The moving curtains awake me. I wiggle out of Miguel's tight embrace, my toes curling on the cold floor. A fresh breeze drifts through the open balcony door; the next gust of wind almost tears the fluttering curtains off the rod.

What a stormy night.

I hug myself to fight the rising goosebumps and scurry over to the balcony doors to close them. Dark clouds chase across the sky, only offering a rare glimpse of the moon. Rain is imminent.

When I hear a scraping noise right outside the bedroom door, a prickling sensation spreads from the nape of my neck all the way to the bottom of my spine. I spin around. My gaze wanders to the silhouette on the bed; Miguel lies perfectly still, the even rising and falling of his chest proof that he's deep asleep.

Pricking my ears, I listen for any further sound, but the house is shrouded in silence. It could've been a mouse or that darn cat wandering about. At my request, Miguel had banished him from the bedroom, which the creature took as an opportunity to cause all kinds of mischief in the rest of the house. Oddly enough, everyone else, including Miguel, loves him to pieces.

All of a sudden, I'm in need of fresh air. I open the balcony door a crack and squeeze outside. Tension has a firm grip on me, an inner unrest turning my insides out. I clutch the rail and inhale a mouthful. The air is cool and crisp, the slight headache I battled during dinner vanished. It's peaceful out here. When I look at the few scattered lights in the distance, the violence and despair that roams the streets during the day has faded into the darkness. It's an illusion, but it's all I have to hold onto.

A shadow crosses the lawn and I squint for a better look. Is that a person? I'm about to scream an alarm when the sound of machine-gun fire breaks through the night. I drop to the ground and take cover behind the balustrade. The mansion is hidden from view, but there's always a chance that a sniper could break through the defenses.

Loud shouts echo through the house, but the Spanish words hammer down on me so quickly that my brain can't comprehend their meaning. The cold wind adds to my irritation and my teeth chatter violently. I need to get inside; out here, I'm a sitting duck.

I leap forward, rolling over my left shoulder to get back to my feet the way Tomás taught us in basic training. The bed is now empty, the bedroom door wide open. Rattling of automatic weapons booms in my ears. A war is raging on the ground floor.

My first instinct demands I hide, but then I decide that escaping is my most viable option for survival. I could get to safety through the secret passage in the basement that Tomás showed me. If this is a rebel raid, who knows what they'll do to me if they capture me. As Miguel's wife, I could become a pawn in the war.

When I step into the hallway, I duck down next to the big oak closet to assess the situation. My heart beats so fast that it causes havoc in my chest. Up here, all is quiet, the fighting going on three flights below. I dart across the landing to get to the stairs and almost collide with a dark figure. Out of reflex, I raise my fists, barely able to silence a shriek. Before I can attack him, a flashlight illuminates his face. It's Santino.

"Have you seen Naiara?" He is calm, like he has no worries in the world.

I shake my head, the fright still resonating in my bones.

"Here, take this key. It's for the gun closet in my study. You should find plenty of weapons you know how to use."

"What about you? Don't you need a gun?"

He gives me a beaming smile that is usually reserved for public appearances. "I have everything I need. Go get them, soldier. This is a direct order from your president."

I almost laugh in his face. If he thinks I'll risk my life for his regime, he has something else coming. Those times have long passed.

When a second figure appears out of nowhere, he covers my mouth with his hand to muffle my yelp. The pounding of my heart is now so rapid that the pauses in between are no longer distinguishable. Recognizing Charo, I let out a shaky breath. My body relaxes. It's Santino's cue to loosen his grip.

"Did you find her?"

Charo shakes his head. "I think she's already gone." His gaze scans over me with a vacant expression. Just like Santino, he totally ignores the war that is rocking the other parts of the house.

"Okay, let's go." Santino juts his chin toward his own bedroom. "This way."

Charo glances at me again. "What about her?"

"She'll stay and fight with Miguel."

My smile is thin. I'm sure not going to stick around and wait for the rebels to find me. The escape exit is in the basement, which means I'll have to cross the battle zone. Picking up a gun from his study might come in handy.

