Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
MIA
I lean against the locked door of the women’s restroom for what seems forever. The adrenaline that fueled my escape is starting to ebb, leaving me shaking and nauseous.
With trembling hands, I make my way to the sink, gripping the edges of the cold porcelain to steady myself. I risk a glance in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
My face is smeared with blood, a macabre mask that speaks to the horror I just witnessed. Dark strands of hair cling to my sweat-dampened skin, and my eyes are wide and haunted, the eyes of a hunted animal.
I turn on the faucet, the sound of running water unnaturally loud in the quiet of the restroom. Cupping my hands under the stream, I splash my face, watching as the water in the sink turns pink with blood.
I scrub at my skin until it feels raw, desperate to wash away the evidence of what happened, but no matter how hard I scrub, I can’t erase the memory.
Can’t unsee the sight of Agent Torres lying in a pool of his own blood .
Once my face is clean, I turn my attention to my clothing. The dark fabric hides the worst of the stains, but I can still feel the sticky wetness where Torres’s blood soaked through.
I do my best to clean it off, using damp paper towels to blot at the stains. It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.
As I work, my mind races, trying to process what happened and what to do next. I can’t go to the U.S. Embassy. I don’t know where it is. I don’t have a phone. I can’t ask for directions because I don’t trust anyone. And I don’t dare get in a taxi.
I’m on my own, utterly and completely…
Alone.
The thought is terrifying and liberating in equal measure.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and look at my reflection once more. The woman looking back is still scared, still reeling, but there’s a determination in her eyes.
Resolve.
I have to keep moving. I have to find a way out of this.
With that thought in mind, I unlock the door and step out of the restroom. The shop is still empty, the silence almost eerie after the chaos of the streets.
I make my way to the front of the store, pausing at the door. Through the glass, the crowd still surges past, oblivious to the drama that just played out a few streets over.
I hesitate for a moment, my hand lingering on the door handle. Once I step out there, there’s no going back. I’ll be exposed, vulnerable.
But I can’t stay here. I have to keep moving.
I take a deep breath, step outside, square my shoulders, and let the crowd carry me forward. The crowd’s energy is palpable, and the air is filled with laughter, music, and the sizzle of street food.
People dance in the streets, their bodies moving to the rhythm of the lively music pumping from speakers on every corner. Their vibrant clothing blurs together into a kaleidoscope of joy and celebration.
As I move with the throng, my mind races, trying to process what happened. Agent Torres’s face flashes before my eyes, his expression frozen in that final moment of shock and pain. The memory of the gunshot echoes in my ears, drowning out the festive sounds around me.
My heart pounds. My eyes dart from face to face. Every shadow holds a threat. Every stranger is a potential enemy. I feel the assassin’s gaze on my back and quicken my pace, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible.
“Sunglasses! Get your sunglasses here!” a vendor calls out, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. “Protect your eyes from the sun and look stylish doing it!”
It’s night, but he doesn’t care.
I veer toward the vendor, an idea forming in my mind. I need to blend in, to become just another face in the crowd. And what better way to do that than to conceal my identity?
“How much?” I ask, pointing to a pair of heavy, dark frames.
The vendor grins, sensing a sale. “For you, my friend? A special price. Only 500 pesos.”
“One hundred. No more.” I dig into my pocket for cash, shoving it into his hands before he can come back at me, haggling.
The vendor doesn’t even blink. He hands me the sunglasses, and I slip them on, the world turning a shade darker.
It’s a small relief to know that my eyes, at least, are hidden from view.
“Salamat,” I say, thanking the vendor in Tagalog.
I turn back to the crowd, my mind still racing. The sunglasses are a start, but I need more. I need to change my appearance and become someone else entirely.
I spot another vendor, this one selling hats of all shapes and sizes. I push through the crowd, making my way over, my eyes scanning the selection.
“How much?”
The vendor smiles, holding out the cap. “700 pesos. Good quality. Last you long time.”
“One hundred. No more.” Once again, I hand over the cash, taking the hat and tucking my long black hair up underneath it before he can come back at me.
I fade back into the street, blending back into the bustling crowd. The night’s energy is electric, the air filled with the pulsing beat of music and the laughter of revelers. But despite the festive atmosphere, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back, of danger lurking just out of sight.
