I turn to Isabel. “You don’t call the shots anymore, chica .”
I lift a satin baby blanket and a small floppy yellow bear from the crib. I smile at Benny and he smiles back, his father made over. For as much as Oliver resembles me, Benny resembles Jonathon.
He wraps his things into his arm and buries his face against the bear. I pat his cheeks dry with the blanket and instinctively kiss the top of his head.
“ Pasaporte ,” Benicio says to Isabel. “ Dónde está su pasaporte ?”
Isabel stares at Benny in my arms.
Benicio gets down in her face and growls something in Spanish. Isabel shrinks beneath his words. She walks over to a dresser and pulls out my passport and hands it to Benicio.
He snatches it from her and sticks it in his back pocket.
Then he orders her to do something else. Isabel opens another drawer and takes out a violet tank top and jeans. She tosses them to me.
“Come,” Benicio says and motions everyone into the next room. It isn’t nearly as well kept, the queen-size bed is unmade and curtains still closed. Isabel pulls a pair of men’s jeans and a black T-shirt from the drawer and hands them to Benicio.
I glance down at the gauze on my leg, already soaked red. The hot pain increases with every step.
Benicio orders Isabel farther down the hall, and I can hear the anger and determination in his voice.
Isabel crosses the room and takes a seat in the very chair she helped tie Benicio to. I’m so tempted to ask her how it feels to be the one trapped in here, but Isabel doesn’t take her eyes off Benny. She’s a mother concerned for her son, and in that moment I can only think of Oliver.
Benicio walks backward to the door.
“Here you go,” I say, and set Benny down with his blanket and bear on the floor in the place Isabel slid in the trays. I notice my sneakers for the first time at the end of the bed. I set the clothes down and slip on my shoes, wincing at the pain. I remember the broken glass and snatch up the bloody towel and use it to sweep away the shards. I scoop the pieces inside of it and then throw the whole thing out the window.
Isabel watches with a dazed expression.
Benicio pats Benny on the head, and the boy peers up at him and grins as if this is all part of some game.
I gather the clothes and the remaining gauze and rubbing alcohol. Benicio and I back out of the room and lock the door.
In the kitchen Benicio pulls a plastic grocery bag from a drawer and stuffs it with chips and bread and bottled water and salami from the fridge. He rummages through other drawers, collecting a knife, lighter, flashlight, and several more plastic bags. He rushes into the bathroom and comes out with insect repellant and an assortment of medications cradled in his arm.
I’ve grabbed another bag and thrown all the clothes inside. I search for car keys and cell phones but find neither. Then a sickening thought occurs to me. I hobble down the hall and meet Benicio rushing toward me. “Does Isabel have a cell phone?”
“Shit!” Benicio runs back to the room. I stumble behind. When we open the door Isabel looks up from her cell phone with a grin. She snaps it closed, already finished with her call.
Benicio rushes toward her with such violence that I scream for him not to hurt her. He grabs Isabel’s phone and throws it out the window. He screams some more, but I coax him out by shouting that we’re running out of time.
“They couldn’t have gotten very far by the time she got a hold of them,” I say, feeling the weight of the oversight that may have cost us our lives.
I lock the door behind us while Benicio rummages through drawers in the second bedroom. I meet up with him again just as he pulls out a pistol and a large wad of dollar bills.
“Here.” He hands me a black handgun. Jonathon is right. It does feel lighter than you expect. “You know how to use one of these?” Benicio drops open what I know from TV to be the magazine, and check for bullets. It’s
I lift a satin baby blanket and a small floppy yellow bear from the crib. I smile at Benny and he smiles back, his father made over. For as much as Oliver resembles me, Benny resembles Jonathon.
He wraps his things into his arm and buries his face against the bear. I pat his cheeks dry with the blanket and instinctively kiss the top of his head.
“ Pasaporte ,” Benicio says to Isabel. “ Dónde está su pasaporte ?”
Isabel stares at Benny in my arms.
Benicio gets down in her face and growls something in Spanish. Isabel shrinks beneath his words. She walks over to a dresser and pulls out my passport and hands it to Benicio.
He snatches it from her and sticks it in his back pocket.
Then he orders her to do something else. Isabel opens another drawer and takes out a violet tank top and jeans. She tosses them to me.
“Come,” Benicio says and motions everyone into the next room. It isn’t nearly as well kept, the queen-size bed is unmade and curtains still closed. Isabel pulls a pair of men’s jeans and a black T-shirt from the drawer and hands them to Benicio.
I glance down at the gauze on my leg, already soaked red. The hot pain increases with every step.
Benicio orders Isabel farther down the hall, and I can hear the anger and determination in his voice.
Isabel crosses the room and takes a seat in the very chair she helped tie Benicio to. I’m so tempted to ask her how it feels to be the one trapped in here, but Isabel doesn’t take her eyes off Benny. She’s a mother concerned for her son, and in that moment I can only think of Oliver.
Benicio walks backward to the door.
“Here you go,” I say, and set Benny down with his blanket and bear on the floor in the place Isabel slid in the trays. I notice my sneakers for the first time at the end of the bed. I set the clothes down and slip on my shoes, wincing at the pain. I remember the broken glass and snatch up the bloody towel and use it to sweep away the shards. I scoop the pieces inside of it and then throw the whole thing out the window.
Isabel watches with a dazed expression.
Benicio pats Benny on the head, and the boy peers up at him and grins as if this is all part of some game.
I gather the clothes and the remaining gauze and rubbing alcohol. Benicio and I back out of the room and lock the door.
In the kitchen Benicio pulls a plastic grocery bag from a drawer and stuffs it with chips and bread and bottled water and salami from the fridge. He rummages through other drawers, collecting a knife, lighter, flashlight, and several more plastic bags. He rushes into the bathroom and comes out with insect repellant and an assortment of medications cradled in his arm.
I’ve grabbed another bag and thrown all the clothes inside. I search for car keys and cell phones but find neither. Then a sickening thought occurs to me. I hobble down the hall and meet Benicio rushing toward me. “Does Isabel have a cell phone?”
“Shit!” Benicio runs back to the room. I stumble behind. When we open the door Isabel looks up from her cell phone with a grin. She snaps it closed, already finished with her call.
Benicio rushes toward her with such violence that I scream for him not to hurt her. He grabs Isabel’s phone and throws it out the window. He screams some more, but I coax him out by shouting that we’re running out of time.
“They couldn’t have gotten very far by the time she got a hold of them,” I say, feeling the weight of the oversight that may have cost us our lives.
I lock the door behind us while Benicio rummages through drawers in the second bedroom. I meet up with him again just as he pulls out a pistol and a large wad of dollar bills.
“Here.” He hands me a black handgun. Jonathon is right. It does feel lighter than you expect. “You know how to use one of these?” Benicio drops open what I know from TV to be the magazine, and check for bullets. It’s
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