After Santino and Charo disappear in the president's bedroom, I skip down the stairs, keeping low with my back covered by the tall banister. Just as during my fight with Emilien, Tomás's instructions bounce around in my head.

Keep your back to the wall.

Stay out of the crossfire.

Be alert at all times.

I control my breathing, my pounding heartbeat slowing, but my mouth is dry like cotton wool. When gunfire erupts just a few yards away, I clench my jaw, my tongue a casualty as my teeth dig into it. A metallic taste floods my mouth just as a body drops to the ground. This time, it's my own hand that stifles the scream. The all-consuming darkness makes it impossible to ascertain whether this is an enemy casualty or one of Santino's men.

The body is lying right at the feet of the stairs on the first-floor landing. I'll have to climb over it to get to Santino's office. I squat farther down, my eyes squinting to make out any movement. The body lies perfectly still. He's probably dead.

Deciding to continue my descent down the stairs, I jump over the still body and leap forward, rolling over my shoulder to avoid the shooter. I land in front of the door to Santino's study. Twisting around, I rest my back against the wall. I check for any type of movement, my ears pricking for sounds. All stays quiet.

I push the door to the study open and squint; it's hard to make out the outline of the furniture. Just moments later, I catch a break when the clouds decide to move on. The full moon casts the room and parts of the hallway in a dim light. My gaze zooms in on the closet next to the safe; that must be where Santino keeps his guns.

About to enter the study, I glance at the body at the bottom of the steps one more time. An iron claw digs into my throat, killing my wail. For the first time in my life, I wish for tears to obstruct my vision, but they have totally dried up. Nothing diminishes the terrible sight. At the same time, my gaze refuses to stray.

The moon only illuminates the upper part of his body, but that's enough for me to be certain who the glassy eyes belong to. There have been times I wanted him dead, but now that he is, my heart shatters. In that moment, all those terrible memories—the rape, the beatings, the mistrust—are erased, only leaving fondness in their place.

A sliver of hope stirs in my heart. Maybe he has a chance of survival. Like a moth to a flame, I'm drawn to him. Ignoring everything I've ever learned in basic training, I stumble over to the still body. My knees buckle as I try desperately to find just the smallest glimmer of life in his eyes. With trembling fingers, I stroke his forehead and through his thick hair, his cold skin giving me shivers. That's when it finally hits me.

Miguel is dead.

The firing of a gun below startles me. I'm back to my feet, closing the gap to the office with two long strides. The gun closet is only six feet away, two steps, maybe three. I wrap my fingers tightly around Santino's key in my pocket.

Before I can leap forward, the scratching sound makes my hair stand on end. My senses pick up the presence of another person in the room. I lunge to get to the gun closet, but I'm grabbed and pulled back. I struggle in my attacker's arms, trying to get into the right position to jam my knee into his groin. Whoever this jerk is, he's no rookie to fighting. His body keeps me locked at an angle where I can't cause any real damage to him. Burning pain from my broken rib shoots up into my lungs and down my spine, sucking the strength right out of me.

For a few seconds, I break free, just to gasp when a bag is pulled over my head. Darkness swallows the world around me. The smell of rough cloth irritates my nostrils and my breath becomes heavy. I battle the assailant still holding me firmly in place as sweat trickles down my face. I begin to lose my footing. Nausea crawls up my throat; my head is pounding. In a last-ditch effort, I dig my fingernails into his skin; when I claw my way down his arm, a low hiss gives me new momentum. The cat would be so proud.

The tight grip loosens for just a quick heartbeat before the two arms wrap around me like a tear-resistant rope. My last strength is squeezed out of me and the throbbing in my skull multiplies. My head is ready to burst wide open.

As my fading mind pulls me down, I manage to pick up a shouted name.

Shadow Chaser.

That's the bastard I'll hunt down if I ever wake up again. The darkness sucks me in. I spiral deeper and deeper into a bottomless chasm.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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