Over two weeks of bed rest, my physical injuries disappear, leaving only a cast around a broken wrist. Yet the invisible scars continue to ooze. Keeping a constant eye on Miguel to detect even the slightest mood change is exhausting. Since he also doesn't apologize but blames me for his violent outburst, the crippling fear when I'm around him becomes all-consuming.

"Always remember your wedding vows, Stacy. Lying to me is hardly a sign of respect. As my wife, you belong to me and I can do as I please."

I want to remind him that honoring your wife doesn't include a beating, but I'm too scared to open my mouth. I doubt it would make a difference anyways. Being submissive and giving into his demands is my best chance of survival.

Christmas and New Year's pass by in a blur. Miguel gives me a diamond necklace and arranges for a special meal that is choked down under a lot of pain from my sore jaw. A few times, he insists on sex, which I endure with clenched teeth, glad that it's over quickly. His touch is a painful reminder of what he's capable of and any form of intimacy becomes torture. Nothing loving is left about the act; he's selfish, only out to fulfill his needs. It's as if he's turned into an animal.

When Naiara comes back from her trip in early January, she immediately jumps into the role of nurse. I'm waited on hand and foot. She even endures my sullen mood.

"Things will get better," she reassures me. "In a couple of years, Miguel will trust you enough to allow you to come on my trips. We'll have a blast."

I swallow down the tears. A few years sound like an eternity. Since my beating, my escape plan is back on, and I can only hope that the guy from the warehouse will reappear soon.

Naiara smiles as she fluffs my pillow. "I tell you what. Let's go to town tomorrow for the Bajada De Los Reyes celebration."

Even though I would love to get out of the house, I'm not sure if I'm under some form of house arrest. "What about Miguel? He might not want me to come."

"Don't worry, I'll clear it with him. Santino wants me to pass out the presents this year, so you can help." Her eyes sparkle with excitement.

"What presents?"

"It's the day we give presents to the less fortunate children in Malaguay. I bought a whole bunch of stuff in London. It's always a lot of fun."

I can't help but wonder who she considers a less fortunate child. As far as I can tell, they are all needy and would probably prefer some food and a candy bar over a useless toy that won't fill their stomachs.

To my relief, Miguel likes the idea. "I have business in town anyhow. We can all go together."

That night, he's back to his charming self, joking during dinner and helping me to get ready for bed.

"You'll love Bajada De Los Reyes." He kisses my shoulder while straightening my nightgown. "It's the one day of peace the rebels give us and the tears you see are only tears of joy. It has always been my favorite day of the year."

His words actually get me excited. As I get comfortable in bed, he envelopes me into his arms. His hot breath tickles the nape of my neck. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm still a little sore in places and my wrist has started to itch."

He traces little kisses along my collarbone and I close my eyes, trying to relax, but the fear grows with every breath. He could turn at any moment. My muscles keep twitching and the harsh pounding of my heart almost drowns out his next question.

"Will you be okay with Naiara while I meet up with an old friend, or do you want Tomás as an escort?"

"I'll be fine with Naiara." As far as I'm concerned, both Tomás and Miguel could go down to Lucifer's dungeon and keep each other miserable.

"Okay." He nuzzles my hair, his hands slipping under my nightgown.

I lie rigid and allow him to slide down my panties. He takes his time, gently caressing my skin until I return his kiss. When we join as one, my insides ache with pleasure, but I still can't help for a few stray tears to roll down my cheeks. It's as if a hardened armor has formed around my heart from all the mistrust and fear that he's no longer able to penetrate.

