Heaven On Fire

Thirty Nine

The factory groaned under the weight of the Patagonian wind, its rusted beams creaking as if they, too, sensed the tension in the air. The broken windows let in gusts of icy air, chilling the sweat on Loren’s back. Blood pooled across the floor, some of it from the fallen CIA agents, most of it from Hubert’s men.

Yet Hubert stood unfazed.

A bullet had grazed his shoulder, darkening his coat, but he barely acknowledged it. His smirk was as smug as ever, his stance relaxed, as if this entire standoff were nothing more than an amusing inconvenience.

"You think this is over?" Hubert’s voice echoed through the empty factory.

Loren kept her gun trained on him. Her hands trembled, but she forced them still. "I don’t need to think. I know it is."

Hubert chuckled, shaking his head. "And then what? You shoot me, and all your nightmares vanish? Is that what you think, princesa?"

Deniel, standing just behind Loren, stiffened. "Keep talking, and I’ll put a bullet in your throat."

Hubert’s eyes gleamed. "Go ahead. But before you do—Loren deserves to hear the truth."

Loren’s grip tightened on her gun. "I don’t want your truth."

"But it’s yours," Hubert said, tilting his head. "Tell me, do you remember why you were sent to Germany?"

Loren’s breath hitched. "Because I was—"

She stopped.

Because she was raped. That’s what they told her. That’s what she remembered.

Except—

A flash. A broken memory. Her mother’s voice, trembling. “She can’t live with it. We have to—”

The world tilted.

"Lies," Loren muttered.

Hubert smiled. "Then why does it feel like your head is splitting open right now?"

The factory blurred. The past clawed its way back.

—Loren, sixteen, standing by the riverbank, the police officers whispering. “Her father jumped. Suicide.”

No. No, he was murdered.

—Loren, screaming in the hospital. "Get away from me! Stop!" Hands pinned her down. White walls. A doctor’s voice. "She’s relapsing—sedate her."

No. No, that never happened.

—Her mother, sitting in a dimly lit room, her voice shaking. "If she remembers, she won’t survive it."

Loren staggered.

Deniel grabbed her arm. "Loren?"

Hubert stepped forward. "You were never raped, mi amor. That was the lie your family created—to make you forget your father’s death. To make you forget what you did."

Loren gasped for air. No. No. No.

"Shut up," she whispered.

"You weren’t raped in Seattle before you left for Germany," Hubert continued, relentless. "But I did rape you—right before you ran to Pennsylvania. That part is real."

Loren's vision pulsed red.

"You’re lying," she hissed.

"Then pull the trigger," Hubert taunted, stepping closer. "But deep down, you already know, don’t you? That everything you built your revenge on was a fucking lie."

Loren raised her gun.

Her finger curled around the trigger.

And then all hell broke loose.