The whispers never stopped. In fact, they got louder as time went by. Soon their screams rang endlessly in my head, screeching in agony as if they were burning on a pyre, as if their skin was peeling off their flesh, as if their beating heart was being ripped out their chest.

All night long, I could hear them. They drowned out Pablo's snoring, the screeching birds who woke up with the Sun, and the way the bed frame creaked every time I tossed and turned. I couldn't even hear my own ragged and irregular breaths, or the way my heartbeat drummed in my chest.

Behind me, the sheets moved, and a quiet cough was all it took for Pablo to make the whispers go quiet. I squeezed my eyes shut, and I could see hundreds of faceless lips, sealed tight, holding their breath as they waited for him to speak about what happened last night.

"Look who's here," Pablo groaned. "You have finally dared to come and sleep in my bed."

Anger grew like a ball of fire in the center of my sore chest.

"I thought it was our bed," I snapped. "Turns out it's also Cassie's, too."

He let himself fall back onto his pillow with a tired sigh. "Cassie's never slept here."

"Oh right, she just sucked your dick," I spat. "Like that makes it any better."

"Right, perhaps we should bring in Hernan too, then everyone will be happy," he retorted, his tone high-pitched and petty.

"We've talked about this, Pablo."

He stayed silent for a few seconds, enough for the whispers to start chattering again. I winced, feeling a headache bubble up between my eyeballs.

"Is talking enough?" Pablo mumbled.

"What do you want me to do, fall down on my knees and beg you for forgiveness?" I replied.

"Yeah," he muttered. "That would be a nice start."

I sat up in the bed, covering my chest with a corner of the silk sheets. Every single joint, bone and muscle in my body squeaked in pain as they moved.

"I'm not going to do that," I answered.

He raised his eyebrows at my defiance, as if he'd expected me to implore him and ask for mercy. His upper lip bulged as he licked his gums, before he rolled over to the side of the bed and fished a pack of cigarettes from the jeans he'd left lying on the floor.

The whispers grew louder again, filling up the silence Pablo had left in the room, thick like the smoke of the cigarette that dangled from his lips.

"At least I had the decency not to do it in public," he said, his mouth drawn back in a snarl. "You talk and talk about how you're supposed to be my girlfriend, but right now, you're not exactly helping me."

His words echoed around the room, and left a bad taste in my mouth. They meant nothing, for the simple reason that they weren't true. I had been the one tearing myself apart to try and keep everything together, but all it took was one night of me letting myself go, a single mistake I'd done, and now everything was my fault.

You're not exactly helping me.

The echo mixed in with the whispers, growing crescendo like a chanting cult, ascending into chaos and cacophony. Pablo ranted on and on, something about how much of a mess and a hypocrite I was.

Not helping me.

He talked and talked, saying that my life depended on how believable this whole lie was. The reverberating voices slowly synchronized, and I could finally hear what the whispers were trying to say.

Help me.

He called me either immature or irresponsible, but I'd stopped paying attention to him a while ago. 

The whispers spoke in Ana's voice.

Help me, Sarah.

My throat tightened. Ana was howling like she was lost in a blizzard and hoping I'd answer, but if she kept on shouting that name so loud, someone might hear. So I shushed her.

"Why are you shushing me?" hissed Pablo.

"I didn't shush you."

"Then who the fuck are you shushing?"

"Nobody, I just sneezed." I wiped my nose to make it more convincing. "What were you saying?"

"I asked when was the last time you took a shower."

"Yesterday morning," I muttered, scrunching my nose at him.

"No. You haven't stepped a foot inside of the house since Friday," he said. "That was three days ago."

Three days. I gulped. I silently begged Ana's voice to stop screaming in my head while I tried to recall the events that had passed since the last time I took a shower. Oso, Mafer and I had gone to San José. I'd caught Pablo and Cassie together. I'd eaten a bunch of seafood at the restaurant, Mafer's birthday cake, and a slice of pizza at the party in the evening. I'd drank six beers, three glasses of water, and more shots than I could remember. I'd swallowed at least four pills. I'd watched the sun set and rise once each. It couldn't have been three days. This couldn't be right.

"Since we fought?" I asked.

He nodded, and sucked on his cigarette as a look of discomfort spread on his face. We both glanced at the rotting flowers on the night table, and then at each other.

