Fire.
Fire in my lungs. Fire on my skin. Thick black smoke curls around me as I crawl, dragging my useless body. Searching. Screams pierce my ears, but I can't find them. They are all around me, reverberating like a nightmare.
I call out for my brother. My father. The names of the other men who were just standing beside me only moments ago. It doesn't feel real. I can't believe it's real. But the melting, searing pain is too visceral to be false.
"Santiago."
The name echoes through my consciousness, and I roar in frustration, choking on thick plumes of smoke.
"I can't find you."
"I can't find you."
"Santiago."
Fingers dance over my jaw, dragging me back to another time. The present time. I explode upright, violent breaths stalling in my lungs as I scan the room with wild eyes. They latch onto the first thing they see. A bedpost. A blanket. My bedroom.
I turn slowly and find Ivy staring back at me with concern etched into her features. We’re in my bed, together, still dressed in our clothes. We must have fallen asleep like this.
"It's okay," she whispers, reaching out to stroke my arm. "It's okay."
I’m still shaking, the fit seizing every fiber of my muscles as moisture clings to my forehead. My palms are clammy, and it takes me several moments to regain a normal breathing pattern before I can choke the words from my lips.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No," she reassures me. "I promise you didn't."
I collapse back onto the pillow again, staring up at the ceiling as she curls closer, the warmth of her body pressing against mine. It calms me faster than anything else could. A strange revelation, only compounded by the fact that I don't want her to leave, even though I know she should.
"You shouldn't ever try to wake me," I tell her gruffly. "For your own safety."
"Okay." She acknowledges my declaration. "I just didn't... I didn't like to see you so lost to it. The nightmare. It was so intense, and I was worried for you."
I turn my head to the side, studying her. I want to ask her why she cares. But it's already written on her face. Her emotions are changing. Evolving. She sees me as something she shouldn't. Not a saint, but not quite a monster anymore. I'm somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, I think. And that is a dangerous thing to believe.
For both of us.
"It must be terrible," she says softly. "To experience something like that over and over again."
I avert my gaze. It's not something I care to discuss. She seems to understand, choosing not to press the matter.
"Is everything okay with you and Mercedes?" she asks.
I swallow, and it feels like broken glass gets caught in my throat. "It will be."
I have to believe that. But the truth is, I don't know.
Ivy continues to stroke my arm. It does something to my nerves I can't quite explain, but I'm on the verge of falling asleep again when her voice stirs me.
"What will happen when the Tribunal finds out I'm not pregnant?"
There's an undercurrent of fear in the question, and for once, it doesn't bring me pleasure to hear it.
"As far as they are concerned, you are." I roll onto my side, reaching out to drag the pads of my fingers along her jaw. "That is what we will tell them if they ask. There can be no question. You must act as if it's true."
She closes her eyes, shuddering softly against me. "So, we need to get pregnant as soon as we can."
"Yes."
She's quiet for a long moment, and when she opens her eyes again, something has changed in them.
"If we bring a child into this world together, it should be out of love. Not duty."
Love?
Tension bleeds into my body as I shake my head, but Ivy is quick to stop me before I can speak.
"I know. We have to do this to save my life and protect you from the Tribunal. I understand that. But I need some reassurances from you, Santiago. I need to know if I bring a child into this world with you, that child will be loved. I would rather face my own execution than agree to any other condition. I will not allow my own child to suffer."
"The child will be cared for beyond measure," I force out. "Far beyond any other child."
Ivy studies me, lost in her own thoughts for a few long moments before she gives voice to them. "And what about me? When you get what you want from me, you will kill me?"
I don't want to look at her. I know if I do, my face will betray everything. So instead, I close my eyes, and I kiss her, conveying the truth my words can't.
She whimpers against me, curling her fingers into my shirt. I pull her closer, squeezing her so tightly it must border on the point of pain. But she doesn't protest. She leans into it, giving herself over to me. The nightmare she can't wake up from.
"A child needs a mother," I murmur against her lips.
A confession. Not quite the truth. But I am not willing to admit that perhaps I need her too. Not yet.
She pulls away, breathless, still clinging to my shirt. "A child needs a father too. Not just a disciplinarian. But someone to love and guide them."
Her statement isn't a question, but it feels like one. Can I be that for someone? Am I even capable?
My cell phone starts to vibrate in my pocket, but I ignore it, trapped by my wife's eyes. She needs an answer from me. Assurances. And I am aware I don't need to give them to her. Regardless of her feelings, she will carry my child. But perhaps she is right. Perhaps I want her to want this as much as I do.
"I will do what is necessary," I tell her. "I will provide for you and the children. I will discipline, but I will also... do what fathers do."
It's the closest I can come to saying love at this moment. Truthfully, I don't know what that bond feels like. I fear that I am lacking. I may never have the ability to love unconditionally or understand the true meaning of love at all. But I am not my father. I will not hand out only punishments and withhold the necessary softness for humanity. Though I know even when I fail, Ivy will care enough for both of us to compensate for my shortfalls. I see that in her. This desire in her to love her own children will not allow anything, even me, to stand in her way.
My phone vibrates again, and I sigh, releasing my wife to drag it from my pocket. When I see Marco's name, a cold chill moves over me.
"Yes?" I answer.
"Did you get my texts?"
Texts?
"Hold on."
I pull the phone back and click on my messages. There must be at least a dozen updates on the screen regarding my sister’s whereabouts. She's been to the club at the compound. Abel's house. A long list of different hotels around the city. And then finally, there’s a message alerting me that she’s been driving around aimlessly, scanning the streets in areas of high prostitution. At that point, Marco asked me what I wanted him to do, but I was asleep.
"Where is she now?" I ask.
"She’s still driving around. Seems to be looking for someone.”
“Keep following her,” I tell him. “Until further notice, that is your full-time job. Wherever Mercedes goes, you go.”