Page 18 of Where Broken Wings Fly

My husband. My abuser. The monster who fathered my sweet girl. If the devil were a person, he’d wear calculating blue eyes and the perfume of sweet cigar smoke. That’s who Mr Sanchez is. That’s who he’ll always be.

I won, darling wife.

You’re nothing without me.

My blanket of numbness is stripped away all at once, exposing me to the harsh bite of water once more. Something is touching me. No, someone. I can feel their rough hands.

The world filters back in with each ragged breath I take, illuminated in vivid snapshots. Shouting. Panic. Probing fingers. A flashlight in my eyes. It hurts so bad.

“P-Please, help her! Mummy!”

Crying. Begging. The sharp bite of wind and frosty water. I try to reach for Arianna and fail, caught in a dark mental prison with no windows and no doors. All I can hear is her increasingly frantic crying.

“Move out of the way, squirt,” someone orders in a firm rasp. “We’ve got your mum.”

“No! Mummy!”

“Ari,” I moan in pain.

“Zach, go find reinforcements. We need more muscle.”

Two huge hands engulf my cheeks, their thumbs pinching my skin as they gently shake. My eyes are still too heavy to lift. I can’t drag them open, no matter how loud my internal voice wails.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

“Someone get rid of the kid. I need more space.”

“No! Let me go!”

I can sense a strong pair of arms around me, then another explosion of pain as I’m lifted. Everything hurts. Life hurts. Breathing hurts. If it weren’t for Arianna, I’d surrender.

“Call Doc. Tell him to set up at Lola’s cabin.”

“What should I say?” a lighter voice responds.

“She’s in a bad way. Prepare them for the worst.”

I feel the last scraps of life drain out of me with that whispered name. Lola. She’s alive. She’s real. We’ve made it to our destination. After all this time, I can finally let go.

“You got a name, kid?”

“You’re a stranger,” Arianna argues defiantly. “I can’t tell you.”

“Get in the truck then. You’re safe now.”

On the count of four, I’m lifted from the ravine with a series of colourful curses and huffed breaths. I think I black out a little while being carried, because next thing I know, a car engine is rumbling.

“Ari,” I groan.

“Mummy!”

Tiny hands cradle my face and help to peel my eyelids open at last. Two stunning, azure eyes filled with fresh tears stare down at me. She looks so afraid. I hate it.

“I got help,” Arianna sobs. “These big men are going to make us safe. Please, Mummy. Don’t go to sleep again.”

The pair of burly arms wrapped around me tighten into a vice. Arianna’s face is replaced by a pair of burnished-brown irises that resemble smouldering ashes. The man stares at me, his thick lips pursed tight.

“Why are you here?” he demands.

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