Page 42 of Cara
“Stop fidgeting.”
My hands roam over my clothes, shaking my shirt. Panic seeps into my veins.No. No, not that.
“His ring,” I whisper to Victoria, who blinks at me as if I’ve lost hold altogether. I’m seconds away from proving her right. “It’s not here.”
“What ring?”
It must have snapped off in the struggle.
It’s gone. My God, it’s really gone.
Every deficient muscle in my body locks up, whipcord-tight. I’m concentrating on the small screen that maps our trajectory, watching Madrid gradually disappear behind us, fading into the distance while we hurdle toward Reykjavík.
I stare ahead, wanting to scream. Cry. Mourn.
He placed that into my hand. I was always supposed to have it.
A symbol of us. Our love. Our marriage.
Victoria speaks hesitantly, her gaze tracing the tears that silently drift down my cheeks. “It’s… gone?”
“It’s gone.”
It’s daybreak when we land in Reykjavík.
Neither of us has slept, fueled solely by adrenaline.
Steady rain barrels down the airport taxi windows, thick fog shrouding the distant Icelandic mountain peaks.
Our route takes us past the city’s attractions, but not long enough to fully appreciate them.
I’m reeling from the gravity of what I’ve lost. Somehowstilllosing, even after all this time.
Wherever Victoria is headed, it lies beyond the bustling cultural streets where outsiders like us usually gather. The driver drops us off in the industrial district. Victoria pays him and steps into the downpour first. Vigilant to these unfamiliar surroundings, my eyes pan the vacant streets, peeled open like the faithless runaway I am.
She nudges my arm. “It’s this way.”
Buildings of various shapes and sizes line clean sidewalks. Some steel, others painted timber. As Victoria briskly cuts a corner, she near misses a rowdy group of college students exiting a pub crammed with patrons to the door.
In a place like this, I feel the toll of isolation—of imprisonment, missing out on life. On friendship.
There’s so much I haven’t experienced. Like Spain, these faces are unfamiliar. Even though I’ve just arrived, the culture’s vastly different. It’s another world.
Another place to get used to.
Thunder drums through the sky, followed by flashinglight that bleaches the grey atmosphere for a few seconds. My eyes closely follow my sister’s movements as she crosses the street, reads the signs at the ends of the blocks, and leads us to an eyesore nestled between two warehouses.
She’s observant, overly cautious, with experiences beyond my own scope. And she came for me. She ensured I made it out of Madrid alive. She had the identification and resources ready to put us both off-grid. It’s those measures she’s taken that keep me leveled. If she is an enemy, so be it. I’d rather her be close than lurking in the shadows.
I'm not who I once was.
I'm not so naïve, so trusting.
“This place looks abandoned.”
Victoria smirks. “All part of the plan.”
Passing a dozen cylinders of ash, mounds of construction material left untouched, tarped to prevent wood rot, Victoria removes the blue camouflage concealing the door, revealing a metal padlock held together by wires. She taps in numbers, and the door unhinges.
