Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
NOAH (PRESENT)
I’d been in this cell for the last two weeks and still hadn’t found any ways to escape or had figured out what my father wanted from me.
When it came to him, it didn’t surprise me that I still hadn’t seen him. In the past, he’d always waited until I was almost unconscious before he’d paid me a visit, and now that I was older and no longer at his mercy, he definitely wouldn’t come around, knowing I’d fight him back.
I’d been observing the guards who came every once in a while to check on me—which was an indication that I was the only prisoner down here—to see if I could persuade any of them to turn, but so far I’d had no luck. They’d come by, confirm I was still breathing, then leave, occasionally leaving a piece of stale bread and a small brass cup filled with warm water inside my cell every few days.
Another wave of exhaustion was looming over my head and my entire body hurt from the inside out, especially after the latest beating I took earlier. I’d mostly been left alone since the last time I saw Amalia, but for some reason, over the last two days, Hamza’s lackeys had paid me more visits than they’d had since I’d been taken captive.
I’d initially fought them back, but I’d soon learned that they took a perverse pleasure in my resistance, so I’d stopped, which made them leave a lot faster. They weren’t the strongest opponents I’d faced, but repeated beatings would take a toll on anyone, especially since I hadn’t fully healed from the accident or knew the extent of my injuries.
I looked down at the bloodstained gauze wrapped around my thigh. The only grace I’d gotten had been Amalia caring for the wound on my leg instead of letting it get infected and potentially lead to sepsis from the exposure to the dirty old cell I was currently living in.
A few hours after she’d left with Hamza and that kid Sabiri, she’d returned to my cell and tended to the wound she’d inflicted, barely saying a word. She’d only spoken to me once to order me to take my pants off so she could have better access. Then she’d stitched my leg in a time record, bandaged it, and left.
During the whole time she’d been here, I’d wanted to explain myself since we hadn’t really spoken ever since the night I’d left. Yet I couldn’t find the courage to do so. I’d been a coward then for leaving without a word and still was one for not explaining myself now.
But I found myself stuck where to even begin. Nothing I came up with seemed good enough. I knew telling her the truth would be a great way to start, but which truth did I even start with?
The one where I lost the most important person in my life and felt hopeless and scared? Or the one where the person she was now working for was none other than my father?
Both seemed like the beginning of an uphill battle.
I’d have to wait until I got out of these four walls so I’d be able to make her listen to me. Because I knew she would run from me if I asked her to talk, not that I’d blame her. She had every right not to want to listen to what I had to say, but I’d make her. I’d lost her once. I wouldn’t let it happen again.
No matter the cost or how hard I had to fight, I’d get her back.
And she helped you, my mind wishfully thought, but I pushed it aside, not wanting to read into it and end up disappointed.
I’d been lying on my back, looking up at the ceiling and counting the cracks in it for the hundredth time. A gnawing hunger ate at my gut and I managed a dry swallow to tamp it down. I’d been ignoring it over the last few days because if I gave in to it, I’d step into a helpless and desperate territory.
I couldn’t allow myself to if I wanted to come out of this alive.
Besides, I’d gone through much worse when I was younger.
When you were born to be the heir of the cartel, your life consisted of one thing—surviving all the trials you were subjected to until initiation day.
On a Barrera’s twelfth birthday, you’d be given a target to eliminate. If you succeeded, you were trained to take over until the old Ra’is passed, whether by natural causes or if he’d been killed.
If you didn’t complete the task, you were terminated.
What I hadn’t known at the time—hadn’t known until I joined the Bureau—was that the target for each initiation was to kill the current drug lord so you’d take over. The cartel wanted to see if you’d be willing to go to extreme lengths for the role and to prove that there was no one you couldn’t kill.
Talk about a twisted fucking way to prove it.
But uncovering that information made me realize three things. My father had killed his to be in power, I’d been set up to do the same to mine, and the fact that I had to kill my father was most likely the reason why he’d wanted me dead.
Not that he’d lacked reasons to. I was sure he had a long list of them.
I’d always been relieved that I’d never had to go through the initiation because, although I wanted my father gone, I’d never wished to be part of his world. It was something I’d been forced into from the moment I’d taken my first breath.
If by some omniscient force I’d known about the life I’d be born into, I probably would have prayed to never take it because I could have avoided a lifetime of carrying a pain that never seemed to go away.
I was forty-three years old now and the weight of my name and its legacy had never lifted.
It had gotten better, with therapy, my medication, and a lot of hitting inanimate things, but there was a lingering feeling in the back of my mind that was always there, threatening to take over and drown me.
And sometimes when that happened, I just wanted to let it.
Because wouldn’t that alternative be infinitely more peaceful?
My exhaustion was now at a threatening distance, and I closed my eyes, hoping to give myself an ephemeral moment of peace, but not long enough to let it drift me away.
I woke up hours later, realizing that despite me fighting it, the exhaustion had taken over. I didn’t know for how long I’d been sleeping since there was nothing here to tell the time of day, but it couldn’t have been for more than a few hours.
My eyes flitted open, and a shiver ran down my spine. At first, I thought I’d no longer been immune to the chill of the cement floor. But when I moved, I realized that the water leaking had somehow made its way to where I’d lain.
“ Tfou ? 1 ,” I cursed under my breath.
