by Rebecca Shea
“What’s your name?” I ask her as she walks back over to me. She sees me struggling and pulls the gown back up, securing the ties behind my neck.
“Shelly. Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself.” She smiles and reaches for my arm. She’s short and round, with a head full of curly brown hair. Latching on to my free arm, she guides me to the bathroom slowly, almost too slowly, and positions me in front of the sink. I stand a good foot taller than her, and she reaches up to apply the shaving cream. Standing on her tiptoes, she gently rubs it around my cheeks, chin, and above my upper lip.
Shelly’s hand shakes as she reaches up and runs the razor down my cheek, and I hold my breath. A shaky hand and a razor to the neck are not my idea of a good time.
“Shelly. If you don’t mind, I’d really like to try and shave myself.”
She hesitates, her blue eyes shifting between mine before she smiles tightly and hands me the razor.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I say jokingly, praying she’ll agree. “And I have no plans to do anything with this razor other than shave.”
She visibly relaxes and takes a step back, watching as I methodically run the razor down my cheeks, my chin, and down my neck. I take my time, savoring the feel of the smooth metal gliding over my skin.
When I hand the razor back to Shelly, she hands me a wet washcloth, and I wipe the remaining shaving cream off my face. I brush my teeth as best I can with my left hand, and Shelly collects the washcloth and towels before guiding me back to the bed.
“Feel better?” she asks as I settle in and she adjusts the pillow under my arm.
“I do. Thank you for your help.”
“Well, you just push that call button if you need anything else.” She dims the lights as she quietly leaves, and I lie back on the bed, anxiety now coursing through me.
All I can think about is Emilia.
I WAKE UP to a light rap on my hospital door before I hear it open. Agent Hoffman enters the room, along with Dr. Rusten.
“Mr. Estrada,” Dr. Rusten says as I rub my eyes and yawn. “Today is your lucky day. You’re being discharged into the custody of the U.S. Marshals service.”
“I haven’t signed anything yet,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Agent Hoffman. “That would make me a free man.”
“Negative,” Hoffman barks at me. “We have enough evidence to hold you on multiple felony charges. So, I can take you with me, and we can get you booked into jail, or you can sign the agreement you told your brother you were going to sign, and I can turn you over to the U.S. Marshals. Your choice.” He smirks at me, his demeanor arrogant.
My heart rate picks up, but I force back my anger and nod politely. “I just need the agreement, and I’ll sign it.”
“Emilia Adams isn’t part of the agreement. You understand that, right?”
“I do,” I say quietly, my heart sinking. It’s what’s best, I tell myself. It’s best for her and our baby. She’ll be free of me and the train wreck of my life that I brought her into, and our child will never know the madness that I lived. I’m conflicted as I sit here. One part of me feels peace, the other sadness of never knowing what our lives could be like together.
“Cortez is busy this morning, but I’ll take you with me to the office, and I’ll have a copy of the agreement for you to sign. We’ll arrange for the U.S. Marshals to take custody of you there. The location is secure,” he says.
As if I’m worried about my own life at this point. I don’t give a fuck if I live or die. I’m worried about Emilia. This is all for Emilia.
I swallow hard and simply nod as he speaks. I’m not even sure what he’s saying as my heart pounds and blood swishes through my ears. My final moments as Alejandro Estrada are here—now. I’ll be someone new by morning.
A backpack lands at the end of the bed, and Hoffman gestures to it. “Some clothes from your place. I’ll be waiting outside.”
He turns quickly and disappears into the hallway, leaving me with Dr. Rusten. The doctor quietly goes about his business, clicking away at his laptop before he stills and looks at me. “I’ve printed discharge orders. They’ll be waiting at the desk. Please pick them up on your way out. You’ll need to follow up with a physician and get your physical therapy arranged.” His voice is quiet, somber, like he can feel the heaviness of my decision weighing on me. “I’ll send in a nurse to help you get dressed. And…” He pauses, giving me a small hopeful smile. “I wish you the best, Mr. Estrada.”
“Thank you,” I barely manage on a whisper. I hope for the best too.
When Dr. Rusten leaves, I sit at the edge of the bed for a few moments. Staring at the backpack. This is all I have left of my life—clothes. I shake my head at the thought when I remember Emilia. Beautiful Emilia who walked into my life with nothing more than what I have sitting right here—a backpack of clothes, and that was all she needed. She was happy with what she had—even when she had nothing at all. I can learn from her. I have learned from her.
I unzip the backpack and pull out a pair of boxer briefs, jeans, t-shirt, socks, and tennis shoes. I lay them on the bed next to me when the door behind me opens.
“Let me help you with that, my man.” A young man in scrubs saunters over and reaches for my clothes.
“First time I’ve had a male nurse,” I mutter as I check his badge that reads “Michael Clark, RN.”
He chuckles under his breath at my ignorance. “Just be glad it wasn’t me to give you a sponge bath.” He laughs as I step into my boxers and he pulls them up. He unties my gown and releases the sling from my shoulder, then helps me into my jeans and socks, but there’s no way that t-shirt is going over my shoulder.
He pulls the backpack off the bed and rummages through a few more items. “A button-down. Perfect.” He pulls a plaid button-down from the bag. “This’ll fit over your bandages,” he says, sliding the arm carefully over my shoulder.
I slide my feet into my Nikes, and he ties them for me. I shove my t-shirt back into my backpack and zip it up.