"I'll get you some fresh ones," he sighed.

"Don't bother," I murmured. "Just throw them."

He went to take a piss, put on a clean shirt, and left the room soon after. We didn't share a single word. I went in the bathroom to take a shower, and noticed Pablo had thrown the dead flowers in the trashcan, and squashed the butt of his cigarette on their brown petals.

I turned on the shower, setting the water as hot as it would let me. I could still hear Ana's voice, muffled behind every wall, whispering in the running water, echoing down the drain of the bathroom sink. The stone of her necklace bounced against my chest like pebbles on a train track.

Help me, Sarah, help me.

"Just a hallucination," I sighed out loud, hoping she'd stop if she heard me.

But I hadn't taken a pill in a while, probably longer than I even thought, since days went by like minutes now. I was breaking, cracking slowly, like an old piece of plywood. I couldn't handle this anymore.

For months I'd longed to hear her voice again, but not like this. I wanted her to cry out my name in joy and disbelief when we met again in Goose Creek. I didn't want to hear her in pain and distress, begging for my help as if she was in danger, still locked in a room somewhere inside of this house.

Sarah, help me.

I dunked my head under the shower's stream, washing away the tears that had gathered on my lower lashline. I turned off the water, clenched my teeth at the relentless sound of Ana's agonizing voice, and ripped my bathrobe off its hook behind the door.

"Help you with what?" I spat.

There was a pause, and then only silence. The shower head spat out a few drops of water, and made me jump. I tightened the belt of my robe around my churning stomach. Quiet footsteps ran across the ceiling, then up and down every wall. My heart thumped in my chest, and I stuck my ear against the cold metal grate of an air vent.

"Ana?" I whispered.

"You can hear me?" she answered.

I jerked away from the wall and stared wide-eyed at the black marble, as if it would crack open and she'd walk out.

"Sarah?" Ana repeated.

I took a step back, and her voice echoed inside my head like she'd crawled in through my ear. I was going mad.

I barged back into the empty bedroom, and yanked open the drawer of the bedside table. Perhaps the pills had all been lost when I'd spilled them over the floor that other night, perhaps Pablo had gotten rid of the rest of them, because no matter how much I scratched at the corners of the drawer, digging into every nook and cranny, I couldn't find a single pill.

All that was left was Pablo's vial of cocaine, a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, and a gun. I was already sweating, panting, my chest heaving with heavy breaths.

Help me, she screamed again.

"Ana, please stop," I whispered, burying my face into my hands.

I need you, Sarah.

I looked up at the ceiling and sucked in air through my teeth.

"It's all in your head, Em," I said to myself.

She screeched again, like someone was carving out her flesh with a blunt knife.

I grabbed the gun, spat out a deep breath, but my fingers wouldn't stop trembling. The door opened behind me, and I barely heard it over Ana's loud cries.

Sarah, please come help me.

The gun was so heavy and my hands so clammy, I struggled to keep a firm grasp. My finger wrapped around the trigger, and I slowly turned around.

Pablo's lips parted as I lifted up the gun and pointed it at his head.

"What did you do to Ana?" I asked.

He stared at the gun instead of into my eyes, and let out a nervous laugh.

"What are you talking about?"

"Where is she?" I spat.

"Put the gun down and we can talk about it," he answered.

"I'll put it down when you tell me what you did to Ana."

"Ana's gone home," he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You heard her when she left."

"No, she didn't. She's still here. I can hear her right now."

"Right," he scoffed, and his tone grew cold as his patience ran dry. "Put the fucking gun down, Gordita."

I shook my head, but it came out more like a twitch. Pablo sighed, raised his eyebrows, and looked up at me.

"Do you really think I left any bullets in there?" he murmured.

"No," I answered with an awkward laugh.

He shrugged, but I didn't aim away from him. He closed the distance between us with three steady steps, and stretched out his hand.

"Give me that," he mumbled.

I gently put the gun in his open palm, and he returned a cold smile. He released the magazine, threw it on the bed, and pulled back the slide. A shiny bullet fell out of the chamber.

I watched as it clattered around on the floor. Pablo crouched down to pick it up, never taking his eyes off me.

"Try that again and it'll be the last thing you ever try," he seethed.