Suddenly, I spot a vendor selling an array of colorful swim shorts, bikinis, sundresses, and light, flowing shirts and trousers. Its local vibe will help me blend in even more, to become just another face in the crowd. Not to mention, I have nothing more than the shirt on my back.
I make my way over to the vendor, my eyes already fixed on a sundress, a bikini for undergarments, and a matching set of long-sleeved shirts and trousers in flowing fabric.
“Magkano?” I ask, pointing to the jacket. How much?
The vendor eyes me up and down, a shrewd look on his face. “2,000 pesos. Good quality, imported from the States.”
I don’t have that much. Reaching into my pocket, my fingers curl around the last of my cash. “Too much. Two—hundred. That’s all I have.” It’s the truth, and he sees it in my face.
The vendor hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Okay, okay. Two hundred it is.”
I hand over the cash and grab the clothes, shoving them into my backpack.
I turn back to the crowd, letting myself be swept up in the flow of bodies. The music pounds in my ears, the bass thumping in time with my racing heart. I move with the rhythm, my feet carrying me down the street.
As I walk, I keep my head down, hiding my face behind the high collar of my jacket and the dark lenses of my sunglasses.
I’m just another face in the crowd, anonymous and invisible.
At least, that’s what I hope.
But even as I try to lose myself in the sea of strangers, my mind keeps drifting back to the alley, to the sound of the gunshot and the sight of Agent Torres falling to the ground .
The memory is like a raw and aching wound, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
I blink them away, forcing myself to focus on the present. I can’t afford to fall apart now, not when so much is at stake.
I let the crowd carry me onward, my feet moving on autopilot as my mind races with questions and fears.
Where do I go now?
Who can I trust?
How do I finish what Agent Torres started?
As the night wears on, the once lively crowd thins, revelers heading home or off to continue their celebrations elsewhere. The streets, which had seemed so full of life and energy just hours before, now feel eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional shout or burst of laughter.
I shiver despite the lingering heat of the night. Exhaustion weighs heavy on my limbs, making each step feel like a monumental effort. My mind is foggy with fatigue, the night’s events blurring together into a surreal, nightmarish haze.
But I can’t stop.
I can’t rest.
Not yet.
Not until I find somewhere safe, somewhere to hide and gather my thoughts.
I keep moving, my gaze darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of danger.
Every sound makes me jump.
Every flicker of movement sends my heart racing.
I feel like a hunted animal, pursued by an unseen predator, never knowing when the attack will come.
As the streets grow emptier and the darkness deepens, a new fear takes hold.
Where can I go?
I’m alone in a strange city, a stranger in a strange land, with nothing but the clothes on my back and my backpack clutched to my chest .
Desperation claws at my throat, threatening to choke me. Tears burn in my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall.
I can’t let my fear consume me.
I turn down another street, my footsteps echoing off the narrow walls. It’s a poor choice, I know, but what other option do I have? The main streets are too exposed, too dangerous. At least here, in the shadows, I might have a chance of hiding.
I spot a dumpster, its metal sides gleaming dully in the faint light. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. I make my way over, my legs trembling with fatigue.
I sink behind the dumpster, the rough concrete scraping against my skin. The pungent stench of garbage is overwhelming, but I barely notice. All I can feel is the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears.
I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing thoughts, but every time, I see Agent Torres’s dead eyes staring back at me.
I hear the crack of the gunshot.
The images are like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
I force my eyes open, staring up at the narrow strip of sky visible between the buildings. The stars are hidden behind a haze of light pollution, the moon a pale, sickly orb.
I don’t know how long I sit there, huddled behind the dumpster, my body shaking with fear and exhaustion. Time stretches and warps, each minute turning into an eternity.
But finally, as the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, my eyelids grow heavy. I try to fight it, to stay awake and remain alert, but it’s a losing battle.
My eyes drift closed.
My body slumps against the cold metal of the dumpster.
Sleep takes me to a dark, dreamless void that offers no comfort or respite.
But even in sleep, I can’t escape the fear, the sense of dread that clings to me like a second skin. I jerk awake at every sound, every imagined threat, my heart pounding and my breath coming in ragged gasps .
I can’t stay here forever.
I have to keep moving, keep pushing forward.
But for now, in this moment of stillness and silence, I let myself rest.
Just for a little while.