Sitting across from the love of her life, pouring her guts out all over the place, Blaire felt like an elephant sat on her soul, sucking the life out of her. It was a feeling she knew well—she’d lived with it in Caracas and for months after she had returned to the States.
That whole ordeal had caused her to retreat to a soulless place like she lived at the bottom of a rusty oil drum. Some light in her life had begun to return when she’d moved to Singer Springs, left no forwarding address from her last residence, and started working with Lola. She’d taken horseback riding lessons and started running.
She’d done everything she could think of to find even a sliver of illumination. An entire sun had shone upon her when she’d met Jackson. Now, however, this sharing business had blotted out all the light. Inside, she felt cold, dark, and lonely, the same way she had felt every day in Caracas.
Without looking at her, Jackson rose and stepped toward the fallen tissue box.
She was so disconnected from her body, she eyed his luscious backside in that disinterested way one regards a stranger walking through the mall.
The two dogs thumped their tails against the floor.
Jackson leaned over to pick up the cardboard container and, before rising, gave the dogs some love in the form of head rubs. “You’re good girls. Everything’s going to be all right with our pack—just give us some time to work things out.”
That’s what he thinks. After he hears what I have to say, he’ll change his mind.
Her face, her eyelids, even her lips felt swollen. When Jackson extended the box to her, she reached for a paper square and tried to bring some order to her face by at least drying it. After wiping and dabbing, she crumpled up the damp wad and dropped it to the floor. Then, blinking, she brought her gaze to meet his eyes.
Jackson’s steady regard gave her the courage to continue. He placed his warm hands on her shoulders and looked intently at her.
“Are you ready?” he said. “Tell me everything.”
His chest slowly rose and fell. He seemed far more composed than she felt. He always had this capacity to calm the room wherever he was. It was one of the qualities she adored. If he decided to leave her, she would miss his soothing calm, along with the nineteen thousand other things she loved about him.
She nodded and continued. “So, a week after I’d arrived, he came into my prison of a bedroom and said, expansively, ‘we’re going on an outing today!’ Of course, my mind went to plans of escape. Anyway, he told me what to dress in—I couldn’t look too rich, or people would be suspicious. I asked him what he meant. He said something like, ‘never mind, you’ll see.’”
She reached for another tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“So, I dressed and walked down to the waiting vehicle. It was an old clunker of a car. I thought it strange since he…” Her gaze slid toward Jackson and then darted away. “Karlos flaunted his wealth wherever we went. And he was dressed like your basic Venezuelan—jeans, t-shirt, ratty sneakers. Two guys got in on either side of me in the back seat. They stank like cigarettes and sweat and some sort of food I couldn’t place.
“Karlos sat in the front, next to the driver. The car pulled out. We drove through his locked gate and entered the realm of hell. It’s awful there. People are so poor. Everyone steals to survive. They steal to get medicine for their sick loved ones. They steal to put food on the table.”
She gazed at nothing for a few minutes, her memories mired back in Caracas.
“Hey,” Jackson said, gently. “Where’d you go?”
She reeled in her mind. “Sorry. I went to Venezuela.” The corners of her lips lifted briefly and then fell. “I just realized they sort of lived like you and Jake did.”
His mouth formed a thin line.
Her eyebrows scrunched together, and another flood of tears threatened. She reined it in with a few deep breaths.
“I’m sorry…it’s just that…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll continue.” Her chin began to quiver. “So, we drive into the town. They all smoked around me, even Karlos. I’d never seen him smoke before. When I met him on our travels, he was always impeccable and considerate. So, anyway, I was sitting between all these sweaty men, choking and coughing. Karlos turned around and handed me his cigarette. I didn’t want to take it—I hated smoking—but he insisted, so I did it. And then I was coughing from the cigarette. Strangely, it gave me a sense of control, though. I had this thing in my hand. I could choose to do with it what I wanted. It was mine to command. I know it sounds odd, but at that moment, there was so little I had control over. So, I smoked in Venezuela. I hated smoking, but it was the only thing I had control over.”
“I’m glad you quit,” Jackson said. “It’s not my favorite habit.”
“It took a prescription of Chantix to kick it back in the states, but…anyway…there’s more.”
Jackson huffed out a sigh but said nothing.
