I should have shot him when I had the chance.

From the corner of my eye, I see Victor’s black dress socks planted unmoving on the floor. Tilting my head back just a little, my eyes trail from the bottom of his pants up to his waist. His forearms are resting along the length of the tops of his legs, the palms of his hands gently cupping his knees. He sits with his back fairly straight, his gaze fixated out ahead.

Finally, his head moves as he averts his eyes to me.

“I am sorry,” he says with absolutely no emotion in his words, yet somehow I detect the faintest hint of emotion hidden behind his eyes.

“You have to take me back,” I say, rising into a stand. “You can’t let her die.” My voice trembles.

Victor takes a seat at the table again and begins to sift through his duffle bag. I don’t care to know what he’s doing or what he plans to do from here on out. Mostly what I think about is Lydia and what I saw on that video; that image will be seared into my mind forever. A part of me wants to blame Victor for all of this, simply because he is what he is and that he could’ve become human just long enough to help me get her out of there.  But I’m back to blaming myself because, in truth, I never once asked Victor to help me free her. He refused to help me even so I knew he wouldn’t go back there for her.

It’s all my fault. I could have done things differently, planned my escape differently. I could have forced Lydia out that window with me that night.

Seems there are a lot of things I could have and should have done. I never imagined I’d be the dumb girl in the horror movie running into the scary house or tripping over my own feet as I stumbled through the dark woods. I guess by default we’re all the ones shaking our heads at the stupidity of others until we’re forced into traumatic experiences ourselves.

The early morning sunlight slowly begins to flood the room. The only movement I made all night was to turn onto my other side on the floor to keep Victor in my sights. I’m not afraid of him. Not anymore. But I couldn’t help but know where he was, nonetheless.

My back hurts and my face itches from the imprint the scruffy carpet left on my skin.

Victor sits in the chair next to the table now with his shoes on as if he’s been quietly waiting for the day to come.

I lift my aching body from the floor and push myself into a stand.

“I don’t care anymore what you do with me,” I say. “Just please take me back to Javier. I don’t have much time.”

Victor’s face reveals curiosity. “You’ll not be going back to the compound.”

I blink back the stun of his words. “What? No…,” I shake my head in protest. “No, you have to take me back! You saw the video! They will kill her!”

He stands from the chair and straightens the sleeves of his white dress shirt now tucked neatly into his pants and buttoned back around his strong wrists.

“The plan has changed,” he says calmly.

I practically throw myself toward him, stopping just inches from his body, my eyes wide and feral and unbelieving. “No, Victor!” He flinches. “I have to go back! Don’t you understand?! We—I have to help her! I want Izel dead! I want Javier dead for what he’s done!”

“He will be,” Victor says.

He turns to the side and zips the duffle bag closed.

I push myself the last few inches through the space between us and then shove him with both hands. “I’m going back with or without you!” He catches me by the wrists, securing them firmly within his grasp. “Please….” The word comes out with every ounce of desperation in me.

He scans my face, so close I can feel the warm breath emitting from his nostrils. “Just be patient,” he says, stunning me into stillness.

He lets go of my wrists when he senses me beginning to step backward and away from him.

“Patient?” I can’t believe what he’s saying to me. “There’s no time to be patient! How can you say that?”

He bends over and fixes his hands underneath the mattress of the bed nearest the window and lifts it onto its side revealing a hollow space underneath surrounded by the wood frame that holds the bed up. He grabs the duffle bags, hiding them inside and then the suitcase, setting the mattress back down afterwards.

“I’m awaiting word,” he says.

“Word from who?”

He sighs, annoyed with my questions. “From Javier.”

“Why?”

I don’t know what to say, or what to believe, all I do know is that my mind is spinning with everything going on and I can’t keep up.

Victor walks to the door and looks back at me.

“Come on,” he says, nodding with the backward tilt of his head for me to follow.

“What, you’re not going to tie my hands together, or drag me down the hallway by my wrist? What if I run away?”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t think so?” I counter.

He shakes his head once. “No, you won’t because I’m the only one of us who knows the way back to Javier.”

I just stand here.

Victor places his hand on the silver lever and opens the door. “Are you coming, or are you staying here?”

I stare across the room at him blankly.

Maybe he’s going to help me after all. Maybe after seeing what Izel and Javier are doing to Lydia, Victor has remembered how it feels to be remorseful, if he’s ever known what that feels like at all.

“Where are we going?” I ask, knowing that it can’t be far if he’s leaving his bags here.

“To breakfast.”

CHAPTER TEN

Victor

More than two hours have passed and there has been no word. Nothing from Niklas or Vonnegut. Nothing from Javier or Guzmán. The girl is beyond the point of restless. I bought her breakfast in the hotel, but she hardly ate a bite, just picked at her omelet with her fork. It may be a result of her concern for her friend, but I find her sudden inability to ask continuous questions or try to converse with me, refreshing.

I do wonder why she has yet to try contacting family members. I find it difficult to believe that, despite the grave situation with her dear friend, she would not also show interest in calling a sister, grandmother or an aunt. That she did not use the one opportunity she had last night while I was sleeping.

This leaves me with two theories: she cares more about the life of her friend, or she has no family left. Perhaps it’s both. I’m fairly certain that it is.

I feel my cell phone vibrating against my leg and I stand up from the table in the lobby and reach inside to retrieve it.

The girl is instantly attentive to me.

My brother’s code name reads on the screen.

“Who is it?” the girl asks, standing up with me.

I run my finger over the answer bar, but hold the phone, face-down against my chest. Gesturing for the girl to sit back down, I say, “I want you to stay here. I’m going right outside to take this call. I trust that you’ll be here when I get back.” I know she’s not going anywhere.

Clearly wanting nothing more than to follow me out and hang on my every word, she takes a deep, heavy breath, crosses her arms and takes her seat again.

“OK.” She grits her teeth behind her softly pressed lips.

I walk out the front doors and put the phone to my ear.

“I am going to put Javier on this call,” Niklas says. “Are you prepared?”

“Yes,” I answer and wait while Niklas makes the transfer.

Javier’s voice seethes with barely controlled anger when he is patched through:

“You’ll die for what you’ve done,” he says in English. “Sarai should’ve been brought back to me the second you found her!”

“What’s done is done,” I say. “Get to the reason for your contact.”

I hear him breathe heavily on the three-way call. Niklas sits listening quietly.

Finally, Javier contains himself.