40. Serafina
CHAPTER 40
Serafina
A nother week of isolation, away from everything and everyone I know. No comforting home, no familiar faces of my few friends. And most importantly, no family, Nora or Lucas. My hands tremble as I pluck a dead leaf from one of my philodendron plants. This tiny house in the middle of nowhere was supposed to be a fresh start for Lucas and me, but instead, it feels like I'm suffocating under the weight of what could have been.
With each drop of water I pour onto my plants, my resentment towards Lucas grows stronger and deeper in my heart. I have tried to push it away, but it has taken root, and I can no longer ignore it. I can't believe how easily he left me here, alone and heartbroken. How could he lie to me without even a second thought? It's like our entire relationship meant nothing to him.
Nevertheless, I choose not to entertain the idea that this was his scheme all along, to bring down my family. No, he would never do that. All I can do keep telling myself those words.
As I finish watering the last plant, I slam the watering can down on the table, causing water to splash everywhere. The sound echoes throughout the small greenhouse, and it feels satisfying to release my frustration for a moment.
But then reality sets in again, and I'm left with a heavy weight on my chest. He's not coming for me; he probably never planned to.
As I move on to inspect, snip, and prune every row of my juvenile plants, a chill skitters down my spine. I glance over my shoulder, a small part of me still holding out hope that Lucas will appear to tell me it was all a misunderstanding. But the garden remains empty and silent.
But the feeling of being watched only grows stronger, and I start to feel uneasy. I turn around again, scanning the greenhouse for any signs of movement or a presence. But there's nothing. Just the plants and me.
Suddenly, the crunch of gravel underfoot shatters the stillness, and I spin around, my heart in my throat. A shadow darts between the trees at the garden's edge, disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.
"Chi è là? Who's there?" My voice trembles as my hand slowly inches towards the gun that Paz insisted on me carrying in my apron pocket at all times. "I'm armed, so don't try anything stupid!"
But only the wind answers, rustling the leaves with a mocking whisper. My heart races as I slowly make my way towards the edge of the garden, my senses on high alert. The sound of my own footsteps seems to echo in the silence, and I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. Unease prickles along my skin as I grip the gun tighter, my finger hovering over the safety. I've never had to use it before, but thankfully with Paz's help, I feel comfortable handling it now.
"Vete a la chingada," I curse under my breath, channeling my fear into anger. I won't let anyone intimidate me, not even some phantom stalker. Whoever is here can go to hell.
I start walking the perimeter of the grounds, my steps quick and purposeful. The familiar route usually calms me and reminds me that I'm safe here, protected. But today, each rustle of leaves, each flicker of shadow, only fuels my paranoia.
"Breathe, Serafina," I whisper to myself. "No one's going to hurt you. Not here."
But even as I complete the circuit, ending up back in the garden, the sense of foreboding lingers, a cloying taste at the back of my throat. I scan the tree line once more, searching for any signs of movement, any hint of a threat.
And then, in a heartbeat, everything changes. Strong arms wrap around me from behind, yanking me back against a solid chest. I open my mouth to scream, but a calloused hand clamps over my lips, silencing me.
Panic surges throughout my entire body. I attempt to elbow my perpetrator as well as wiggle my way out of his grip, but his grip only tightens. My insides feel as if I'm about to burst; my breathing is shallow. My eyes become glassy from the anger of being unable to fight this mystery person off.
Why can't I scream? Even if I could, no one would hear me. So, I do the next best thing. I bite his forearm. Hard. I aim to draw blood.
"Fucking bitch!" the stranger yells but doesn't let go.
But before I can think of plan B, I heard a loud bang and the subsequent release of his grip.
I run away from the man and turn around to find Paz, still holding her own gun. Between us, I see the crumpled body of a man I've never seen in my life, blood blooming across his shirt.
I stare wide-eyed at the petite woman who'd just saved my life. "Paz, how did you?—"
"No time, mija. This place isn't safe anymore. Vámonos, we need to get you out of here." Her dark eyes are hard and urgent as she urges me to go with her.
I stumble after her, my legs still shaking. "Where are we going? What's going on?"
"Come, ni?a. Just trust me."
"But Paz—" I reach for her arm, but she shrugs me off.
"Please, Serafina. Do as I say!" Her voice cracks with emotion.
I fall silent, my mind reeling as I follow her to a small garage I haven't yet explored out of respect for my host. She opens the door, and inside, an old red rusty truck is parked. "Get in and duck so no one can see you," She urges.
