For the rest of the drive, neither of us talks. I brood in silence while Tomás stares ahead, his mind in a different world. A few times, I glance at him, but he doesn't acknowledge me.

When we pull up at the compound, I jump out of the Jeep. Although I would like nothing more than to get away from him, I know that this won't be an option. Until I settle back into my life in Malaguay, he will continue to watch me like a hawk. That means I'll have to constantly be on my toes. The strain and the growing tension scrape over my frayed nerves like a steel brush, filling me with an inner unrest that is draining. Now I'm glad Daniel was so hard on me; otherwise, I would've lost it by now.

"Let's grab a bite to eat," Tomás's suggests.

I nod and trudge behind him into the mess hall after. The place is packed, but the atmosphere has totally changed. Hardly anyone talks and the soldiers chew their food with sullen expressions. Only a few very young faces are scattered throughout; most are in their late teens.

When I step to the food counter, my eyes go wide. The selection on offer had always been meager, but even those few dishes have been replaced by bare necessities. Pots filled with rice and beans stand next to a pile of flatbread, the fruit bowl totally empty. Water is the only beverage.

"What happened to this place?" I ask, baffled.

"We hit a few bumps in our fundraising activities." Tomás scoops a generous amount of rice on a plate and hands it to me. "Hopefully, that will change since you're on board now."

He loads up a second plate, this time with a mixture of rice and beans before giving the kitchen help behind the table a small nod. She produces two apples.

"Sólo una para mí." He takes only one and places it on his plate.

The second apple disappears.

I nudge him in the side. "Oh, I can't have one?"

"Over the next few days, you should still take it easy on the acid to give your stomach time to adjust. Stick to starchy foods."

I toss him a dark look, not really sure if he's concerned with my health or is simply not willing to share with a potential traitor. We settle at a table close to the food counter. The rice is bland, but I'm famished and choke it down. Tomás chews in silence, his mind again on something else.

"Tomás."

When he doesn't react, I snap my fingers in front of his eyes.

"Hmm?"

"What happened while I was gone?"

"War happened, Stacy." He bites into the apple, chewing slowly. "A lot of people died in the first couple of weeks when the fighting was going on in the capital, but then we were able to drive the rebels back into the mountains. Since there were barely any building supplies, most of the houses couldn't be rebuilt. People have been staying with relatives or in the church." His voice is flat, as if he were telling me about the weather they've had since I left.

"We are distributing public food rations just to keep the families from starving, but there's nothing in the shops. Luckily, the UN just lifted a lot of the economic sanctions, so once we have funds, we can pay for imports to get people back on track."

"What about the orphanage?"

"Pearson got himself a couple of tents and has been taking in more boys, but even he has problems getting supplies." He signals to one of the younger soldiers to come over.

When Tomás offers him the apple core, I gasp. The young boy grins from ear to ear as he devours the part of the apple I've tossed into the trash my entire life. I can't hold his gaze when he smiles at me—there's the same type of hope in his eyes that I had seen on the face of the little girl who offered me flowers on my wedding day.

The young solider returns to his table and Tomás finds my eyes. "The worst part is that we don't have any medicine. They had to amputate limbs without anesthetic. Most soldiers go into shock and die, but even those who do make it aren't right afterward. Some mothers die in childbirth because we can't get the hospital sterile, and even the flu can become a deadly enemy if you are weak or old. It has been hell, Stacy."

The few spoonfuls of rice sit in my stomach like a chunk of cement. I had suspected that people were suffering, but I never expected it to be that bad. "It's all because of Miguel, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry." He squeezes my hand. "I know you miss him, but you should realize what kind of person he was. In the end, it was all about him and his need for power. He couldn't have cared less about Malaguay or the people."

Even though Tomás's hand feels heavy and I want to pull away, his touch provides comfort. He gazes at me, his eyes softer than they've been since my return. A warm tingle in my cheeks finally causes me to look away.

"Where did they bury him?"

"Dios mío, Stacy, why do you always have to ask these types of questions?" He rakes his fingers through his short hair. "He was a traitor of the worst kind, so they didn't give him a burial."

"Then what did they do with his body?" My voice is low, almost timid.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"He was my husband, Tomás. I have to know."

He still hesitates. "They strung him up to a pole right outside the city and let him rot. The condors got him in the end. I think a couple of bones are still around in case you're interested."

The sudden nausea is overwhelming. I leap to the bathroom, barely able to close the stall door behind me before the rice spills almost fully undigested into the toilet. As I continue to choke, tears run down my face. Miguel didn't deserve that. No one does. It's inhumane, and if his father had only one decent bone in his body, he would've given him a proper funeral.

The stall door hits my back and I look up to find Tomás in the doorframe. Without a word, he pulls me to my feet and wraps his arms around me. I bury my nose into his shoulder. A few times, my body shakes from a sob, but his even heartbeat and the warmth from his embrace settle me.