The whole back of my shirt was now soaking wet. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t woken up when it reached me. Before it made its way to the bottom half of my body, I got up and removed my shirt. I squeezed the excess water out as I walked to the iron door to hang it between the bars, letting it somewhat dry up before I put it back on.
I’m so over this captive shit.
I walked to the back of the cell and plopped down against the wall, the bitter cement digging right into my spine. “I need to get out of here,” I murmured, the echoes of my plea bouncing back to my ears.
I closed my eyes when a voice said, “You and me both.”
I jerked back, moving my head to look around but not finding anyone there. “Great, now I’m hearing things,” I whispered to myself.
I hadn’t eaten or drunk much water since being here, but I hadn’t been here long enough to be hallucinating already. That usually came around week three or four, and at the time I was six years old, so surely I should be able to sustain for longer now.
I rubbed my eyes and shook my head from side to side. Then I dropped my head back, branding what I’d just heard as a figment of my apparently creative imagination.
“ Matat7lemch a khoya ? 2 , I’d actually much rather be in whatever was happening in your brain than here,” the muffled voice said again.
My eyes flew open and I shot to my feet. I definitely did hear that.
“Who are you?” I asked, standing in the middle of the room, waiting to hear it again.
When whoever it was didn’t speak, I began to think I really was hallucinating, but I rarely spoke darija aside from swearing. I could understand it and get by if I needed to, but I definitely wouldn’t have talked to myself and made a full cohesive sentence.
I moved to sit, but the person—a man—spoke up again, “Gabriel.”
I sifted through my brain, wondering if I knew the name, but it didn’t ring a bell.
“That doesn’t really tell me much,” I responded, focusing on what he’d say so I could pinpoint where it came from.
I’d never had the chance to visit the outside of this cell when I’d been kept here, but whenever I’d been dragged in, I’d never noticed a cell next to mine. There was a large door on the left wall outside of my cell, but I’d always thought it was broken or contained a closet on the other side for storage. Besides, in all the times I’d slept here, I’d never seen or heard another prisoner.
Any of the cartel’s hostages were kept in a different wing on the other side of the property. My father hated me but not enough to showcase it to the world because me being held in a cell for misbehaving , as my father liked to call it, would have been used as a leveraging point to show weakness within his ranks and my father would never let that happen.
He scoffed. “I mean, there isn’t much to tell. Do you want a biography or something?”
The voice came from my left, so I stepped closer, my ear resting against the wall to hear. There was a slight rustling on the other side of the wall.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” I replied, my hand skimming over the wall for any opening because I could hear him so clearly now, you’d think we were both in the same room.
He huffed out a laugh. “Well, when it’s asked so nicely,” he deadpanned. “My name is Gabriel Al Naji and I am twenty-three years old. Parents are dead and I have a sister that I haven’t seen in years because the cartel took me from her.” He let out a humorless laugh. “That enough for you?”
I sat up near the corner where the back wall met the left one. While he’d been talking, I’d found a small fissure toward the bottom of the wall. I’d rolled onto my stomach and tried narrowing my eyes, but it was too small to see through to wherever he was on the other side, only big enough to let the sound travel between our two cells.
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. I unfortunately knew a thing or two about loss and even though I’d been born into the cartel and suffered at its hands, I knew that was nothing compared to what the families put their prisoners through. I didn’t know which one had taken him before he landed here, but they were all equally horrific as the next.
“It is what it is.”
I nodded in agreement even though he couldn’t see me.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“This time, at least two weeks. But it could be more or less, who knows? Time isn’t the easiest to tell here.” Before he pushed me on what I meant by this time , I asked him the same. “What about you?”
“I just got in today,” he said so casually as if we were on vacation and he’d just landed. “But I spent almost twelve years at the last place I was held in. This already seems like a resort compared to where I used to be,” he explained, giving more information than I’d asked for.
His answer confirmed what I’d presumed. I hadn’t heard any sounds or movement until today, so my guesses were that he’d either been completely unconscious until now and they’d left him unattended or he’d been put in his cell while I’d been sleeping.
“Don’t get too comfortable. They like to pull you into a false sense of security before striking,” I warned him, knowing that if he had a decent experience so far, they were just gearing up to put him through the worst.
Whoever this kid was, I hoped he’d make it out of here alive.
I opened my mouth to ask him why he was here, what his cell looked like to see if it was similar to mine, or if it was constructed differently so that we might be able to find a way to escape, but he interrupted me.
“Do you have family out there?” he asked, changing the subject.
I wanted to shift the conversation back but decided against it. If I pushed and asked him too many questions, he might retreat and grow suspicious. Instead, I answered him.
“No, I don’t.” I paused and drew slightly away from the wall, bending my knees to rest my forearms against them, my hands hanging in between. I didn’t say anything for a moment, but after a short pause, I spoke again, “At least none of that matters.”
My throat thickened with a wave of emotions I’d buried and the back of my eyes burned when I thought of that time. Of the day on which I’d gotten the call that was still vividly ingrained in my brain.
The day when I’d lost the most important person in my life.
The person who’d spent her entire life making it up to me for my father’s mistakes and the person who taught me that being loved wasn’t conditional to what you could do for them.
That you could be loved unconditionally for just existing.
1 ? Damn it.
2 ? You're not dreaming, bro.