"Let me see Ana," I demanded.

He put down the gun on the bedside table, and softly grabbed my hand.

"Follow me, Gordita."

I struggled to keep up with his hurried steps as he stomped down the corridor. My free hand gripped the sides of my bathrobe, struggling to keep it closed. My heart was threatening to rip its way out of my ribcage, and pop out of my throat in a chunky stream of vomit.

Pablo opened the door to a hazy office. Ana wasn't there. Beto Arias sat in his office chair, his glasses reflecting the game of Solitaire on his computer screen.

"Our little Gordita here tried to shoot me, and now she's hearing voices," muttered Pablo.

"Quieres que llame al médico?" Beto replied nonchalantly.

Do you want me to call the doctor?

"I don't need a diagnosis, I need you to keep an eye on her until she calms down."

Beto lifted his nose up from his game of Solitaire, and stared me down from head to toe.

"I'm not a babysitter," he mumbled.

"I'm not a baby," I retorted.

"Perfect, then," chirped Pablo as he slapped me on the shoulder. "Go take a seat."

I sat in one of the armchairs in front of the imposing desk and recoiled at the feeling of the sticky leather under my legs. I recognized the dusty carpet, the cluttered shelves, the way the sunlight peeked in through the shutters. It was the Head of Security's office, where Gustavo used to work. I'd been in here one time too many.

I could still hear Ana's screams, no further than they sounded when I stood in Pablo's bedroom. Her voice morphed, her pitch lowered and she spoke in a threatening tone.

You'll have to pay for it.

I nervously fidgeted with the hems of my bathrobe, but its soft pink satin soon turned into the coarse fabric of a backpack.

Think this over. You know where this is going, right?

I looked up, and Gustavo was sitting in front of me, staring back with a disturbingly toothy grin.

"I won't say a word to Pablo," he whispered. "Isn't that what's best for us both?"

*** TW: Flashbacks of sexual assault. ***

This time, I couldn't look away, and I couldn't escape from my own body. I felt everything. Every inch, every fingertip, heard every disgusting word he sputtered into my ear.

And this time, I wasn't quiet. I kicked and I screamed, desperately trying to get him away from me. His nails dug into my wrists, his fingers squeezed around my throat. He pulled my hair and bit a chunk of flesh from my neck, as payback for his wounded ankle.

Torrents of blood pooled under my face as he pushed it into the hard wooden surface of his desk. I tried to scream for help, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

***

It wasn't cold, hard mahogany pressing against my cheek. It was Pablo's warm hand.

"Look at me, Gordita," he screamed. "What is wrong with you?"

"Stop shouting at her, you're making things worse," said a different voice.

"Em, what happened?" added yet another.

"She's faking it."

"You're going to hurt her."

"Emilia, you need to talk to us."

"For God's sake, stop yelling!"

I didn't know who was saying what, which voices came from inside my head, and which were in front of me. There were too many faces, too close to mine, stopping me from breathing as I painfully gasped for air. My cheeks hurt where scorching tears had carved trails in my skin.

"I didn't want it to happen, I swear," I whimpered. "He had the backpack and I–"

"What backpack?" Pablo's head jolted up. "Beto?"

"No tengo ni idea," he replied, a deep tremble in his voice. "Yo no hice nada, ella sola se pusó a gritar."

I have no idea. I didn't do anything, she just started screaming.

"Gordita, tell us what's going on."

"Gustavo, he–," I stuttered. "He said, I–"

"Gustavo?" Pablo scowled.

Silence fell onto the room with the crushing weight of a toppling building.

"We should head out," Oscar spoke up. "Give her some space."

He herded the other people out of the room. I blinked to chase away the tears, and could finally see their faces. Andrea was there, and all of the Sandovals too. Two bodyguards whose names I didn't know stood up and followed them out, and a maid stood in the hallway, shamelessly peeking through the open door. Oscar was the last to leave.

"Talk to her, calmly," he hissed to his brother. "She needs you right now."

The door closed slowly and Pablo knelt down beside me, wincing as his knees cracked.

"What's this about Gustavo?" he asked.

"It wasn't my fault," I wept.

"What do you mean?"

I tried to answer, but my words were cut short by my own loud sobs and painful gasps.

"Is this where it happened? In this office?" he asked softly.

