Glistening coils of guts spilling from a gaping wound.

It gets easier.

Torn-off legs jutting from a mine crater.

It gets easier.

Flying mush from an exploding head.

It gets easier.

The sensation of falling jolts me awake. Sitting up in my bed, I'm covered in cold sweat, the taste of roadkill in my mouth.

Fuck.

What a nightmare. I wipe my face to get the haunting images out of my mind. My gaze falls on the alarm clock on the nightstand. The red numbers glow eerily in the dark and show 5:23. Though my limbs feel as if they've been stuffed with lead, I decide to get up and take a shower.

When I check my messages, my forehead wrinkles. Mateo wants to meet me at nine o'clock at some place on Forbidden Hills. What that's all about? He'll probably bring up the rebel stuff and I don't feel like going, but it's time to tell him about New York. He already will be pissed that I didn't confide in him earlier, even though Pearson might've told him anyway.

I go for a quick jog before hopping into the shower. The cold water refreshes me and I trim my goatee a little bit. Sliding into a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt, I lock eyes with my mirror image. My face has changed. The last time I consciously looked at myself, I saw a boy. Now I'm a man.

I take my time with breakfast and leave the compound just before eight. Driving down the hilly road, I soak in the peacefulness of the mountains. God, I'm gonna miss this place, that is if I decide to go. New York is full of pollution, nothing like the crisp morning air. And then all those cars and people. I don't like crowds. It would definitely take some adjusting. But it might help those nightmares to stop.

I stay on the mountain road to avoid the town and soon pass the hospital at the bottom of Forbidden Hills. Mateo's text said that I should take a left into the fifth driveway. Who lives there and how does my brother know them? The road snakes up through the hills; bent trees on either side remind me of an archway. It's quiet up here. And clean. Not one piece of garbage is scattered by the road side. As I get higher and higher up into the mountains, the forest thickens. The properties I pass are surrounded by walls with gates in front of the driveways. How am I even going to get in?

In the next sharp bend, I almost miss the driveway on the left. The gates are wide open and they look as if they haven't been closed in a while. The iron is rusty and one of the gates is only held up by a hinge. The garden next to to the path leading up to the house is equally unkempt with overgrown bushes and a few fallen trees. Knee-high grass is spotted with weeds. Whoever owns this place doesn't live here—unless they are too stingy for a gardener.

I pull up to the house, or at least what's left of it. Scratching my head, I stare at the ruins. Only a few pieces of the former walls are left standing with weeds covering the majority of the bricks. From what I can see, it had been a massive house, about four times the size of the average townhouse. If the orphanage van weren't parked next to an eucalyptus tree, I would've turned around and left, sure that Mateo had given me the wrong directions.

With slight hesitation, I get out of my Jeep. "Mateo. Where are you?"

"Back here."

His voice comes from behind a wall so overgrown that it looks like a hedge. I walk around and find him sitting on an old stone bench. The spectacular view captures me. Mountains and fields as far as the eye reaches. So peaceful and untouched. This property definitely has potential. It's surprising that no one has torn the ruins down and built a new house.

"Isn't this an amazing view?" Mateo's gaze lingers in the distance.

"Yes, it's pretty cool."

"Mom used to sit here for hours, just staring at the mountains. It was her favorite spot."

My brows arch. "Mom used to live here?"

"Yes. Her and Dad. This is where they raised us until they were killed."

I have no memories of my parents, and as far as I know, Mateo isn't in a much better position on that front. "How do you know?"

"Yolanda told me."

Not her again. "You guys seem pretty chummy these days."

"I guess you could say that." He smiles. "Speaking of chummy, when were you going to tell me you're moving to America?"

I lean against the hedge wall. "I don't know, Mateo. I guess our timing was off."

"Pearson said you're going soon."

"In about three weeks."

"That soon. What about Rosanna?"

"She's coming with me."

His sigh is filled with frustration. "You're making a mistake, Tomás. As far as I can tell, you're only doing this for her. Deep down, you don't want to leave. You love Malaguay. This is your home."

That's my dilemma in a nutshell, but something inside me rears up in stubborn opposition. I didn't ask for his opinion, so he shouldn't tell me what to do. "You are wrong. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

He snorts. "Now you sound like Pearson's parrot." His glare cuts into me. "This isn't you. You need the discipline and the structure of the military—it's what you thrive on. Playing the violin all day will bore you."

