seemed to sink in, and Cruz looked around his surroundings. He sat up, his hands groping my arms, touching my face, as if to reassure himself that I was really there.
“It’s you. You’re here.”
He pulled me close, hugging me so tightly I could barely breathe.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”
He didn’t say another word, but his shoulders shook with silent sobs as he held me, stroking my hair and wetting my skin with his tears.
What had he endured those weeks he was tortured? Who was the hooded man? And how long had Cruz been suffering from these nightmares that distorted reality?
Cruz settled back against the pillows, pulling me onto his chest and still holding me tight as if he thought if he let go, I’d disappear. That he’d wake up, and it was all a dream, and he was hallucinating it all, back in that hell of two years ago.
“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse from the screaming and thick with emotion. I drew circles on his chest with my fingers, letting him know I was there.
“I love you.”
The words hung between us, but he didn’t return them this time. I knew why. The call from my dad had resurrected all of his feelings of worthlessness. It would take time for me to convince him that I didn’t need him to support me. I didn’t need anyone else. I just needed him.
The next morning I awoke alone in bed, the smells of bacon and eggs wafting into the room. I slid out of bed and opened the curtains covering the huge windows overlooking the most glorious view of the lake. The light of the sun sent prisms dancing over the rippled water as a large bird swooped down, capturing a fish in his claws and winging its way back to its perch to eat its breakfast.
Padding to the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and washed my face before making my way to the kitchen, finding Cruz standing there shirtless in pajama pants. He was mouthwateringly gorgeous, and I was determined to make him see reason.
I hadn’t lost him two years ago only to lose him again. And not to death or evil, but to his own demons plaguing his mind.
“Good morning.”
Cruz jerked around and took in my attire. I was clad in only his T-shirt. Bare legs. Messy hair. No makeup. He didn’t seem to mind, if the appreciation I saw in his eyes as he made his way from my feet to my face was any indication.
“Morning.” He turned away quickly, and I realized he was embarrassed by what happened the night before.
I sat at the small kitchen table where we’d shared such an amazing time over dinner, and pulled my legs up underneath me.
“It smells delicious.”
A grunt was my only reply. I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily. This was going to take more finagling than I’d thought.
Cruz plated the food and brought it over to me, setting it on the table. He turned back to grab a couple of glasses of juice and sat down, digging in without any further conversation.
I decided to let him set the tone, for now. So, I ate in silence, watching him for any indication that he was going to open up about what happened. When he finished eating and stood to clear our plates without another word, it was clear I was going to have to bring up the subject.
“So, I was wondering—”
“Don’t.” The word was hard and emotionless as he whirled around. “Just don’t.”
I nodded. Fine. He needed time, he could have it. But I would hear the story.
I went to shower, staying under the steaming-hot streams for longer than I should have. I towel-dried my hair and slipped on the yoga pants and T-shirt I’d gotten at the store the day before. When I was finished, I exited the room back into the living area. Cruz was nowhere to be found.
The soft canvas couch was calling my name, so I crossed to the bookshelf lining one wall and took a book from it before sinking into the pillowy cushions. All Cruz had to offer in terms of books were spy thrillers, but it was better than boredom. And it seemed Cruz needed some time to wrestle with how we were going to go forward. I planned to give him that time.
I didn’t have to wait long. A couple of hours into the spy thriller, and the front door banged open. Cruz walked in wearing shorts, no shirt, and every inch of him covered in sweat. He looked delicious—and pale. I wasn’t sure a two-hour run was appropriate for someone who’d been through what he had so recently.
He glanced my way then went to the kitchen and grabbed a cup from the cabinet. He filled it with water and swallowed it all in one go. Then filled it again and repeated the process. When he was done, he stalked to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
I jumped at the sound, but I didn’t take any offense. He wasn’t mad at me. He was angry at his own perceived weakness. It was a part of the PTSD. Only, I knew I could help him. I wasn’t a psychologist, but I’d had years of helping kids after trauma on the streets. He’d talk when he was ready, and I knew he was hitting his boiling point.
The water to the shower turned on and minutes later turned off. When Cruz exited the room, he was clad in blue shorts and white T-shirt. He went back to the kitchen, turned the faucet on and downed another glass of water before pacing back and forth between the living room and kitchen.
“Our mission in Venezuela was supposed to be recon only. Get in, find the compound, and then report back to HQ once we were done. In and out. Everything was fine—until it wasn’t. My team consisted of six of us. Each skilled and equipped to take on heavy firepower. Only, we hadn’t expected the patrol we’d stumbled onto. Twenty of them, all armed with AR-15s and AK-47s.”
His haunted expression told me he was back there in his mind. Not seeing the cabin’s walls, the furniture in the living room, or me. He saw the mission, the nightmare.
“I was in charge of the unit and yelled for them to fall back, but we’d triggered an alarm the patrol had set, and they began firing. Four of my men lost their lives that day. One escaped. I was captured.”
Cruz stared out the window, his arms propped on each side of his head.
“They took me through the compound, but I hardly remember anything. They’d hit me over the head with the butt of a rifle, and I was in and out of consciousness. I remember a house and remember thinking it was beautiful and how strange it was to be so far into the mountains, but I don’t recall any details about it. Then they threw me in the back of a truck and drove. I don’t know how long we were on the road.”
Cruz shook his head, his posture rigid as he thought about what came next. My stomach tightened, and I knew it was going to be bad. I’d always known. But I’d have to face the reality of his situation. The details.
“Finally, it stopped, and I was thrown into some sort of cave-like prison. It was a tiny space lined with hay. A rock would be rolled over the front, and there was barely any air. But that wasn’t the worst part.”