I managed a meek nod, and his face turned whiter than the silk sheets on his bed. He stumbled back, knocked a few files off a shelf, and threw himself at me again. He stroked my hair back in panicked brushes, and held my face, his fingers running down my cheeks like tears.

"Oh no, oh darling," he panicked, struggling to keep his voice at a whisper. "Baby no, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

He wrapped his arms around me, and held me close to his chest. I usually found a bit of comfort in the sound of his heartbeat against my ear, but today, it didn't help.

"I can't stay in here," I breathed. "Don't put me through this again."

"I'm sorry, Gordita. I should have known," he murmured as he helped me up. "Let's get you out of here."

Words left my mouth without me thinking. "I want to go home."

"You are home, Gordita," he said. "You're going to be okay, Gustavo won't hurt you. He's gone."

I held onto his arm as if it was a rope hanging down a ravine. He brought me out into the garden. The quiet chirping of birds and crickets, the soft lights shining on the pool, the slow dancing of palm tree fronds did nothing to soothe me, because I still could hear her.

Pablo sat me down on a sunbed and told me to relax. I tried my best to obey that order, but weirdly enough, it didn't work at all. Only when he left me alone and walked back into the kitchen did I start breathing a little better.

Juan wandered around the patio with his hands in his pockets, pretending he couldn't see me. He lasted less than a minute before he walked over and sat beside me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," I answered.

He hugged me, and softly ran his hand up and down my back. He knew there weren't any words that could make me feel better, so he stayed silent. He just brushed his fingers through my hair, gently untangling my clumped-up curls. His warm breath ran down my cheek like a caress. I sobbed on his shoulder until I had no tears left. Once my wailing had turned to a sniffle, he gently scratched the back of my hand.

"Your boyfriend's back. He made you some tea," Juan said.

"Thank you," Pablo whispered to him as he sat in his spot, and put down a warm, steaming cup of tea in front of me.

Juan stood in front of us, lingering around as his gaze swept across the garden, as if he wondered whether to stay or go.

"You can leave now," Pablo muttered.

"Please don't," I said to Juan. "He's going to kill me."

"I'm not fu– I'm not going to kill you," Pablo replied, angry at first, but his jaw relaxed and his voice softened with every word. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I made out with his Dad," I answered.

Juan bit his lip to hold back a little hiccup of inappropriate laughter, but since I was the world's only woman to have ever sung the Ghostbusters theme song in the middle of a hostage situation, I couldn't really blame him.

"I'm not mad at you," Pablo said, although the tension in his lips told me he still was. "What I did was worse."

"So I'm not in trouble?"

He stared me in the eye, and swallowed his pride along with the lump in his throat.

"No," he murmured. "I love you, Gordita."

His words sounded honest, because Pablo loved me in the only way he could, which was a much different kind of love than the one normal people share. Hearing such tender words leaving such a rage-stricken body was an eerie sight, like watching the Sun shine on a starry night sky.

"I love you too," I answered.

Pablo's wry smile stayed frozen, and he blinked twice. He tried to say something, glanced over at Juan, and decided to stay quiet. He nodded, stood up, and left. He looked stiffer than usual as he walked away.

"Holy shit, Em, you dodged that bullet Matrix-style," said Juan with a nervous chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged.

"Did you do it on purpose?" he asked.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Forget what I asked," he stuttered. "I'm sorry. It's a dumb question."

"I'm not making any of this shit up, Juan," I mumbled.

"I know, I'm sorry," he answered, nodding a little too solemnly. "I'm you've got a lot of things going on in your head and I'm glad he understands that."

"It's not in my head," I muttered. "I can still hear her."

"Who?"

"Ana."

A line dug into Juan's forehead, and he looked over his shoulder, then back at me.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Somewhere nearby," I whispered. "She keeps calling for me."

"And you can hear her?"

"You can't?"

"No, Em, I can't," he sighed.

His shoulders sagged and his lips pouted slightly. The look on his face was one I hated– pity.

"You don't believe me?" I said.

"It's not that I don't believe you, it's just–" he replied, and scratched the back of his neck. "I don't think you can actually hear her."

"You don't know what her voice sounds like," I retorted.

"I haven't heard anyone, Em," he murmured, blushing as if I had just accused him of a heinous crime. "Nobody at all."