She hops on the driver's seat and starts the truck. I silently do as she says. We continue driving for what feels like hours until the darkness outside stretches on endlessly. Every few minutes, I sneak a glance at her, my mind buzzing with endless questions that might forever remain unanswered. Who the fuck was that? How did they find me? I thought we'd been careful.
"We're here." Paz exits the truck and quickly begins to fade away into the darkness.
I step out of the truck and follow her towards our destination. I wish I could see where we're headed, although I wouldn't know where I am even with sight. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but all I can make out is Paz's silhouette, so I concentrate on keeping up with her brisk steps.
Soon enough, Paz stops in front of a small door and opens it with a key. "Entra. Come in."
The musty smell of dampness greets me as I step into the small house. Paz is already inside, lighting a couple of candles to add some warmth and light to the dim space. She reaches out and gently guides me further into the house before closing the door behind us swiftly.
I look around, completely bewildered. "Where are we? What is this place?" Paz motions for me to sit on a beautifully crafted wooden couch with soft cushions, and I follow her lead.
Paz rises back up to her feet and makes her way to the kitchenette to turn on a small induction cooktop. She rummages through the cabinets, eventually retrieving a small pot and cinnamon sticks. "You'll be safe here; no one will find you," she assures me as she begins to prepare something in the pot.
"Me? Don't you mean us?" I watch her fill the pot with water from the sink before boiling it on the cooktop.
"I can't stay with you, mi ni?a." She adds the cinnamon sticks to the water and stirs.
"Paz, you shot that man. You're in as much danger as I -"
"Don't worry about me. I can handle myself." She turns to look at me, and a faint smile flits across her face. "I have to get rid of the body."
I try to hold back the lump forming in my throat as I think of arguing with her, but I know her well enough by now not to try. "Okay," I whisper, trying to hide the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes.
"Besides," she walks away from the kitchenette, carrying two steaming mugs of cinnamon tea. She takes a seat beside me and hands me one of the mugs. "I have to get you help. Staying here won’t help anyone." She grips my hands tightly in hers. "Just give me a few days."
The cramped quarters that Paz brought me to can barely be called a room. It's more akin to a cell, with bare walls and a single high window that taunts me just out of reach. Besides the handcrafted couch, the space houses only a thin mattress propped up by rickety pallets and a small toilet requiring manual water flushing. The air is stale and musty, the only source of light filtering in through the dusty window. I can't help but feel trapped and claustrophobic in this dismal space.
I pace back and forth in the confined space, my mind racing with thoughts. How much longer will I have to wait for Paz to return? Is there a possibility that Lucas will show up with her? I don’t know if I even want to see him anymore. After all, I am here because of him.
Over the next few days, time seems to blur together as I remain cooped up in this tiny room, anxiously awaiting Paz's return. She left me some food and water, but it won't last long.
I try to drift off into slumber when I'm not pacing around. But it is hopeless; I toss and turn all night long, unable to find any solace. Just as I feel myself finally slipping into unconsciousness, I am jolted awake by the sound of creaking coming from the front door. My heart leaps into my throat, and I sit up immediately. I notice a small opening at the bottom of the door that I had somehow missed before, and someone slides a tray of food inside. The opening quickly closes before I can even say a word.
"Hey!" I sprint towards the door and slam my fists against the solid wood, yelling until my voice cracks. "Let me out, damn it!"
Complete silence. Not a peep, not the slightest whisper. Only the infuriating sound of a leaky pipe echoing through the walls and the quick movements of rats inside the walls.
As the hours creep by, despair settles over me like a shroud. I pick at the food - stale tortillas, a bruised apple, and a murky stew with beans - I’m starving, but my stomach roils at the thought of eating.
The days drag on, each one bleeding into the next. The same food, the same silence, the same four walls pressing in on me until I want to scream. I try talking to my mystery jailer through the door, cajoling, threatening, begging. But nothing ever changes.
I've had enough. My body trembles with adrenaline as I scan the room for a weapon, anything that could give me an advantage over my captor. My eyes fall on an old, rusted fork, and I grip it tightly, feeling the frayed edges dig into my skin.
Planting myself in front of the small door opening, I wait with bated breath. Time stretches on endlessly, each passing minute increasing my heart rate until it pounds against my chest like a relentless drum. But despite the fatigue creeping into my bones, I refuse to let myself rest. I am determined to injure whoever comes through that door.
As I contemplate the violence I am about to inflict, a sense of unease washes over me. How did hurting someone become so natural to me? When did survival override morality?
Suddenly, the sound of a lock being undone jolts me back to reality. With every muscle in my body coiled tight, I spring up from the floor and face whatever horrors await me on the other side.But nothing could have prepared me for the faces that greet me on the other side.