Ice water flushed my veins, and I didn’t move, didn’t breathe as I waited for him to tell me the worst.
“It was nighttime when they pulled me out, so I estimated I’d been in there for more than twelve hours since our mission had started in the wee hours of the morning before sunrise. The air was so thin, I was gasping for breath. They had it down to a science—how long I could last before I’d run out of air. Then the real horror started.” Cruz took a deep breath and turned to face me. Only, he wasn’t looking at me. He was seeing another time and place.
“A man stood before me in all black, a hood hiding his face. He spoke in a voice just above a whisper. He’d ask me about our missions there. What we were doing. Why we’d targeted the area. Then, when I wouldn’t answer, he’d do his best to ring it out of me.
“Floggings with a cat-o’-nine-tails, a whip with bone and metal fragments on the end of the strings of leather. Cigar burns up and down my arms. Scalding water poured over my back and torso. Brass knuckles to the face over and over and over again. It was hell. And all I wanted was to die.”
Cruz’s eyes were so vacant it was a wonder he hadn’t died in that Venezuelan camp.
“And Lorenzo did die, Lydia. The hooded man beat him to death. His guilt pulled him under. He was gone. All that was left was a shell of a man.”
I jumped off the couch and rushed towards him. “No! That’s not true. You’re a survivor, Cruz. You lived. Lorenzo may have died, but Cruz Ortiz lives. And he is the bravest, most honorable man I know. There is no one in the world who has more courage, more drive, more heart than you. No one.”
I pulled his head down for a kiss. It wasn’t meant to be sexual or tempting. No, this kiss was the sealing of a promise. I’m not going anywhere, it declared. I’m in this till death parts us.
When I stepped back, I saw hope in Cruz’s eyes. Hope that what he’d felt in that kiss was real.
“I love you, Cruz Ortiz. I won’t let you push me away.” I drew him closer, wrapping my arms around his big body. Stroking his hair. Comforting him.
“Have you sought out help?” I whispered the question, knowing pride many times kept men from talking to counselors.
Cruz stood, pulling my hand behind him as he led me to the couch. “Yeah. That’s the first nightmare I’ve had in over a year. It’s the recent events that have dragged it all up again. When this is over, I’ll call my counselor.”
I smiled, so proud of him. “So many warriors put it off and don’t seek help. It’s difficult to survive something like that and not feel guilt for surviving, or guilt for needing help when others lost their lives. I’m so glad you got help.”
He shook his head, laughing without humor. “Look, don’t put me on a pedestal. I went kicking and screaming. Washington made it a requirement for joining the team.” Cruz pushed his hands through his hair. “Best thing to ever happen to me, though.”
I wondered when the stigma for receiving help for mental health would go away. No one blinked an eye to come see me for a cold, or stitches, or antibiotics. But if they needed help for their mind, most people ran in the opposite direction. It was unfair, and change needed to happen soon.
We sat in companionable silence for several minutes before I broke it. “So, what should we do today?”
Cruz looked up, obviously lost in thought, and when his eyes met mine, he grinned. “We’re going to take the boat out.”
***
The next couple of days passed without much fanfare. Cruz and I used the time to get to know each other again. We took it slow, never treading close to the passion of the first night when we’d arrived. If we were going to make this work, we needed to start from the beginning.
So much had changed over ten years of separation. I told him about the clinic, about my dad’s disappointment when I didn’t follow in his footsteps and his agreement to invest in the free clinic. I told him about the work we did, the kids we helped, the families that were able to get healthcare because of our existence.
Anytime I mentioned my father, there was an instant switch in the mood. It was a problem we’d have to address at some point, but for now, I was fine with taking things one day at a time.
***
It was Thursday morning, and I woke up before Cruz. My back felt much better, and I needed to clear my mind. Lake Lanier had proven to be a beautiful distraction, and the sun had just peeked above the water. Cruz had told me about the jogging path that wound along the lakeside, so I laced up my sneakers and donned my running clothes.
I took off down the path, my mind drifting to the problem of Cruz and my father. I knew I needed to tell Papa about Cruz. I was angry that he’d taken matters into his own hands all those years ago, never telling me what Cruz had asked that day.
They were very much alike, and yet very different. Papa was polished and suave, while Cruz was tatted-up and a little rough around the edges. Still, they had the most important things in common: honor, protection, integrity, courage, compassion.
I’d reached the halfway point and turned around to head back to the cabin, when the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. I stopped and listened. There were no sounds of wildlife, no sounds at all, just the gentle lapping of the lake water against the shore. Turning in a circle, I couldn’t find anything out of place. But the feeling never left.
I stepped up my pace, running faster than I had in years, needing to get back to Cruz. He’d make sure everything was okay. I could see the cabin through the trees, and slowed my pace. I was almost home. Interesting that I thought of it as such. Miami had always been home, and yet, I’d felt more alive, more content in this small cabin on the lake than I’d ever felt anywhere.
A small twig snapped behind me, and I whirled around. There were three men, dressed in all black, their rifles pointed dead center on my chest. They walked towards me, and I backed up—one step, two. Then spun around to take off towards the cabin, when three other men blocked my way.
Cruz! Was he okay? Did they already take him out?
As the men got closer, I let out a bloodcurdling scream. The one closest to me jabbed a needle in my arm as my vision swam. He caught me as my knees buckled. I tried to scream louder, to cry out for Cruz to help me, but the darkness was too heavy. Finally, I couldn’t fight it anymore as I was lifted up into the arms of my attacker and carried through the woods.
His breaths were labored as he ran with me. Then a noise—a pop-pop-pop—loud and deafening roused me momentarily, as the world around me spun. Grunts. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh. More gunfire. A scream.
Then nothing but silence and darkness.