His thumb and index finger pinch my chin and he tilts my head back. His eyes are darker than usual, the same indigo blue that paints the sky before the sun disappears. My skin tingles, the heat of his breath drying the wet streaks on my cheeks. When he releases me, a sudden emptiness fills my heart.

He turns toward the sink and turns on the faucet. "Here, sprinkle some water on your face and rinse out your mouth. It'll make you feel better."

The water is cold and refreshing. As I let it run over my wrists, I watch him. He's turning his head from left to right to get a better look at himself in the mirror. Lips slightly puckered, he picks at his goatee.

"By the way, I forgot to ask you. How did the rebels capture you?"

The nonchalance in his tone raises all kinds of warning flags. "It was when they raided the mansion."

"You could've taken the escape in the basement I showed you."

"I was trying to, but they caught me and knocked me out before I could get to it."

"I see. Did you know they killed Miguel?"

"I saw him get shot." My voice is thick. It's still hard to talk about. "It was horrible."

"I can imagine since you loved him so much." His smile is smug and nothing short of insincere. "And how did the rebels knock you out?"

Daniel's warning rings in my ears. Stick to as many true details as possible. "Someone pulled a bag over my head. I was trying to fight him, but I think the bag was drenched in some type of sedative."

"Yeah, it was probably chloroform. It's a common trick they use." His smile is a tad more sincere. "You must've been scared."

I snicker. "Mad was more like it. But what really kept me alive was all that stuff you taught us during basic training. It kept replaying in my head."

His brows arch. "Well, I'm glad it helped." He beats me to turning off the faucet. "We should go. Hector is probably already wondering where we are."

"Who is Hector?"

"You'll see."

He leads me out of the bathroom and through the mess hall. As soon as we step outside, the bright sun stings my eyes. I squint at an approaching figure. The man who's maybe in his late twenties looks totally out of place with his Air Jordans and Ralph Lauren shirt. Fashionable sunglasses cover his eyes. The only Malaguian thing about him is the gun strapped in a holster under his armpit.

"Stacy, this is Hector. He's Ramon's cousin from Colombia and has been helping us with our funding situation. Be a good girl and say hello."

In response to my timid "hi, what's up," Hector grumbles something inaudible but otherwise ignores me.

"We've got some trouble out in Factory Four," he tells Tomás. "One of the workers thought he could outsmart us by not turning over all of the product. I was just about to go and take care of it."

Tomás nudges my shoulder. "Splendid. That'll give Stacy some great insight into what's involved. Let's all go together."

His chipper tone and Hector's frown don't sit well with me; I'm sure Tomás is trying to pull a fast one on me.

He opens the car door for me. "Sit up front. Hector will drive."

My forehead wrinkles. Usually, I'm expected to sit in the back when there's more than one guy in the car. Tomás beams at me innocently and I decide not to press the issue. Whatever drives his sudden chivalry suits me just fine. My stomach is still tight from vomiting and I might get sick again in the back seat.

We take the road around the city, staying mostly on the mountain paths even though the many bends are slowing us down. At the turn for the orphanage, I crane my neck, but I'm unable to catch a glimpse of the buildings. Tomás's gaze is glued to my face the entire time. It's jarring. I twitch under his stare, the atmosphere in the Jeep becoming more pressing with every curve.

"So, Stacy, are you from the States?" Hector asks.

"Yes." When I realize that only hot air has escaped my mouth, I clear my throat. "I'm from Indiana."

"Nice place. I went to the Indy 500 once when I studied at the University of Pennsylvania." He smiles at me. "I loved living in the States."

I return a crooked smile. Miguel went to Harvard, so do most of the world's drug dealers receive a degree from US Ivy League colleges? "What did you study?"

"Law. It comes in handy when they catch one of our mules."

My smile turns even more crooked since I have no idea how to respond, though Hector doesn't appear to expect an answer. He fiddles with his phone and drives along the narrow road with only one hand on the wheel. Tomás and I exchange a glance. He doesn't look as smug anymore.

"Hey, mano, do you want me to drive?"

"No, it's cool." Hector snorts. "My girl sent me a text that she wants me home on the weekends. She needs to be laid, man, that's all."

My cheeks tingle at the crude remark.

Tomás bends forward and his breath fans my ear. "Don't blush, princess. You wanted to take a peek at men's business, so don't complain when we treat you like one of the guys."

I shoot him a dark look over my shoulder. "Is that all men ever think about?"

"You mean sex?" He laughs. "Yeah, pretty much. That and money."

Luckily, Hector moves his second hand back on the wheel when he almost loses control of the Jeep in the next bend. His "oops" is the only apology we get. Tomás winks at me. I have had enough male bonding for one day and choose to indulge in beauty of the forest. The scent of wet moss and flowers lingers in the air, the hint of wildlife peaceful. The warm air is soothing. In Indiana, it's the midst of winter. Maybe my family will have snow for Christmas. Not even a week left till then. The thought that I will once again spend the holidays without them fills my heart with sadness.