“We drove past this overwhelming squalor. Kids with arms the size of toothpicks. Emaciated, wrinkled old women. Flies everywhere. Hungry dogs. Everyone was starving, sick, or just plain miserable. We drove to a rundown grocery store. People were everywhere. A line of people snaked out the door and around the corner to the right. Karlos said I couldn’t go in because they only let customers in on certain days based on their ID cards or fingerprints. But I was going to help someone out.” She glanced up at Jackson.
He sat like a statue, his mouth grim, simply listening.
“For a second, I got hopeful. I thought maybe I would be helping someone out and that appealed to me. I mean, they had so little. If I could do anything to change one person’s life, I’d be down with it. We parked at the far end of the parking lot. My guards got out of the car. Karlos helped me out of the car and took my hand. He grinned and led me to the store, smiling, as if we were just a couple out on a date.
“As we approached the store, he handed me some cash. ‘Here. This is what you are going to offer the woman I designate. You are going to say your car is broken down. You’ll ask her to come to look at it with you. You’ll say you don’t have a way to get help and if this person drives you a few blocks down the street, you’ll give her this.’
“I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to do it, but he said I would be helping this woman. And, stupid me, I wanted to help.” Blaire looked away.
Silence hung heavy in the room.
That same numb coldness she’d experienced every day of her life in Caracas dragged at her limbs. Her eyelids felt like they were lead weights. She directed her gaze back to Jackson.
“So, he leaned against someone’s car and lit another cigarette. His shrewd eyes scanned every person who went in and out of the store. I didn’t know if he was looking for someone he knew or what, but then a pretty woman exited the store. Her hair hung down to her butt. She looked heavy with child, but she was alone. He said, ‘Offer her the money. Do it discreetly. Don’t let anyone see the money but her, or you could be mobbed. And take her around the corner of the store—not the one with the line of people—the opposite corner. You’ll tell her that’s where your car is.’”
Blaire closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she said, “I stared at Karlos. I stared at the woman. ‘Do it now,’ he hissed. So, I scurried toward her. I’m sure I looked every bit the frightened gringa because I was. I’m not sure what I said to her, but I flashed the bills Karlos had given me and, in my faltering Spanish, I asked for her help. I’m sure she was so desperate for money at that point she would have done anything. I took her around the corner like Karlos said, and there were the two guards who had accompanied us in the car and the driver. The driver grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. One of the guards restrained her arms behind her back. She struggled and fought, but they were too strong for her. The other guard produced some sort of knife, gathered her hair into his hand, and chopped it all off. He coiled it in a loose knot, retrieved a plastic bag from his pocket, and shoved it inside the bag. Then, he jammed the whole thing down his loose-fitting pants. Finally, the driver released her. She scrubbed off her mouth with the back of her hand.”
Blaire felt about a million years old as she spoke. She licked her lips and continued.
“He gave her a coin and told her something like, ‘if you make trouble for us, we will hunt you down and slit the throats of your family.’ That shut her up. Then, we sauntered away—me, with one of the guard’s arms around my shoulders like we were an item. I was shaking. I turned around to look at her. She’d slumped to the ground and the way she looked at me…the outrage and betrayal in her eyes…I’ll never forget that look.”
She lifted her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezed. When she resumed speaking, her voice emerged in a dark whisper, like she sat in the back of a cave.
“Karlos grinned when he saw me. He put his arm around me and whispered bullshit in my ear about how proud he was of me and how he’d make it up to me in bed.”
She blinked, suddenly aware that silent tears streamed down her cheeks. A sense of rage and injustice shot through her belly like it had been lying in wait to be set free.
She spoke through gritted teeth with snot and salty tears all over her face. Her hands knotted into fists. “They had me do this over and over and over. Every few days we’d head out. If they saw me resist, or try to signal the woman, I got backhanded. My face bore bruises for weeks.”
She tipped her head on the back of the sofa, squeezed her eyes shut, and sobbed. “So many women. A different place every time. We drove in a different car. I always had to dress in something different.”
“What did they do with the hair?” Jackson asked gently.
“They sold it on the black market.” Blaire’s voice came out in a hoarse sob. “They had lots of enterprises, but that was the one Karlos groomed me for.”