"If you listen closely you'll hear," I added, as some kind of hope filled up the hole in my chest. "She's screaming for help."

Juan threw a worried glance in the direction where Pablo had left. He sipped in a hesitant breath before he asked his question.

"Have you taken any more of those pills?"

"No, I have not," I spat back. "Do you think I'm lying?"

"It's just–" He sucked on his teeth and bit his lips as he carefully chose his words. "You've been here for months. You think he kept her hidden this whole time?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

My eyes widened at the thought that popped into my head.

"In the basement," I breathed.

"Like, in the maid's quarters?" he frowned.

"Another basement. Outside," I answered, and my head started to spin with excitement. "With a trapdoor, and a staircase, and–"

"I've lived here my whole life and I've never seen or even heard of that," he mumbled.

"I was in there, with the other girls. It's where they hid us."

Juan's lips parted, and I watched as his jaw slowly dropped. He must have remembered that there were many things I knew that he still didn't know, and that there was a small chance I might be right.

I didn't wait for him to suggest we go look for that basement before I hopped onto my feet. Without a word, I darted for the forest, following Ana's whispers. Soon, I found myself going round and round in circles, Juan shuffling behind me like a lost puppy.

"Listen, Em, I don't think this is a good idea–"

I shushed him with a finger in the air. I could hear Ana's voice nearby. I followed it for a while, and then heard her shout from the opposite direction.

"Shit," I hissed.

"Em, if someone sees us, they might–" Juan coughed. "Raise some questions. Let's wait a bit."

"We're super close, Juan, I know it," I whispered. "Just give me a minute."

I held his arm to stay stable, and closed my eyes. I recalled the first day I'd spent here, the one where I was pushed from a fake police car and down the staircase leading to that basement.

The blindfold had stopped me from seeing where that place was, but I'd heard the birds and the swishing leaves. I'd felt the faint breeze and fresh air of the forest, I'd smelled the sappy, earthy scents they carried. The basement was somewhere around here, among the trees.

I looked under about every bush, paced back and forth from the treeline to that thick, beige prison-like wall, along the whole length of the garden. I'd circled around every tree trunk and peeked under even the smallest rocks and leaves.

"Em, I'm happy to see you have hope, but I really don't think this is going to end well," Juan muttered, as his eyes scoured the garden to see if anyone was watching us.

"Shut up," I snapped at him, and blushed. "Sorry, Juan, I'm trying to listen carefully."

He nodded, and sighed, and followed in my steps.

Over here, she whispered, but her voice seemed to come from every direction.

"Over where?" I asked.

"What?"

"I'm not talking to you, Juan."

He shook his head, and we kept going. At this point, there wasn't a single spot in the forest I hadn't checked– on this side of the wall, at least. The only bushes I hadn't searched through were those in the tiny grove beneath my bedroom window. The one I'd stared at every day, wondering if Ana could hear me and if she was okay.

The grove was a little outside of the forest, in the center of a bare patch of grass, out in the open. When I tried to step past the treeline, into a part of the garden where it was easier to see us, Juan grabbed me by the arm.

"Em, I don't think she's here anymore," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

I huffed, and pulled myself away from him. I stomped over to the grove, and started to push away the ferns and bushes. Juan sighed loudly behind me.

"Let's just give up, okay?" he said. "Give up and forget, remember that?"

I clawed at the dirt like a dog looking for a bone, and my nails scratched against a hard surface.

"Alright, Em, I'm leaving," he muttered.

"Juan, wait," I panted as I frantically swept away the dirt with the palms of my hands. "I've found her, she's right here."

This whole time, she'd been waiting just outside my window. She was there all along. If I couldn't feel it right under my hands, I wouldn't have believed it either. My heart felt like it was about to explode.

"Fuck it, Em, I can't–" Juan groaned, and he paused. "Holy shit."

There it was, right in front of me, the wooden trapdoor that led to the basement. I let out a single breath as I stared at it, peeking through the dirt. Juan leaned over the door, and we stared at each other in silence.

He shook his head again, this time smiling in disbelief. I wasn't crazy, I was right, and Juan knew it.

We held our breaths as we held the corners of the heavy wooden trapdoor, and pushed it up.

The door to the basement creaked open.