Heading up a steep incline, Hector accelerates. The wind caresses my face. We drive farther into the forest, passing by several coca fields that fill large, manmade clearings. Finally, the Jeep pulls up in front of a few structures.

The factory is nothing more than simple sheds made from corrugated metal. The heat in the small areas that Tomás leads me through is unbearable, the smell of the chemicals almost making me gag. As he inspects a crate filled with large bags of cocaine, he, Hector, and another man who seems to be the foreman exchange rapid spates of Spanish. Tomás ushers me out the door into a small backyard.

I halt in my tracks at the sight in front of me. A young man who couldn't be much older than me is on his knees with his arms secured behind his back. His wrists are raw from the cable ties that cut into his skin whenever he twitches. As soon as he notices us, he fights against the restraints. Spanish pleas drift our way.

Tomás stops right in front of him and yells something I don't understand.

Tears run down the man's face. "Por favor, no quiero morir," he mutters over and over again. His eyes scream for mercy.

Most of the words translate in my mind and I can't hold his gaze. He doesn't want to die.

"This shouldn't take long." Hector pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He's totally unfazed by the display of desperation.

When the gravity of the situation finally filters into my brain, I clutch my hand over my mouth. "Is Tomás going to kill him?"

Tomás spins around. "No, Tomás isn't going to kill him." He pulls out his gun and snaps off the safety. Sliding a bullet into the chamber, he holds on to the barrel, offering me the grip. "You'll do it, Stacy."

I take a step back, shaking my head violently from side to side. "No way."

I ball my hands into fists; my fingers are like solid ice. Breathing becomes an effort. We glare at each other and the world around us dissolves.

"You wanted to play with the big boys." Tomás's words are so cold they chill my blood. "Part of that is enforcing the rules when someone tries to steal from us."

I take another step back, ready to bolt, but my flight route is cut off when I collide with Hector.

"You have to do it, Stacy," he whispers, his voice just as cold as Tomás's. "You'll lose face if you don't prove yourself to us."

"Please. I can't do this."

"Why not?" A vicious smile tugs at the corners of Tomás's lips. "You killed before, so it shouldn't be difficult. Besides, he works with the rebels. That's who he sold the drugs to. After what they did to you, hell, after what they did to Miguel when he was a little boy, you shouldn't have mercy on any of them." His brows arch. "Unless, of course, you're working for them."

I whimper. "Please, Tomás."

"No backing out, Stacy, unless you want to die in his stead. Admit you're trying to set us up and I'll let him go." He pushes the grip of the gun against my fist.

In a daze, I clutch the cool metal. As soon as I have control of the weapon, Tomás steps aside. I stumble toward the kneeling man on the ground.

His whole body trembles. "Por favor, no me dispares."

Raising my arm, I can't hold the gun steady. I gaze at Tomás; he glares back without flinching. The whole situation is surreal. I lock eyes with the young man. He's as terrified as I am, but he will die regardless. If I kill him, at least I have a chance at survival.

Pushing the barrel of the gun against his forehead, I turn my head.

Pull the trigger!

A small sob shakes my body and a few tears roll down my cheeks. I'm barely able to keep the weapon upright. If I had eaten more, I would probably hurl. Time comes to a standstill. I stand next to this weeping man in the center of a dusty yard, surrounded by crates of cocaine, and almost laugh out at the madness. What in God's name am I doing? I'm not prepared to willfully take a human life.

I lower the gun. "I'm sorry. I can't do it." With wobbly knees, I move away from the man and the puddle that has formed under his crotch. I fully expect to feel the barrel of Hector's gun against the back of my head. Nothing happens. Step by step, the distance grows until I'm stopped by the wall of the shed.

To my surprise, Tomás offers me a small smile. Almost lazily, he walks over to me and takes the gun out of my hand. His arm rises without the slightest hesitation, the boom of the discharging bullet resonating painfully in my ears. When blood spills from the center of the young man's forehead, I sink to the ground. At first, I can't take my eyes off his glassy stare, but then I bury my face against my thighs.

"Congrats, Stacy. You passed the test."

I look up at Tomás. "What do you mean?"

"If you had shot him, it would've proven that Mateo brainwashed you. Killing isn't in your nature, so it would've raised all kinds of red flags."

I want to punch him and spit in his face for putting me through this "test," as he calls it, but mental exhaustion hits me like a brick. I'm unable to move, my body filled with emptiness. Why did I ever agree to Devon's stupid plan? This is much more than what I bargained for.

Tomás barks orders at the workers who drag the corpse away. Hector lowers himself next to me, holding up the pack of cigarettes. "Here, want one? Might calm your nerves."

I shake my head.

He lights his own cigarette and smiles. "Welcome to the team, Stacy. Glad to have you on board."

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2016

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