So much damage had already been done.
I pulled my cap down over my eyes and made my way through the overgrown brush on the side of the cemetery. Everything was so well-groomed, so taken care of for the dead but the moment the cemetery lines stopped, nature was waiting. It wanted to take back the land, for roots to grow deep and suck life from bones, to bloom from death. The mess, the wildness, that suited the graves more than mown lawns and wilting flowers.
Bringing my binoculars out from my back pocket, I crouched down and crept, soundless and smooth through the bush, and stopped at the edge. In the distance I could see people gathered for her funeral. There was even more than I had imagined, but Alana had been a popular girl, more so than she once thought. The solid white casket was at the front of the crowd, a priest beside it, reading something out over the grave faces.
Everyone looked destroyed and that in turn destroyed me. It was a good thing that Alana couldn’t see this – it would hurt to know the pain she was inflicting on the people left behind.
Luz and Dominga were sitting near the front on fold-out chairs, tears running down their faces, hanging onto each other while what seemed like their family members tried to console them. There were a lot of people her age, women mostly, whom I assumed were employees of Aeromexico. And in the very back of the chairs, standing to attention, was Javier.
His face barely held any expression but what was there, was nearly heart-breaking. I was surprised. It’s not that I didn’t think he cared about his sister – I knew that he did – but after losing so much of his family already, I didn’t think it was possible for him to be affected anymore. In some ways, I didn’t think he had the capacity to really feel.
But that look on his face … it was the most controlled version of utter devastation that I had ever seen. This was going to ruin him.
That had been the plan, hadn’t it?
Sure enough, coming up behind Javier, was Esteban, as well as Luisa. Like Javier, they were dressed in black, their expressions strained. There was something about them though, the way they were walking together out of Javier’s sight, Esteban’s hand briefly on the small of her back before lifting away, that made me pause. Now that we knew who the villain was, I was starting to see another motive at play. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Esteban was going to take away everything that mattered Javier, one step at a time.
Alana’s death was the first step. The dominoes would follow.
Luisa was next. But in what context, that I didn’t know.
I eyed the surroundings, wondering if anyone else was going to show up, if anyone was watching – anyone like me. It seemed I was alone. Javier had so much control over the state but sometimes I wondered if he was almost flaunting it. His power was making him lazy and that laziness was going to cost him. The man who wanted him out of the picture, the man who was his biggest threat, was standing right beside him, forced to mourn while making eyes at his wife.
I could see how this was all going to go down. Luckily, I wouldn’t be around to see it. I had plans to get out the country, to get as far away from all of this as possible. If Esteban was going to slowly take down Javier, win people’s trust and take over the cartel, then it was Javier’s fault and no one else’s.
I almost felt sorry for him.
It’s too bad that Alana and I had been brought into it and ripped apart at the seams. Every fucking day I regretted taking that damn phone call from him. But for all the grief and trouble, I know that if I hadn’t, I never would have met her. I never would have been free from my sins and from this life. I never would have found love again, or even happiness. I would have never found my redemption.
Now I was starting over. Alana’s death was bringing me a new beginning. Bringing us a new beginning.
I watched as the priest continued his talk and then people slowly came up to the podium to give their eulogies. I wondered about Alana’s sister, Marguerite, and why she wasn’t there but then realized that Javier would never allow that. For her safety, I was sure that Marguerite would never be allowed to step foot in Mexico ever again. The only Bernal sister left.
Surprisingly, Javier came up to speak. He was the last one. People stared at him in shock, having not noticed him at the back, probably still processing the now wildly-known truth that Alana’s brother was head of one of the nation’s largest drug cartels. It was because of him that she died.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying and I could only see the side of his face as he addressed the crowd, but it was apparent he was getting choked up over what he was saying. He left it short and then disappeared to the back of the crowd again.
The casket was lowered into the ground. The priest threw dirt.
Alana Bernal, as everyone knew her, was laid to rest.
