Sacred Forces: A Superhero Story

Chapter 2: Photosynthesis

Part One: Seeds

     Sequoia Semilla lived in the capital city of Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. It was the oldest European-founded city in the Americas. It was a bustling, overcrowded, noisy city that was full of people from many walks of life. Tourists arrived daily to see the historical sites. Where Sequoia worked, near the Centro de los Heroes, were a lot of government buildings and official businesses that would attract those with international interests.

     The restaurant she worked in, La Santana, was popular with the locals and the visitors alike. It was always busy at dinner, but afterwards the dining crowd would taper off and the booze-seekers would arrive. They would fill the bar until the wee hours of the night and drink themselves either into humor-filled stupors or drunken fits of rage and regret. The bar bouncer, Carlos, was good at making sure the patrons and the employees were safe. Sequoia liked Carlos: He was strong, polite, and had the richest chocolate skin she had seen on a man. He never really noticed her, though. Sequoia was unassuming. She was short, thick, didn't do much with her black hair, and rarely put makeup around her brown eyes. Her black skin was often ashy at the elbows; she didn't care much about her looks. She kept to herself at work and at home; no wonder Carlos had not noticed her. She was friendly to her coworkers; she gave them all smiles. She didn't laugh at their crude jokes or shrugged when someone asked her something that she had no interest in. She kept to herself and did her work.

     At least, that's what she normally did.

     Instead of being at home in her small one-bedroom apartment in Bella Vista, she was locked up in a jail cell in the police station on Avenida Independencía. She had been there for two days already without anyone saying anything to her. The cell was a single-person cell. The walls were off-white. The metal slat that stuck out of the wall was barely big enough to be considered a cot. There was a toilet in the cell that did not flush with one roll of toilet paper on the ground next to it. She still had her work uniform on; a black polo shirt with a sailboat emblem on the upper left side, black cargo pants, and non-stick shoes without shoelaces (they were removed by the officers). She had only seen one short guard bring her a meal twice a day: unseasoned ground chuck beef with beans and rice, along with a small paper cup of water. She didn't eat meat; she left the meat on the plate each day. She knew the routine: Dominican officials could hold her up to 48 hours before they even question her. She sat on the bed for the past two days, hoping to rest but afraid to go to sleep.

     Because, if she fell asleep, it would speak to her again. She hated the thing's voice. It called to her across the sea, over mountains, and through steel and concrete buildings. It always found her, no matter where she ended up. She had traveled to Santo Domingo hoping to escape its voice. So far she had been successful; she hadn't heard from it in nearly two years. It was refreshing but it still worried her nightly. She was most vulnerable when she was asleep and the voice was fully aware of it.

     The door to the jail cell shook. It opened with a loud din that echoed among the off-white walls. A lone guard with a thick mustache said one word to her as he stood in the doorway.

     "Vamos," he said.

     She stood up and approached him. She held out her hands in front of her; again, she knew the routine. He handcuffed her wrists and made her stand in front of him. He turned her towards the right and made her walk before him down the hallway. He guided her along the many corridors in the police station, saying only "Derecho" and "Izquierda" when they came to an intersection of hallways. He directed her to a small interview room. It had no windows, a single table, and two chairs. The mustachioed guard told her to sit in the chair. He handcuffed her to the table and walked out, leaving her to sit and wait. She waited another half hour before someone finally entered the room. He was a middle-aged man who wore a brown suit and blue tie. He had curly salt-and-pepper hair and had a little bulge at the waist. She watched him as he sat down across from her at the table. He set a manila folder on the table before him and smiled at her for a second.