I don't sleep at all during the night, the warmth of Miguel's body next to me in the bed pure torture. My whole body is sore; it's a terrible reminder of what I have lost. My mom told me that her virginity was her wedding gift to my father, and being robbed of my ability to consent is almost as painful as the act itself. The minutes wind down in slow agony; for the first time, I'm up well before the crack of dawn.

When I get down to the compound to start my patrol, I'm relieved that Tomás doesn't resume his babysitting duties. Emilien is nowhere in sight; when I'm assigned a new translator, I'm scared to ask questions. He's a boy about my age who chain-smokes on our way into the city without uttering a single word. Giving out the assignments is routine and I tell him to hang around the market square to ensure the other soldiers comply with my orders.

"Where're you going?" he dares to ask while squinting at me.

I return a smile. "I really have to pee."

Walking off, I catch him rolling his eyes at me and I hurry to get some distance between us. With the stop scheduled for thirty minutes, I can only pray that he won't call my extended absence in. I swiftly walk toward the river and along the warehouses until I hit the wall Shauna told me about. Pacing back north, I find the gate with two soldiers in front.

My heartbeat accelerates; I'll be totally screwed if they don't speak any English. My vocabulary is still limited to the bare basics and conveying that I need their help is way above my knowledge level.

At seven-twenty, I dart out of my hiding place; getting to the gate, I pant and double over. The two guys stare at me with wide eyes, probably wondering what this crazy woman is up to.

"I'm Stacy Degray, patrol head leader," I press in between rapid breaths, which start to make me dizzy. My heart pounds so loud in my ears that I might even be shouting.

"I know who you are," the one guy responds and the knot in my stomach loosens. I should've known that they would staff the post to the foreign section with at least one English speaker.

"I need help at the truck in the town square. There's a rebel ambush." I widely gesticulate with my arms. "Hurry."

The two guys mumble something in Spanish and I already fear they don't buy my story. What am I going to tell Miguel? Tapping my foot, I try to convey a sense of urgency while biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.

"You should stay here—it's safer," the one guy says. "The new shift should be here in five minutes, so stay put."

When they take off running down the street, I can barely stifle a victory grin. Next stop, embassy—and then home. My heart soars at the prospect of being reunited with my family in a few hours. Even if my parents are mad and take their time to forgive me, I'm willing to work hard and comply with every punishment in the book. I'll even major in Early Childhood Development and help out at the church summer camp all through college if it means so much to my mom. Anything is better than staying here.

The foreign section is clean and the houses look like little mansions in comparison to the rest of the city. Every single lawn is neatly trimmed, children's bikes and play equipment left unattended. Even shop windows feature a variety of food that I've never seen around Malaguay but have dearly missed. As I rush along, I don't meet a single soul, though I catch a few silhouettes behind drawn curtains. It must be too early in the morning for foreign employees to have started their day.

The US embassy is a typical office complex, only distinguishable from the other official buildings by the American flag. My heart skips three beats at the familiar sight, and with light steps, I approach the two guards in front of the gate.

"Hi, my name is Stacy Degray and I'm an American citizen. I need embassy support to return to the US."

The two guards exchange a glance. "You're a Malaguian soldier," one of them points out, his hand tightening around the grip of his gun. His eyelid twitches as he gives me a good once-over in my uniform.

"I really need your help. All I want is to go home."

The second guard clears his throat and I turn in his direction with a meager smile.

"Can I see some form of identification, ma'am?"

"Sorry, I don't have anything. My boyfriend took all my papers away."

The safety on the gun of the first soldier is released with a low click. "Sorry, but we can't grant a foreign soldier access to the embassy without proper identification or clearance."

Tears fill my eyes. I risked everything to come here, just to be stopped by some bureaucratic bullshit. "I swear I'm an American citizen. You have to help me. My life is in danger if I go back."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but without identification, we can't validate your claim. There's nothing we can do." His voice is firm and unyielding; not even a hint of sympathy displays on his face.

I refuse to be fobbed off. "Look, the ambassador knows me. Call him and I'm sure he'll okay it."

"Mr. Bennett is in Washington at the moment. Come back next week during regular office hours and we'll see what we can do."

Crap, he's not going to budge.

My whole body deflates. "Please, you have to help me." A few tears trickle down my cheeks. "You're my only hope."

I could be dead next week, but even if Miguel doesn't kill me for my little stunt, he sure won't let me run patrol again. I also doubt that the security post will fall for my rebel story a second time.

The second guard unlocks his weapon. "Like we said, there's nothing we can do. We have strict orders not to allow anyone inside without proper identification, especially not someone in foreign uniform. I'm sorry, ma'am, but you have to move along."

In a daze, I turn away, uncertain what to do next. Maybe I should try another embassy, though they likely have similar rules or will send me to my own. This is truly a screwed-up situation. It seems that I'm stuck in Malaguay until the ambassador is back or I get myself some ID.

Strolling down the street, I ponder how to get out of the foreign section. By now, the new shift has manned the post and my mere presence on the other side of the wall will raise many questions.

A car pulls up beside me and the driver lowers the window. "Are you lost?"

It's a young woman with an easy smile who looks just like a mom on her way to the grocery store.

"Do you know if there's another gate to get back into the city?"

"There's only the one." She unlocks the automatic doors of the car. "Do you want a ride? I have to go out to the orphanage to deliver some medicine."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Yes." Her head points to the back seat. "Get in the back. It's easier to duck when we pass through the gate and will avoid a lot of questions."

Relief washes over me; she apparently realizes that I'm in quite a predicament. I open the car door and get in between the seats as she continues her journey. Slowing down at the gates, she lifts her ID and the guards wave her through without even stopping her. She takes a left turn, driving along the warehouses.

