Page 23 of The Tourist

“I will. I promise,” he reassures me.

When Eaton arrives, he’s all business. There’s a sense of urgency radiating from both him and Diego that sends a shiver of fear down my spine. I’ve never seen Diego like this before. Both men are hyped and ready for whatever they’re about to encounter. This must have been what they were like when the came to save me. I can only imagine the things they have to do to rescue those who’ve been sold.

“Ready?” Eaton asks.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Diego replies, releasing me and grabbing his bag. “Chloe, the chef will be here later to prepare all your meals. Remember to call if you need anything.”

“I will,” I say, watching them leave.

The door closes behind them, and the room falls silent. I turn on the television in the kitchen for some background noise to hide the eeriness of the empty house. Diego has been out on business before, leaving me alone, and it’s never bothered me, but this time it’s for longer, and I feel more uncertain.

I try to keep myself busy. I write in my notebook, but the words won’t flow. I watch television, but the images blur together, and I can’t focus on the plot. I decide to bake a cake, hoping the activity will distract me. But even that goes wrong when I forget to set the timer.

Hours pass, and the uncertainty builds inside me. I pace up and down the hall, my mind racing with thoughts of Diego, Eaton, and Serena. What if this lead is another dead end? What if something goes wrong? I’m not stupid. I know when they rescued me they used weapons and there was some hand-to-hand fighting.

A knot of anxiety tightens in my chest.

I start to have a panic attack. When I was first taken, I had them often, and only the heroin in my bloodstream helped. The familiar sensations of my heart racing and my breaths coming in short gasps threaten to overwhelm me. I know I need to ground myself before I spiral.

I recall the five-four-three-two-one technique that the counselor taught me, and I focus on my surroundings.

“Five things I can see— The blue vase on the windowsill. The framed photo of Serena and Diego on the mantel. The clock on the wall with its hands moving steadily forward, but not quickly enough for me. The soft throw blanket, a warm shade of burgundy, draped over the sofa. The candle on the dining table with its flame extinguished.”

“Four things I can touch— The smooth, cool surface of the kitchen counter. The soft fabric of my shirt, comforting against my skin. The rough texture of the rug beneath my feet, anchoring me to the floor. The smooth, cold metal of the doorknob, offering a solid point of contact.”

“Three things I can hear—The constant, calming hum of the refrigerator. The faint chirping of the birds outside. The soft, steady ticking of the clock.”

“Two things I can smell— The lingering sharp, acrid aroma of burned cake, reminding me of my earlier distraction. The faint, comforting scent of Diego’s cologne on my shirt where he hugged me, bringing me a sense of safety.”

“One thing I can taste—The residual flavor of the chamomile tea I had earlier, its soothing flavor still lingering on my tongue.

The technique helps, and my breathing begins to steady. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the calm wash over me. When I open them again, I know where I need to go. I make my way to Serena’s bedroom. It’s a place I’ve avoided since I came here, but I told Diego I would get it ready for her return.

Apart from being cleaned by Diego’s maid, so no dust or cobwebs gather, Serena’s room has been left untouched since she was taken. I sit on my friend’s bed and look around at the pictures on the walls, the books on her shelves, and the photos on her nightstand. One photo catches my eye. It’s a picture of me and her taken a few years ago. We’re both smiling and carefree, a stark contrast to the turmoil we’re caught up in now.

Rising from the bed, I pick up the photo and hold it against my chest as I whisper a silent prayer for good news. “Please, let them find her. Let her be safe.”

A memory surfaces as I return to sit on Serena’s bed, still holding the picture close to me.

“Do you remember your quinceañera, Serena?” I whisper into the quiet of the room, recalling the celebrations that took place when my friend turned fifteen years old. “It was so lavish. So beautiful. You looked like a princess in that white dress with all those sequins, topped off with a tiara.”

The Rodriquez family home had been decorated with hundreds of white and pink balloons, streamers, and flowers. The backyard was transformed into a magical garden with twinkling lights hanging from every tree. No expense had been spared. The tables were laden with an array of delicious food—paella brimming with seafood and saffron rice, tender roasted lamb with rosemary and garlic, and endless tapas. The dessert table was a spectacle— a towering cake, churros dusted with cinnamon sugar, and bowls of rich, velvety flan.

“You were so excited when you saw the diamond necklace Diego gave you,” I continue, my fingers tracing the edge of the photo frame. “You kept touching it, making sure it was safe.”

I can almost hear Serena’s happy laughter. She danced around the room, showing off the necklace, and Diego had watched her with pride. He’s always been protective of Serena, wanting the best for her, even when she tested his patience on more than one occasion.

“You made me dance with you,” I recall aloud, smiling at the memory. “Even though I kept stepping on your toes because I’ve got two left feet. And when the band played ‘Hey Jude’ as the last song, everyone gathered in a circle and sang along. You looked so happy, so full of life.”

I can feel Serena in the room with me, and the thought of her presence comforts me.

“You have to come back,” I murmur as I feel the first tear tumble down my cheek. “I need you to come back. Diego needs you.” I look down at the picture in my hand. “I’m scared for you, Serena. I need my best friend. And there’s something I want to confide in you. Diego is becoming more than just a protector to me. I don’t understand my feelings, and you’re the only person I can talk to about it. Please come home.”

I remain sitting in Serena’s room, the quiet solitude comforting me. Eventually, exhaustion takes over. I curl up on her bed, still holding the photo, and as I close my eyes, I send up another prayer, asking for good news when I awaken.

CHAPTER16

Diego

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