Another good point. Although I love playing the violin and even get totally lost in my music at times, it might not be enough. I dismiss it as a selfish thought. The sacrifice will pay off in the end. "Rosanna deserves a life away from the war and violence. When I leave the house in the morning, I want her to know that there's a good chance I'll return at night."

"And there you go again. You're doing this for her. One day, you'll wake up and realize it was a mistake, and then you'll hate her. And you'll hate your child. You can't compromise your own dreams for someone else's."

I shake my head. "I will always love her and the baby. They are my family."

"Just promise me you'll think about it some more before you get onto that airplane."

"Sure thing."

My intent to subdue him works. He smiles. Just in that moment, a car pulls up. The driver kills the engine, so it's not someone who has gotten lost and is trying to turn around. A car door opens and closes.

"Are you expecting company, Mateo?"

"You'll see."

A woman in her mid-thirties pokes her head around the hedge wall. Familiar hazel eyes lock with mine. Her features are so similar to those of my brother that they could be twins if they were the same age. This can only be our sister.

"Hi, guys." Her smile carries hope.

I'm not up for a family reunion. "I should go."

"No, stay. Yolanda came to talk to you."

"It's a little late for that." Exactly sixteen years too late. "I have nothing to say to her."

"Please, Tomás, just listen to her side of the story. She's your sister and deserves that chance, especially with you leaving for America."

I glare at her. She has stepped out from behind the wall with a pleading look on her face. Why did Mateo have to pull me into this? "Fine. Five minutes."

She bites her lip. "Maybe it's easier if you ask me questions."

"Sure, why not? Let's start with this one. Why the hell didn't you come at least once and check on us at the orphanage?"

"To answer that, you must understand the situation I was in when Mom and Dad died. I was already married to Enrique and after I became pregnant, his family had accepted me as one of their own. That's the only reason why I was spared the night of the overthrow. However, they made me renounce any ties I had with the Araya name and Dad's government. That included my brothers. If I had visited you, I don't know what they would've done."

Probably shunned her like our mom. One point for her. "How was it before the overthrow?"

"Not that different than it is now, at least not for the leading families. The commoners were treated much better. Dad had started mandatory schooling and he was getting a lot of aid from America. We didn't only depend on the drug trade. He also started a lot of the free services that are still available today. Merchants were coming in from neighboring countries and you could actually buy stuff that's now only available in the foreign section."

Sounds like freaking paradise. "And what did Dad have to give the Americans in return?"

"I honestly have no idea. I mean, you know how it is. A girl is kept out of politics. They say it's unbecoming for a lady." She snorts, and for the first time, I see the Araya attitude in her.

"And Mom and Dad, how were they?"

Her face softens. "Dad worked a lot, but when we did family things together, he was the funniest guy. Really down-to-earth and not like those snobs that run the country now."

"Well, yeah, he was a commoner." Probably fought for acceptance his whole life just like I'm doing now.

"Mom was the kindest person you could find. She was smart, too. I know Dad listened to her, at least when it came to programs for kids. Did you know that she built the orphanage with Pearson?"

If I had a cent for every time I've heard that about my mom, I would be rich. "So they were the perfect parents?"

"There is no such thing as perfection, Tomás. They had their issues. Every couple has."

"I suppose." What problems will I face with Rosanna? I dismiss the thought. We aren't even married yet.

"Okay, last question." Although I'd love to drill her some more, I'm running out of time. The embassy is on the other side of town and the appointment is in an hour. I can't be late. Getting the visas will keep my options open, even if I decide to call the whole thing off at the last minute. "If Dad was a commoner, how did he get into power?"

"Through Mom. He used to deliver fruits and vegetables to all the households on Forbidden Hills and Mom told me it was love at first sight. They got married in a secret ceremony. When her family found out, they disowned her, but she didn't care. They lived in a house in town and I'm not even sure if she knew he was leading the resistance. The night when government leaders changed, he stood up and declared himself the new president. Mom was right by his side and urged the leading families to fall in line. Ramirez, the one in charge before Dad, was a tyrant. Everyone was glad to get rid of him, so they were open to change."

I heard stories about Ramirez. He had executed commoners for mere sport, as a warning not to mess with him. Of course, the leading families didn't have to fear death, but they were stripped of a lot of their privileges. It's actually pretty cool that Dad led the resistance against him. Yolanda was ten when Dad became president and probably still remembers those times when they had lived in fear and terror.

My gaze flicks to my watch. I need to get out of here. "Well, it was good talking to you and clearing up some things."