I peek through the gap between the door and the front seat. "Is it safe?"

She doesn't respond but makes a sudden right turn. The car speeds up. I'm tossed forward, my forehead colliding with the door handle.

"Ouch." I brush over the impact wound. This will turn into a nasty bruise.

The car comes to a screeching halt. "Get out."

Puzzled, I comply. We are inside one of the warehouses; it's empty but for a table and two chairs. Part of the roof has caved in and the morning sun floods through the cracks, illuminating a few brown spots on the ground. It could easily be dried blood. The whole place is creeping me out.

"Sit down." The smile on the woman's face has vanished and she regards me with hard eyes.

I fold my arms. "What do you want? I'm a Malaguian soldier and demand that you let me go."

"If you want to get back to the US, sit down. Someone will be here shortly and explain to you what's going on."

This time, I obey, though an uneasy feeling scrapes at the inside of my stomach. Something doesn't feel right.

When a second car pulls in, she heads over to the gate of the warehouse and slides the heavy metal door shut.

A man gets out; he's definitely a Westerner with his pale skin and dark blond hair. His steel blue eyes scan the warehouse. Whirling the chair across from me around, he sits down and props his elbows on the backrest. The woman pulls herself onto the hood of the car.

"Hi, Stacy, how are you today?" His smile is fake and doesn't hit his eyes.

I twitch in my chair under his piercing glare. "Fine. How about you?"

He isn't one for pleasantries and comes straight to the point. "You need assistance to return to the US?"

"I don't have a passport and was denied access to the embassy. Can you help me?"

"Well, Stacy, the problem is—you can't get a new passport."

I blink at him, unable to comprehend his statement. "I don't understand. Why can't I get a new passport? I'm a US citizen."

His smile is curt. "Actually, you're not. Your citizenship was revoked."

"But how can you just revoke my citizenship?"

"Simple. You've entered the armed forces of a foreign state who is engaged in hostilities against the United States. Under title eight of the US Code, the government was within its rights to revoke your citizenship. As it stands, you're stateless."

My head is spinning. Without a doubt, someone must have made a mistake. I glance at the woman for help, but she only glares back at me, the back of her shoe hitting against the tire. It slowly dawns on me that I'm all alone, abandoned by my own government. An iron claw rips through my chest, slowly squeezing the air from my lungs. All I can think of is how to save my own skin.

"I can't stay in Malaguay." My eyes fill with tears.

A smug smile spreads on the man's lips. "Well, I'm glad you brought this up. There might be something I can do for you, but I need you to do something for me first."

The pressure in my chest eases. "I'll do whatever it takes. Just please get me home." Maybe the situation isn't as dire as he makes it out to be.

"We need you to provide us with information about Miguel Rizo and his organization."

"I'll tell you everything I know. It's not much, but I'm fully prepared to cooperate."

"Look, Stacy, let's stop playing games because, quite frankly, I don't have the time. When I say information, I mean real intelligence. We expect you to go back and marry Miguel, and when the time comes, we'll be in touch and let you know what we need. Once you provide us with the necessary information, I'll make sure that the state department issues you a new passport and you can go home. But it'll be a while."

I stare at him. "You can't expect me to go back. Miguel beats me and will kill me if he finds out I'm even talking to you."

"Then there's nothing I can do for you." He gets up like a lazy wildcat who just took a nap, waving at the woman. "Let's go."

Panic overwhelms me. "Wait. You can't do this. I must still have some rights."

The woman snickers. "We got us a real smart one here."

"Tell me about it." The man squats down next to my chair, his mouth level with my ear. "Now listen, Stacy, and listen good, because I'll only explain this to you once. You're in deep shit and the only way out of this will be to do what we say. Do you know what it means to be stateless?"

I shake my head.

"It means I can drag you back to the embassy and rape you, and no one, and I mean no one, will even give a damn. On top of that, I hold diplomatic immunity, so I can also rape you right in the middle of the town square and all your fiancé can do is ask my government to send me packing. You, on the other hand, have lost all your rights. There's not a country in the world other than Malaguay that will give you shelter. You are screwed, little girl, so you either play ball or you'll die. It's just as simple as that."

When the tears begin to roll, he takes a strand of my hair, letting it run through his fingers as he tucks it gently behind my ear. "I guess you finally understand, don't you, Stacy?"

I nod.

"I need you to say it, Stacy."

"I understand." My voice cracks under the tears.

"And will you work with us so you can go home?"

I clutch my hand over my mouth as a sad wail escapes my throat. "Yes."

"Good." He pats my head like he would an obedient puppy. "Then tell me what I need you to do."

I can hardly breathe as fear paralyzes every muscle in my body. "I need to marry Miguel and give you the information you want."

"Yes, Stacy, that's right. You got it."

I gaze at him through my blurred vision. "I lured the guards away from the gate this morning to get into the foreign section. I'm sure they called it in."

His eyes pierce mine, sending a cold shiver down my spine. "You're thinking ahead. I like that." He rises, the superior expression back on his face. "Don't worry, we have that covered. You'll tell your fiancé the rebels attacked you while you waited for the backup."

"He won't believe that. How could I have been attacked? There's not even a scratch on me."

He chuckles and gives the woman a small nod. "Don't worry. When we're done with you, there will be."

As she approaches, she slides her hands into a pair of gloves. For the first time, I notice how strong she is. There's not an ounce of fat on her, just solid, packed muscle, and she appears as if she can put some power behind a punch.

With a grin, she halts in front of me. "I promise to make it quick."

Before I can even blink, her fist shoots forward. Instinctively, I duck and my arms fly up to block her strike, but before I can shield myself from the attack, her fist crashes right into my temple.

The blow sets off an explosion in my head, accompanied by breathtaking pain. After that, there's only total darkness.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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