I swallowed hard, feeling their sadness waft across the graves and penetrate my bones. I had felt that utter horror just a week ago when the explosion first went off. That grief, that fear, that big black hole of hell in your heart, it was still all so real for me. Loss. The world was cruel with what it gave you and what it took away.
I stayed in that spot until it was all over. Until the last people to stand over her grave were her brother, Esteban and Luisa. I watched until Javier mouthed words to the fresh-turned earth and then walked away. I watched as Esteban put his hand on Luisa’s shoulder and whisper something to her. Her expression wasn’t impressed but his was as cunning as a wolf. Then they followed behind Javier, Luisa walking quickly to catch up to her husband.
This was a detonation waiting to happen. But it wasn’t my problem to worry about. It was Javier’s. And I had a new life to lead.
When everyone left, I turned and headed back through the jungle about a mile before I came to road where I parked the truck, the dirt stirred up by a hot breeze. The houses here were little more than rustic shacks but the face of the old man staring at me from the overturned bucket on his porch told me they were happy.
That would be me soon. The money I got from Alana’s hired assassination, that deposit, it wouldn’t last forever. But the happiest people seemed to be the ones with less to lose.
I waved to the old man who waved back, content to smoke his cigarette as chickens pecked at the dirt path, and got in the truck.
I didn’t stop driving until I reached Guatemala City in Guatemala. I hadn’t been here for a long time. Not since the last I had been involved with Javier, helping take down Travis.
I had no wish to stay here but it was an easy meeting spot as any.
My blood pumped heatedly in my veins as I handled the busy city streets. The closer I got to the hotel – to the first hiding spot – the more anxious I had become. The darkness here, the scattered city lights, thrummed with promises.
The hotel was right downtown and a rather fancy one at that. It was about being unpredictable, now more than ever. Until the danger was far enough away, you had to be careful, you could never ever let your guard down. Even after death, someone will watch the grave. Someone will always wonder what was.
Was that body lowered into the ground today Alana’s? Had there been anything to bury at all?
Someone out there was asking themselves that. Maybe not about to follow up on it, but it would be simmering at the back of their head, waiting for someone to slip up one day. You couldn’t tempt fate. We had tempted it enough.
I parked the truck a block away and then walked over. I got a few stares as I often did – I’d feel better once my hair started to get long and I looked less like myself – but like I had been before, I was ignored.
I walked into the hotel, glad I had worn a crisp shirt and tailored pants, my watch glinting under the bronze chandeliers that lined the lobby.
“Hola,” I said to the well-padded clerk behind the front desk. “Do you speak English?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“I have a reservation for Dalton Chalmers,” I told him and when he asked for ID, I pulled out an American passport with the name on it, a perfect forgery I had got from Gus.
“Someone called earlier, asking for you,” the clerk said once he’d run through my credit card, also belonging to Dalton Chalmers.
“Oh?” I asked.
“A woman,” he said, as if he was telling me a secret.
I guess it kind of was. I managed a smile at him. “Well, well,” I said and the clerk grinned in response.
He gave me the key and I went up to the room, my feet light on the velvet-laced stairs. I felt like I was walking on the moon, the skeleton key with the brass sun pendant heavy in my hand. It had been three days.
It had been too long.
I found my room and stuck in the key, opening the door to a simple but brightly-colored room: Polished wood furniture, orange and green bedspread, red walls, a bronze sun with a circular mirror at the center.
It was empty. I knew it would be, but even then my heart sank a little. This is what could have been.
I went and sat on the end of the bed, waiting. There was a marching band in my chest.
Then, a knock at the door.
I took in a deep breath and for a split second I almost dropped my guard. I made sure my gun was loaded, my safety off, my grip on it firm.
I edged toward the door, wishing there was a peephole of some kind.
I waited, my head gently pressed against the wood, listening. I couldn’t hear anything.
“Derek,” she said softly.
Dalton
, I thought but at that moment I didn’t care if she’d forgotten.
I unlocked the door and eased it open a crack, looking at Alana’s face.