She kept her eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see Jackson’s face. In her mind, she chased away the violence that she’d lived with while living in Caracas. She couldn’t tell Jackson about that part. Every day Karlos would threaten her, telling her that her good behavior would be rewarded. And her bad behavior? He’d mimic slitting his own throat, and then grin like he’d just told a hilarious joke. He even slept with a gun under the pillow. She never knew if she’d wake up dead.
“And they always laughed and whooped it up when we got back in the car. We’d head back to the mansion, and they’d drink, and I’d cry until Karlos came in the room to ‘reward’ me. Every day I was scared. So scared. I wanted to die. I wanted to escape. I wanted out.”
She took a shuddering breath. “Finally, a stroke of fate turned in my favor. The guys were getting sloppy. I was able to alert one woman as to what was in store for her if she followed me. She shoved some money in my hand. It wasn’t much. She told me to give the money I had back to the men but to hide the money she gave me. She told me where to catch a bus to Jacinto Lara International Airport. She asked if I had a credit card to buy a plane ticket. I said no, but I knew where Karlos kept a lot of cash. I tried to give her back her money, but she insisted I take it, telling me it had been blessed by Ismael, whom I later learned is the patron saint of thugs. She told me Ismael would grant me a safe passage to the airport, but after that, I was on my own. Then, when we rounded the corner to the alley I was to take her to, she ran.”
Blaire’s hands fluttered like small birds. “I caught hell for losing the mark, but I made up some story about how she overpowered me.
Her voice grew thick. “I made sure Karlos got good and drunk that night. I let him have his way with me. He fell fast asleep after that. I sneaked out of bed and found his store of cash. I took a wad of it but hoped he wouldn’t find any missing. He’d count it every night but then hide it in this silver box when he thought no one was looking. I tiptoed out of the mansion. I had to climb cyclone fencing topped with barbed wire. My hands and my legs were bloody by the time I made my way over the fence, but I ran. God, how I ran once my feet touched the ground. I ran all the way to the bus and somehow made it home.”
Her lungs heaved with sobs that wracked her to the core. So much pain; she had no idea where it had been stored all this time. Screaming wildly, she kicked and stomped her feet. She beat the couch with her fists, letting an arsenal of rage free.
And then, Jackson’s arms were around her. He pulled her on top of him and held her tight, making her feel safe and protected. He held her until she was quiet, so quiet she was only aware of their breathing. Her breath blew harshly in and out of her lungs. The sounds of Jackson’s breath huffed into her ear. She swore she could even hear the dogs breathe.
Finally, after a long period, she pressed herself upon his chest and said, “Do you still love me?”
“This story—it’s a lot to process.” His eyes appeared moist.
“But do you still love me?” she said, desperation clawing a bloody trail inside her chest.
“I have to figure out how to keep you safe,” he said, dodging the question.
Her heart slithered from her chest.
I knew this was coming. He’s committed to keeping me safe but not loving me.
“You said he’s coming to kill you,” he said. “Why would you think that?” He pushed her messy hair away from her face.
She pulled her head away from him, not wanting to be touched by the guy who only wanted to keep her safe. “I saw an article in the newspaper a couple of days ago. He’s in Seattle on some sort of business venture. Why would he do that? He never came to Seattle when we were together. Not once. Why would he come to this area unless it was to track me down?”
Jackson looked up in the way he did when his mind was working, connecting dots, finding patterns. “We don’t know why he’s here. Has he tried to contact you?”
She shook her head. “No. I changed my number when I returned.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding, not meeting her eyes. “But you think you saw someone outside the window.”
She nodded.
He pushed her from his body.
She scrambled to the other side of the couch.
He swung his legs to the floor. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head in his hands.
A few seconds later, he lifted his head and looked at her.
“Okay. I’ll make some calls when I go to work tomorrow. I’ll ask around. Don’t you worry, we’ll keep you safe.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. Jackson—her Jackson—was gone, replaced by a stranger. Completely numb, she rose and headed for the bedroom, not caring if he followed. Her plan for the rest of the night was simple: root around in the medicine cabinet for some pain pills, pop a couple in her mouth, fall into a dead sleep, and forget tonight ever happened if only for eight hours. She would take whatever reprieve she could get. She simply couldn’t believe that he could still love her. How could someone so courageous and good want to be with someone who had made such a shitty life choice as to fall for a gangster?