An Angel's Vice

Chapter 34 - La Verdad

February 17th, 2009
Location: somewhere in Mexico

The sickening heat presses in, thick and suffocating. Sweat clings to her skin, dampening the fabric of her clothes as the pickup truck lurches over rocky terrain. Candy doesn't know where she is—her mind is a blur, heavy with the weight of her body's physical needs, and even heavier with the painful memories she's trying to shut out. She goes in and out of consciousness, everything black when she's awake and black when she's gone. Nothing but a world of darkness and an array of sounds coming from her captors. Different modes of transportation from one place to the other. There is a bag over her head, and the blindfold over her eyes tightens with each bump. Rough, filthy hands that grip her arms hold her in place. Her wrists are bound tight, and there's no escaping the pain in her shoulders, the ache in her abdomen, the lack of freedom to move or squirm, and the swelling bruises on her body pulsing like an alarm.

Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hasn't eaten in hours, or maybe days. Her mouth is dry, and her legs feel like they're made of stone. She doesn't move. Again, she can't. Once, she was used to the weight of Lauren's touch as she held her in place during moments of passionate intimacy. Now, the weight of the guns pressed against her ribs on either side is all she's familiar with.

A high pitched voice murmurs somewhere near her—Spanish, but slurred, distorted. The men around her are talking, discussing something. She doesn't know what. She doesn't care. Whether it is about the most recent soccer game that played on the radio or their plans of what they're going to do to her, it's all become irrelevant.

Instead, Candy's thoughts spiral back to that moment at the intersection—the sound of tires screeching, the symphony of click-clacks from assault rifles aiming at her, the sharp crack of a gunshot, Wandel's strained voice projecting out to her before his body collapsed in the street. Orion. The man who had been pretending to care for her. The poor, innocent man from Cuba, so eagerly willing to protect and serve her, shooting down the most loyal man in her life like a fucking dog. She had good memories of Wandel once. Now, all that's left is the image of her fallen friend, and the sound of his blood splattering against the asphalt.

Then came Lauren. Lauren. She had hoped—prayed—that she'd gotten a clue on what has happened and is already en route to save her. Candy hadn't even seen the love of her life in days, hadn't been able to say goodbye, or to kiss her for one last time. The baby inside her is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world right now, the only thing keeping the fighter within her alive. She doesn't know where she is, but she knows one thing: if she doesn't make it out, she needs Lauren to find their baby—to save their baby.

The truck comes to an abrupt stop, jolting her forward. Her heart pounds in her chest. The doors collectively open and it is silent—still for a while before a man latches onto her arm and yanks her out, causing her to nearly fall face-down as she trips and stumbles onto sandy ground, and the sharp sting of the hot desert air hits her like a slap. It's so dry here—dusty—and the faint scent of something burned hangs in the air. It actually vividly smells like carne asada, spices, and refried beans; could be some form of premature torture before the real hell begins. She stumbles on the gravel beneath her feet but is roughly yanked upright by one of the narcos, who growls a command at her in rapid Spanish. She tries to focus on their voices, but the words blur together. And her mouth salivates with hunger. Don't think about it. Her chest contracts and her stomach growls louder, longer. Don't think about anything.