She barely looked like herself. Her hair was sleek, shoulder-length and light brown, laced with shades of sand. She had lots of makeup on to cover up the bruises that Esteban had left on her but it was pretty seamless. She was wearing all black, even carrying herself a bit differently. But that smile – that gorgeous smile – that was all hers.
“You made it,” I told her, trying to contain myself.
She held her chin at a saucy angle. “I’m a better spy than you thought. I was in the lobby, hiding behind a newspaper, watching you.”
“Won’t you come in, then Anna,” I said, emphasis on her new name, and opening the door wider as I put my gun away.
“Right, Dalton,” she said, remembering her mistake from earlier. “I guess I’m not as good of a spy as I thought.”
She came inside and walked to the middle of the room, looking around. It took all that I had not to throw her on the bed and bury myself deep inside her, feeling that she was finally here with me, that she was real, that she was alive.
Alana was alive.
Everyone else thought she was dead.
We had escaped Mexico.
We were starting over.
She set the leather carry-all bag she had in her hand down on the ground. I locked the door and went straight up to her, wrapping one hand around her waist, the other at the back of her head.
“You’re like the sun returning to me,” I murmured, my grip tightening, so afraid to let go, so happy she was here.
“And you’re my big, powerful sky,” she said back, her golden eyes trailing to my lips.
I kissed her, so hard I thought I’d bring her pain. But her moan was melting into my mouth, wanting more.
I gave her more. I gave her everything I had.
I stripped away her clothes like a child on Christmas morning, feasting on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, while she took off mine. The way she looked at me made me feel like she was seeing me for the first time.
Maybe this was the first time, for both of us. The first time born new. The first time at a second chance.
This time was forever.
I scooped her up in my arms and placed her on the bed, torn between wanting to take this slow, to feel every inch, to make the seconds stretch and needing to have her quickly and all at once, for this frenzy, these flames, to engulf the both of us.
We compromised. While she was naked beneath me, wet and willing, needy, greedy, I thrust into her. She was tight around me, so beautiful, I had to close my eyes to take it all in. While we skipped the foreplay, I wanted to make sure I could prolong our love-making for as long as possible.
I leaned on my elbows on both sides of her head, my fingers disappearing into her smooth hair, my eyes staring deep into hers as I slowly, tantalizingly pulled out. My breath hitched and I buried my face in the soft, warm crook of her neck. She smelled like flowers and fresh air.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again,” she said, her voice whisper-sweet, caught between moans. “I was afraid …”
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” I told her. I pushed in again to the hilt and she breathed in sharply before letting out a strangled cry. I wanted her to believe it. We would always be cautious but we would never be afraid.
Esteban, Javier, everyone had to believe that Alana had died during the explosion, or she would never really be free.
“I love you,” she whispered to me just before she came. Her head went back, her eyes squeezed shut, her back arched, so vulnerable, as if she was offering herself to me.
I took her hungrily. Soon I was coming inside of her, and for once I felt like I wasn’t trying to fuck something out of me, I was trying to take something from her. Love. Her soul. Her everything. Whatever it was, it made me better.
It washed me clean.
I pulled out of her and gently pulled her into my arms, kissing the top of her head. Light from the city filtered in through the gauzy lace curtains, creating a kaleidoscope of shadows on the wall.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked, her voice hushed in the room. “Today. My … my funeral.”
I exhaled, kissing her again. “Do you really want to know?”
She nods against me. “Yes. Did you see Javier? Marguerite?”
“Your brother was there,” I told her. “Marguerite wasn’t. But I assume that was for her own safety.”
“Was he upset?”
“Yes,” I said. “He was.”
“And Esteban?”
“He was there too. Right by his side. I don’t know if we’ll ever really know why he was trying to have you killed, but we know that he wanted the world to think that he didn’t do it. That’s why I was brought in. He needed someone to take the blame, the fall. I think he’s trying to overthrow your brother. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went after his wife next.”