He falls asleep, holding me in his arms. Afraid to move and wake him, I lie like a stick in the darkness. In my mind, I count down the days since my last period. It's getting close to the halfway point of my cycle and so far, I have no idea how to convince Miguel to use protection. At the rate we are going, it will only be a matter of time before I get pregnant. This will close the door to shutting him out of my life for good. If I bear his son, he'll never stop looking for me, no matter what.

~~~~

Miguel's prediction that I'd only see joy on Bajada De Los Reyes holds true. When we get to town the next morning, the celebrations are already in full swing. Traditional music erupts from every corner and couples sway happily in the streets or tote their kids around. The spark of bliss in the air is catching. I'm welcomed with cheers and people line up to shake my hand.

At noon, children gather in the square to get their presents. A few soldiers drag large bags of wrapped goodies from a truck and Naiara takes over. She was wise enough to separate the toys for different genders and age groups by choosing easily identifiable wrapping paper. In a nutshell, boys get blue and girls get red presents, with golden angels for younger kids and stars for their older siblings. One by one, they edge forward, eager chatter in the air.

"It's a nice gesture, don't you think?"

Pearson's voice makes me jump. For a breath, I fear it's Miguel and I did something wrong.

I force a smile on my lips. "The children seem excited."

He settles next to me, swinging his arms back and forth. "Beautiful day." With a grin, he scans the masses. "Where's your husband?"

I frown, not sure how this could possibly be his business. "He's meeting someone."

"Good." As he gazes at me, the smile fades from his lips. "Let's cut the bullshit. Devon is waiting for you in the alley behind the bakery. Make it quick." He strolls off, leaving me stunned.

My gaze darts around, but none of the soldiers is paying attention to me. Their eyes are fixed on the spectacle in the town square, where cheering erupts every time a child walks off with a present. It's not even twenty yards to the bakery, so I decide to take a chance.

The alley is deserted with no sign of Devon. I take a step forward to check behind a row of staked crates. "Hello?"

I'm shoved and almost stumble.

"Damn, don't make it so obvious," the woman from the warehouse hisses. Today, she's wearing a simple summer dress, her dark hair braided in one of Malaguay's traditional hairstyles. She could easily pass as one of the locals.

She juts her chin at a metal door in the wall. "In there."

I walk over to the door; it's unlocked. The room behind it is like a storage shed, a paper-thin roof providing little shelter. The walls make up for it; they are thick with only a few small windows. The whole place looks rather dodgy.

Devon steps out of the shadows of a far-end corner. "Come on in. I don't bite."

With a sigh, I force myself to step over the threshold. The woman closes the door behind me. Without a doubt, she'll keep a lookout.

Devon leans against a barrel with an unlit cigarette hanging from a corner of his mouth. When I halt in front of him, he drops it into his hand. "Hi, Stacy. Nice to see you again."

I look around. The whole place is stacked with barrels from top to bottom, most of them stamped with several warning signs. A musty smell hangs in the still air and gives me a slight headache. "What is this place?"

"One of your husband's depots. He stores some chemicals here, mostly acetone and sulfuric acid, to use in his cocaine production. Since it's in the middle of town, the rebels can't just blow it up without destroying half the city." His gaze stays on my face—maybe he's trying to shock me—but his revelation doesn't come as a surprise. I know the business my husband is in and that his regard for others is very limited.

"What do you want, Devon?"

"Good, no pleasantries. I like that about you."

"I'm flattered." I softly rock back and forth on my heels, waiting for him to reveal his plans for me.

"I need access to Miguel's computer. Once you turn it on, you have to call my technician and give him the IP address. A window will pop up that asks if you'll allow him to remotely connect. Once you confirm, you're done. Just don't turn off the computer again until after I give you the green light."

My smile is as thin as his. "First of all, I can't just walk into Miguel's office and turn on his laptop. Most of the time, it's not even there unless he's at home, and if he is, he uses the office himself. Second, you need a special code to use the phone." When I see his glare, I add, "Trust me, I've tried."

"You're not gonna make this easy, are you?"

I raise my arm with the cast. "As I told you, he beats me. The last time, I wasn't able to eat solid food for a week and he broke my wrist. What you're expecting me to do is suicide."

Silence follows my words. With a grimace, he massages his forehead, probably concocting some other ridiculous plan.

"Stacy, I don't think you understand what's at stake here. In order to get your passport back, I have to show that you gave us major intel. I'm afraid my request is non-negotiable. You'll have to figure out a way to get to the computer."

He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a small box that is no larger than a credit card. "We already figured you could have issues with the phone, so you can use this. The device is preprogrammed and will send a message to the technician when you are ready to give him access. He'll then initiate the call. After you're done, a code will destroy the software as a security measure, so you can only initiate contact once before the device becomes useless. Make sure you don't accidentally set it off."

I stare at him. "Don't you even care that I could get killed?"

"Sorry, but you got yourself into this mess and the only way out is to help us."

When tears prick the corners of my eyes, I drop my gaze. Why isn't anyone cutting me a break? I'm not a mass murderer.

"Here." With a hand on my shoulder, he offers me his phone. "Why don't you call your parents?"

When I raise my head, his face is blurred. Is he serious? I take the offered phone, the excitement to hear my mother's voice almost choking me. A little fear nags at the back of my mind that this isn't going to happen. He'll yank the phone away at the last second or maybe my parents won't even be home.

"Thanks." I wipe my eyes dry with the back of my arm. A sniffle follows before I get my voice back under control.

"You've got five minutes. You can't tell them anything about what's happening. I'm right over there."

With trembling hands, I tap the numbers. Five rings later and I hear the familiar voice of my mother.

"Mom." I don't even know if she can hear me over my sob.

"Stacy, oh my god. Where are you?"

"Still in Malaguay." I frantically wipe my face, swallowing a few times to battle the forming lump in my throat. "Hopefully, I'll be able to come home soon."

"We miss you so much. Is everything okay?"

I don't want her to worry. "Yes, Mom, I'm all right." I sniff. "How is Dad?"

"Everybody is fine." Her voice trembles; she's crying, too. "We're just so worried about you."

"Don't be. Everything will be fine." A new sob threatens to escape from my throat, but I manage to hold it in. "Mom, I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you and Dad."

My father's deep baritone drifts through the receiver. "Who is it, Colette?"

"It's Stacy." There's static in the line as she passes the receiver.

"Stacy, honey, are you in any trouble? Homeland Security was here and asked a bunch of questions. Do you need us to call a lawyer?"

I remember Devon's words. "No, Dad. I can't talk about it, but everything is okay. I should be able to come home soon."

"Thank God. We were so worried." Even his voice shakes slightly.

Devon points to his watch.

"Dad, I have to go. Tell Mom I love her and I love you, too."

"We love you, too, Stacy." He sniffles, no longer able to hide his emotions. "When you come home, we'll talk about everything. Don't worry, we are a family. We'll pull through this."

His words cut into my heart. There are still so many questions, so many things I want to tell him. Yet my time's up. "Bye, Dad. See you soon."

Devon takes the phone out of my hand before I'm able to push the disconnect button. Stroking my back, he gives me a minute to compose myself.

"Better?"

All I can do is nod and wipe my face on my shirt.

He passes me a tissue. "You should go back or they'll be looking for you."

I nod again, blowing my nose. After another minute, my breath evens out. I'm ready to head out. When I push the door open, the bright sunlight blinds my eyes. I blink to get the alley into focus. With newfound strength, I step out of the storage shed.

The call with my parents gave me strength and for the first time, I understand what Santino meant when he spoke about hope before my wedding. It lights a fire in people. They not only die for you, but they'll also die to keep the hope alive.

