Page 16 of Hearts Of Darkness

Another interminable, tear-stained night gives way to another hopeless dawn, and soon the sinking sun is setting fire to that unfamiliar horizon again. I spend my incarceration searching for clues as to where in the world I might be. The heat and humidity suggest somewhere off the coast of Africa. The plush palm trees and cerulean sea remind me of an ad I once saw on the subway in New York. Butthis is no paradise. I’m a prisoner, kept here at the whim of a man with no kindness or conscience.

Three times a day the lock turns and a young Hispanic woman with shoulder-length, copper colored hair delivers a tray of food to me. She keeps her eyes on the floor. There’s never a flicker of interest my way. I’ve tried speaking to her, asking for my captor, and then demanding to talk to him, but she shakes her head each time as if she doesn’t understand my words.

The food she brings is bland and simple—bread, water, a vegetable broth, and the occasional piece of fruit. He doesn’t want me to starve, but he’s tightening his grip on me just the same.

I’ve been given no clothes to wear. I only have this bedsheet. He’s humiliating me, and his message is simple yet effective. If he’s denied the pleasure of my body, I will suffer the cost.

There are no books to read. No TV set. There’s nothing to pass the time, except for my thoughts. But that’s the whole point… I see it now. He’s left me to rot away in this cage with nothing but my imagination running wild.

It’s a taste of what my brother must have felt during the last days of his life when he was locked inside the prison of his mind while his body was wasting away in front of us.

I think about my parents. If they survived the hospital explosions, do they think I’m dead? This crucifies me more than anything. The ugly scars from my brother’s passing are still etched upon their hearts. I doubt they’ll recover if they’re forced to bury both of their children.

Ihaveto get out of here alive.

Iwillsee them again.

I think about my captor frequently too, more often than I’d like. He’s a foreigner, but there’s something so American about him. His English is excellent, his accent faultless. Has he lived in my homeland?

I know his name, but I refuse to call him that, even to myself. I want to dehumanize him as much as possible because it makes him easier to hate. But whoishe, my beautiful tormentor? There are no clues hidden in this room. The white walls are devoid of personality. There are no picture frames or photographs, the furniture is sparse and functional, and the walk-in closet is empty of his clothes.

The man walked into a hospital with every intention of killing my father, a DEA special agent. Surely that makes him some kind of mercenary or assassin? At least that would explain his military training. It also makes him an employee for one of the cartels.Who else would want my father dead?

Was my hunch right?

Did he get too close to the Santiagos?

Is this man working for them?

That night I lie awake piecing together everything I’ve learned about the cartel. Two brothers from South America. No first names. No recognizable faces. Billionaire criminals who manipulate the narcotics game from the shadows. Master puppeteers who control the strings of this whole dirty business.

Does my captor hold the key to uncovering their true identities? Is this my chance to get close and expose them as the immoral, murdering sons of bitches that they are?

I make my decision then and there. I’ll give him what he wants. I’ll keep my mouth shut and my legs open. I’ll whoremyself to this man. I’ll make him trust me, and then I’ll bring every single one of those bastards down.

I’m not doing it for myself.

I’m doing it for my brother.

I sense him,even before I’m fully awake. He’s sitting in that chair again, wearing black jeans and T-shirt—a dark and dangerous juxtaposition to the lightness of his bedroom.

Watching.

Waiting.

I ignore him for as long as I dare, putting off the barrage of heartache that’s coming my way. I’ve spent the last two days demonizing this man, believing he’s nothing but a savage with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. But now that he’s here, smelling like he does, looking so damnsomethingsprawled out across that chair, my feelings are switching from hate to lust again.

“I know you’re awake,mi alma.”He sounds amused.

“If I keep my eyes shut, it’s easier to pretend you’re a bad dream,” I retort, deliberately turning my back on him.

He likes it when I challenge him. It turns him on, and that’s the aim of this dangerous game I’m playing now.

As expected, he exhales with a hiss. “I see…my angel is still defiant. How long must we continue with this charade?”

“Until you set me free.”

“Come now… Have a little fun with me first.”

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