Chapter 2 Marfil
I opened my eyes in a hospital room. There was no one around, just the beeping of a machine to keep me company.
Looking down at my body, I saw that I was wearing a green hospital gown with an IV tube sticking out of my left hand and a bandage on my right one.
My heart began to race, but since I wasn’t connected to a monitor, I was the only one aware of the incessant pounding.
What happened?
The door opened, and a nurse approached my bed. “Miss Cortés? How are you feeling?”
I blinked several times, stunned. “Where am I? What happened?” I tried to sit up. I don’t know where I thought I was going to go, but my instincts were telling me to get up and run for it, to flee, to keep myself safe… From who, though?
“It’s okay, you’re fine,” she assured me.
I felt my eyes fill with tears, and my mind whirled as I conjured the last images I could recall. Jogging in the park, stopping for a drink of water, someone covering my mouth, darkness, and then…
Before I could ask what had happened, the door opened again, and to my relief, my father entered the room.
“Marfil…” he said, walking over and putting his arms around me. I buried my head in his chest and breathed in his scent: Eau Sauvage by Dior combined with the tobacco he’d likely been smoking nonstop. “Thank God you’re awake,” my father said, smoothing my hair.
My father and I weren’t very close, and not just because I’d lived most of my life abroad, but I’d never been happier to feel his arms around me as I did in that moment.
Once I’d calmed down, he explained what had happened.
“You were kidnapped, Marfil,” my father said grimly, his mouth a thin line.
I’d been found unconscious outside a hospital in New Orleans, an hour and a half from my family’s home near Baton Rouge. Luckily, I still had my wallet, which allowed the doctors to identify me and contact my father.
“They didn’t leave anything, not even a note; they didn’t ask for ransom, either. I realized something was wrong when I called you Sunday and it went to voicemail five times.”
Sunday! God! That means I must’ve been out for almost three days at least.
“When I found out you weren’t in your apartment and that no one had seen you come back from your run Friday evening, I knew something terrible had happened.”
I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around it.
“The police would like to speak with you. There are two officers outside. They’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
My father left the room and came back with the two officers. I sat up, nervous, as they started asking me questions. My father kept his eyes on me the entire time. I had never seen him so worried in my life.
“I don’t remember anything,” I said, feeling my mouth go dry and my palms begin to sweat. “All I remember is the moment they grabbed me…”
“You didn’t regain consciousness at any point?” one of the officers asked.
I shook my head, racking my brain, but nothing.
“Anything you might be able to tell us would be a big help, Miss Cortés.”
I looked nervously to my father, and then at the nurse. “I’m sorry…” I said in a trembling voice.
My father took a step toward me, staring straight into my eyes. “Is there any possibility that they did anything to you?”
My lip began to quiver, and I bit it, trying to control the terror coursing through my body. I didn’t want to think about that possibility, horrified at knowing I’d lost all sense of what was going on around me, that I could’ve been in the hands of murderers or rapists… Anything could’ve happened.
“Answer.”
I looked up from the bed and met my father’s gaze, frightened. “I don’t remember anything…” I said again, hating the fact that I had no idea what might’ve happened to me.
“I want you to give her a complete examination right now. Whatever you’ve done before, I want it done again.”
The police looked at my father, and then at me. They seemed uncomfortable, as if the notion that someone might’ve sexually assaulted me scared them as much as it did me.
“I’ll leave my card—anything you remember, as insignificant as it might seem, don’t hesitate to call and notify us down at the station,” one of the officers asked.
I nodded without speaking, fearing that my voice might break if I tried.
Once the officers left, the nurse asked me if I thought I could walk, clearly taking my father’s request seriously.
Standing without any pain, I felt somewhat relieved.
If I had been sexually assaulted, I would surely feel something, as minimal as it might be, but that wasn’t the case.
I followed the nurse to a gynecological examination table, where she asked me to put my feet in the stirrups.
I made an effort not to cry, wishing this nightmare would end.