~~~~

When I get back to the town square, Miguel isn't around and I ask Naiara whether we should wait for him.

"Don't worry. He called and his meeting is running over. He won't be home until later."

The drive to the mansion is spent in silence. Naiara dozes off and when we step through the door, utter exhaustion is edged on her face. The house is eerily quiet; Santino is out and about and all the servants went to town for Bajada De Los Reyes. It's the only day of the year that they all have off at once and many were planning on visiting their families.

"I'm gonna lie down for a little while," Naiara says. "I have a slight headache."

"Okay." I eye the door of the study. "I think I'll stay down here and lay out by the pool."

She strolls up the stairs, leaving me alone. This is my golden opportunity. My ears prick; as soon as her door closes upstairs, I dart over to the study. It's locked and the words "damn it" cross my lips. I clutch my mouth in horror and make the sign of the cross.

Trying the side door in the living room next, my hand shakes as I turn the knob. This time, the door gives and swings open with a low creak. When I step over the threshold, my heart races in my chest so fast that my breath is caught in my throat.

I force myself to take a few steps forward even though an invisible force is trying to pull me back. Finally halting in front of Miguel's desk, the fabric of my dress under my armpits is soaked down to the skin. The laptop is nowhere in sight. My gaze flicks around and I ransack random drawers. Some open and hold useless supplies, others are locked. I search for the keys, but Miguel's work space is meticulously clean. There's nothing.

I fall into his chair to catch my breath that has been coming at sporadic intervals. Nibbling my thumbnail, I scan the room. Where could Miguel hide that darn computer? My gaze falls on the laptop bag perched in a corner. It surely couldn't be that easy.

I zip the bag open just in case and gasp as my fingertips meet hard metal. With one jerk of my good hand, I pull the laptop out and discard the bag in its original place. Flipping the screen up, I examine the keyboard to find the power button.

When I push it, I expect the laptop to spring to life, but the screen stays dark. I push the button again and again until it dawns on me that the battery needs charging. Snatching the bag back off the floor, I rummage through it to find the cable. It almost slides out of my sweaty hands as I search for a plug.

I locate one on the wall under the desk. Getting on my knees, I duck far enough to crawl under the table. Almost lying flat on my stomach, I fumble with the plastic strap that holds the cable together. Finally, I get it off and unroll the cable.

It's so dark under the desk that I can't figure out which way to turn the plug to get it into the socket. I huff under my breath, tears of frustration burning in my eyes. Why can't at least one thing go smoothly? The cast is a definite hindrance and I keep turning the plug the wrong way. By the time I finally get it into the socket, I'm covered in sweat, my hair hanging in strings all over my face. I blow a few strands out of my eyes and edge backward to get out of the small space.

The front door closes with a loud thud. I almost yelp. My head shoots up and collides with the bottom of the desk.

"Ouch." I swallow down the rest of my cry, rubbing over the sore spot.

Footsteps approach.

I scramble to get out from under the desk, but my feet can't find enough traction.

"My good cognac is in the study." Miguel's cheerful voice sends a shudder down my spine. "Get comfortable on the terrace. I'll be right there."

A key jingles; it turns in the lock. My pounding heart drowns out all noises after that. Frozen, I lie on my stomach under the desk, my eyes squeezed shut. Broken thought fragments flash through my mind. I'm as good as dead.

"Please, God, help me," is all I can whisper before the door swings open.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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