Page 92 of Jagged Line Paradise

“Then don’t answer it. This isn’t for me, Lonnie. Remember? You know you need to release this. Get the story out of your mind so it can exist somewhere else, and then you can finally find some peace. This is for you.”

She nods, opening her eyes slowly and lifting her chin so she can look at me. “And I don’t have to say anything I don’t want to say?”

“That’s right.”

She presses her palms to her thighs and rubs them on her dress. “Where do I start?”

“Wherever you want to start.”

She huffs out a heavy breath, agitation riding the exhale. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Do you want some direction?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

I glance at the notes Brittany gave to me, a few white pages with black print sitting beside me on the small side table I dragged over. It’s a list of questions to guide my discussion with Avalon if we get stuck.

What wasit like to be trapped in his death box?

Death box was the name the media gave the container he took the girls to out in the desert. It was actually what Avalon had called it when she gave the police report. The media got hold of that and adopted the name, as if it were a monument to be revered in wonder.

What tools or instruments did heuse to injure you? Did he talk to you whileyou were held hostage? What did he say to you?What would you say to the Canyon Carver if hewere in the room today? Why do you think hetook you? Because of your friendship with his son, AndrésHernandez? What do you think of Andrés Hernandez now?

Bullshit.

I shove the papers off the table with a flick of my hand and let them float to the floor. “Tell me what helped you survive. What gave you hope?”

She straightens, her eyes widening in surprise at my question. I wonder if she thought I’d lead her straight to the despair. There’s no point in her reliving this pain, this torment she suffered, if there’s no hope for peace from it.

“Um.” She pauses, glancing off to the side before meeting my eyes with truth. “It was the colors of the sunset that saved my mind.”

She stops there, so I encourage her. “Tell me more about that.”

“He’d tortured me for a full day before leaving me alone overnight. Truthfully, it wasn’t the physical violence that was the worst, it was the time spent in between moments of pain. The fear of what was next was unbearable, but I could get through the pain with breathing and focus. It was hardest that night when he left me alone. I was...” She looks down, then back up at me. “I don’t know how much detail I’m allowed to give here. Is this a PG-13 kind of documentary?”

“No, don’t censor yourself. Say as much or as little as you feel comfortable. If you want to share the details,” I swallow a lump rising in my throat, “then that’s okay.”

“So, maybe I should go back a little. I feel like, maybe it’ll help to know how my mind got to where it was when he finally left me alone in that…that death box overnight.”

“Okay.”

“Andrés, I...” Her brow wrinkles as her head tilts gently to the side. “I just feel like I need to warn you before I say anything else.”

My heart stops, skipping more beats than I care to count before starting again with a thunderous pace. “It’s not about me. I want you to say what you need to say.”

“What happened to me was—” She exhales. “You’ll never be able to look at me the same way again.”

I flinch.

What could she tell me that would make melook at her any differently?

“Nothing you say will ever change the way I look at you.”

She presses her lips together, glances down at her lap, and takes a deep breath. “I tried to run away when he got me out in the desert. I didn’t get far, and he caught me again without any effort. It was still morning, but it was already so hot out that I was sweating by the time he brought me into his death box. I guess I was the first one to call it that, but that’s exactly what it felt like. It was a box he trapped me in, and I instantly felt death inside it. I don’t really know how to explain the fear I felt when I first looked around the space.” She pauses. “I don’t think fear is a strong enough word. Terror. Horror. Those are closer, but still not quite right. It was…it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt.

“The first thing he told me to do was…to take off my clothes. I’d just turned eighteen the day before. I was mostly inexperienced.” Acknowledgment of the small part of innocence I took from her the night before she was kidnapped flashes across her eyes as something pleasant but still painful to remember—the memory of our first sexual encounter will forever be tainted by what my father did to her. “Am I...can I talk about you? Am I allowed to say your name? I want to make sure people know just how evil he is, for doing what he did that hurt not only me but his son, too.”

I inhale sharply through my nose and nod. “You can talk about me. Just use my name. SayAndrés, notyouwhile you speak.”

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