“We need to check for traces of… any bodily fluid. There were no exterior signs that would indicate sexual assault, but before we proceed, we need to make sure you’re okay with this.
Even if your father insists, you’re over the legal age, so the consent must come from you.
…” the doctor explained kindly as she examined me.
I understood that my father would want to double-check. It was important for me, as well, to rule out the things I imagined could have happened to me.
“The examination did not reveal any visible physical injuries or foreign DNA,” she assured me. “We got your bloodwork back and the results of the HIV test.”
AIDS? I opened my eyes wide in terror, but the doctor smiled reassuringly.
“Not AIDS, HIV. But don’t worry, we just had to check, it’s standard procedure. I know this was a scary, horrible experience, but you’re perfectly fine. You can rest easy now.”
I nodded, and after a while, a nurse brought me clothes so that I could change out of the hospital gown. I wanted to go home and forget any of this had ever happened.
Once discharged, Peter Vertes, my father’s driver, was waiting for us outside the hospital to take us home.
My father rode up front in the passenger’s seat, talking on the phone the whole way as I tried to process the fact that, just three days ago, my biggest concern had been a microeconomics exam.
I couldn’t help but glance around nervously when I stepped out of the car and walked up the stairs to the huge white mansion where I’d grown up.
Lupita, who had practically raised me from the time I was a baby, came out to greet me with tears in her eyes.
She hugged me tightly, and I returned the embrace, holding back my own tears.
“Miss Marfil!” she said, wiping her face with her apron. “You have no idea how worried about you we all were.”
“I’m fine, Lupita; I’m home now,” I said, trying to put her mind at ease but equally happy to find myself safe inside those walls.
“I’ll make you something warm for dinner, okay? You go take a shower, baby.”
My father had disappeared down the hallway, cell phone glued to his ear, wearing a face that said he wasn’t to be interrupted. I was grateful that he was trying so hard to find out why the hell someone had kidnapped me without asking for anything in exchange.
As I stood under the shower, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over yet.
Something told me that the kidnapping had merely been a warning to my father.
But to warn him of what? It was no secret that my father had a lot of money, which was why it made no sense that they hadn’t asked for ransom.
Why else would someone kidnap the daughter of Alejandro Cortés?
After I showered, Lupita brought me a cup of steaming-hot soup and a plate of roast beef with potatoes.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the smell flooded my senses.
I had dinner in bed with the TV on in the background as a million thoughts raced through my mind.
Liam had sent me a thousand messages, so I called him so he could stop worrying.
“When your father called me, I almost had a heart attack, fuck!” he exclaimed. “He grilled me, like I had something to do with your disappearance. My God, Marfil, I was so worried!”
“Don’t pay any attention to him. Apart from Tami, you’re one of the few friends I’ve mentioned to him, and he didn’t know who else to contact.”
Liam wanted to know everything, asking me to describe what happened, what I remembered and what I didn’t, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I needed to rest. My eyes felt heavy, and despite the fact that I was now safe at home, my fear had not diminished.
“We’ll talk when you get back to New York,” Liam said.
Why the hell had someone moved me from New York to New Orleans, and better yet, how had they done it?
I played these thoughts over and over in my mind as my eyes closed of their own accord and I fell into a deep, restless sleep.
I woke up to a stormy day, as if the weather were a reflection of my mood.
I looked out the window at the extension of green lawn that surrounded my father’s mansion.
I always enjoyed being here; knowing that my mother had been the one to turn this large and imposing estate into a cozy home made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
The hardwood floors throughout the entirety of the house, the furniture, the fixtures.
But out of every room, my favorite was the huge kitchen, where my sister and I spent most of our time as little girls, making cookies with Lupe and stealing lumps of sugar to give to the horses.
It had also been designed by my mother, who believed that the kitchen was the heart of the home.
Now that we were no longer at school together, the living room, with its large fireplace, had become our favorite spot to hang out during the holidays, when Gabi and I would sit around scorching marshmallows and catching up on each other’s lives.