"My door is always open if you have more questions or just want to talk." The hope is back in her smile.

"Yeah, I'll see." If I have time in the next few weeks, I'd really like to drill her some more. Not that I've forgiven her or trust her—that won't happen—but she has piqued my curiosity.

I'm just about to head to the Jeep when she holds me back. "Tomás, this property was always meant for you or Mateo. Though technically, it belongs to my husband, he wants no part of it. We've had buyer interest over the years, but I was able to convince him to hold on to the plot. I mean, this used to be our home. Mateo said that you'll get married soon and start a family, so we both agree that you should have it. You could build a beautiful house here."

I gaze at the mountains. It's an amazing spot. Too bad Rosanna and I are probably leaving.

"I'm moving out of the country soon, so it'll just be a waste."

"Still. You might come back."

That's doubtful. So far, I haven't mentioned America to Varela since I'm convinced he'll try to prevent me from leaving the country. He might even classify me as a traitor, meaning I could never come back.

Fuck.

This decision is hard enough without the mounting problems. "Well, I really have to run. I hope to see you before I go."

The building pressure is giving me a headache and the only thing I'm clear about is that I love Rosanna.

~~~~

Growing up, the US embassy was something like a shrine. Pearson took me there once when he got his passport renewed and I stood on top of the seal in the middle of the entrance hall and stared at the picture of the US president next to the flag. Back then, I dreamed of going to America. Now that it appears that the dream will become a reality, I'm not convinced that it's what I actually want. The excited glow on Rosanna's face adds to my unease; I don't want to disappoint her and risk losing her and the baby. All in all, I'm backed into a corner.

With a sigh, I step through the heavy doors leading into a reception area. A thorough body check I find intrusive is next. We are admitted to the entrance hall, but the room has lost its inspiring appeal. Fact is, the whole building is just a standard office the size of the compound's mess hall with the ambassador's residence upstairs. Nothing spectacular at all.

Rosanna, Pearson, and I are guided into a plain room without a window. A desk takes up more than half the space and I can barely move the visitor's chair back far enough not to jam my knees. Rosanna sits on her hands and chews her lip. Pearson doesn't even try sitting down; his long legs will never fit.

We wait. Minutes turn into an hour. I'm about to suggest rescheduling the appointment when a man enters the room. The dark blond fringe that partially covers his face doesn't take away from the coldness of his stare. His watery blue eyes remind me of a dead fish.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, folks. My name is Devon O'Farrell and I'll be conducting your visa interview."

I glance at Pearson. He said that we only needed to drop off some paperwork. Not once did he mention that this is an interview.

For the next thirty minutes, we run through my forms. O'Farrell asks me a bunch of questions about my rank and what type of tasks I do in the military before he moves on to the weapons I'm trained on. I keep my answers purposely vague, but he keeps digging.

At some point, Pearson interrupts him. "He got the college acceptance letter, the F-1 visa sponsorship, and the necessary funds. Not sure why his current job has anything to do with him studying in the States, but we could always ask the ambassador to join us so he can explain."

The guy glares at Pearson and stamps my form. "Your visa application has been granted, Mr. Araya. Now to your wife."

I grab Rosanna's hand. "We are actually not married yet."

He arches his brows. "Then I'm afraid I won't be able to process her visa until you are. Only spouses of students qualify."

My jaw drops. I stare at Pearson. That wasn't part of the agreement.

He is totally calm. "I discussed this with the ambassador yesterday. They'll be submitting the marriage certificate when they pick up the visas."

"I wasn't aware and will need to confirm this with Mr. Rollins, but if he agrees, you should be all set. You can pick up everything three weeks from today." The guy sweeps our paperwork into a folder.

That's cutting it close. The flight will only be a day after that. What will happen if there's a delay? I gaze at Pearson, who stays quiet. If there were anything to worry about, it would show in his face.

Two MPs guide us out into the street. I glance back at the heavy doors closing behind us. Definitely not an experience I need to repeat. With a wrinkled forehead, I turn to Pearson. "What's going on?"

"Just before this appointment, I spoke to a friend in the States who is an immigration lawyer to check if there was any loophole, but it appears that marriage is the only way for Rosanna to get the visa."

Before I even have time to exhale, Rosanna has her arms around my neck. "Oh my god, does that mean we're getting married?"

Her excitement is catching and I spin her around in my arms. Backing out is no longer an option. With her as my wife, this move to America will be for the best. It's what my family deserves.

~~~~~

© Sal Mason 2018

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