“Thanks for the help,” I mumble and pull the backpack over my good shoulder. He follows me to the door, and I pull it open with my left hand. Hoffman is talking to the guard outside my door and turns his head when he sees me.
“Wait here. We have transport coming,” the nurse says as he steps around me and heads to the reception desk down the hall. He comes back with a stack of papers just as a man with a wheelchair shows up.
“Alejandro Estrada?” the older gentleman asks.
“Yes.”
“Take a seat. Your chariot awaits.” He grins at me.
Agent Hoffman rolls his eyes but directs the man where to take me. “We’ve got a car out back. We’ll need to leave through the shipping and receiving dock.”
“Yes, sir,” the man says eagerly as I settle into the wheelchair.
“Put these on.” Hoffman hands me a pair of sunglasses. I look at him, and his eyes widen in annoyance. “Just in case.”
I slide the pair of aviators on my face, and we take off down the quiet hallway. When we reach the loading dock, Agent Hoffman pushes a large metal door open and sunshine temporarily blinds me, even with my sunglasses on. Two unmarked cars are waiting for us, just down a flight of stairs.
“Here we are,” the man from transport says as he flips the brake on. “It’s been a pleasure.” He gives a little bow. I smile at his enthusiasm.
“Ready, Estrada?” Agent Hoffman barks. I’m getting sick of his voice already.
Holding in my retort, I stand up and pull the backpack over my shoulder. “As I’ll ever be,” I respond hesitantly.
I balance myself on the railing and take the concrete steps slowly, still a little unsteady on my feet. Another agent jumps out of the front seat and opens the back door as I approach. Sliding in, I sink into the warm leather seat as the agent leans in and helps me secure my seatbelt.
The ride through the congested downtown streets of Phoenix is silent. My stomach drops as we drive down Central Avenue, right
past my condo. Then I inhale sharply as Café Au Lait comes into view, and I imagine Emilia behind the counter. For the remainder of the ride, I just close my eyes and bury memories, both good and bad, and resign myself to the fate I chose. It should feel good. It should feel like goddamn freedom being out here, not in jail, but it feels like a fucking life sentence in solitary confinement knowing I’ll never again get to see Emilia or meet our baby. My heart sinks at this realization.
WITH MY ELBOWS rested on the conference room table and my head buried in my hands, I listen to the two U.S. Marshals explain the details of my witness protection agreement. Agent Hoffman is next to me, bouncing his knees in anticipation. I want to punch him in the fucking throat.
Yeah, you’re getting your damn agreement. Calm the fuck down.
I feel my lungs constrict when the written and final agreement is presented to me. Hoffman pulls a black pen from the pocket of his dress shirt and slides it across the table to me, and I barely refrain from breaking it in two.
I know I should have an attorney look at this, but the price is too high that an attorney would snitch me out to my father or other associates. Time stands still as I review each sentence carefully, stalling. What for, I don’t know. I’ve already agreed. I don’t have any other options.
“What happens if I don’t sign today?” I ask, looking at the marshal seated across the table from me. His eyes cut to Hoffman, who is growing more agitated by the second. At least I get to see him squirm.
“Nothing,” Hoffman says. “We’ll still ask you to cooperate in the investigation. We’ll still take witness statements. You’ll have full access to protection during the trial, and then you can sign the agreement. We’ll enforce the agreement once we have secured the proper credentials for you. New identity, housing, etc.”
“I’d like to wait then.” I push the paper back toward Hoffman. His hand visibly shakes in anger, and he snatches the paper off the table. “I’ve given you everything you need. I’ll sign anything you need proving I gave you those files. I’ll cooperate, but I just want to wait to sign this. Not yet.” Something inside me stirs. My gut is telling me to wait to sign.
Clearly angry, Hoffman’s jaw ticks and his nostrils flare, but he remains quiet, his eyes fixed on me.
“Mr. Estrada, the sooner you sign, the sooner we can get to work securing everything you’ll need. You can wait, but we’re asking that you don’t wait too long,” one of the marshals says, but I’m not sure which one. I’m holding Hoffman’s angry stare.
“I understand. Thank you,” I say, dismissing them. For now, this is what I want.
The U.S. Marshals excuse themselves, and Agent Hoffman sits back in his chair, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing, Estrada, but I’m done with you. I’m ready to set your ass loose and let your father have his way with you. Nothing would make me happier than finding your body parts scattered across Phoenix in garbage bags like the trash you are.”
Don’t hold back.
I flex my hand and will myself not to lunge at him. Picturing him bloody will have to do for now. I turn my head and stare out the skinny window next to the conference room door. People come and go down the long hallway, going about their lives, their daily routines. Nothing is routine about my life anymore. I’d give anything to walk out of this room and down the street for a coffee. To just blend in with everyone else, to walk the streets knowing I’m not being hunted.
Minutes pass and we sit in silence until Hoffman finally jumps up from his chair. “Let’s go,” he barks, yanking his file folder off the table. He ambles toward the door and I follow him.
But then he stops suddenly near the door, causing me to run into him.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble as I take a step backward.
Then… Holy shit.
Over his shoulder, I see what’s caused him to stop dead.
Emilia.
She’s with Sam, coming down the hallway. Her long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing a sundress, Sam’s hand pressed to the small of her back.
Fucking-mother-fucker.
My blood is instantly boiling. I warned him. I fucking warned him, and he doesn’t listen. Of course he wouldn’t.
I reach angrily for the door to call to her when Agent Hoffman almost slams it shuts on my fingers. He turns around and blocks me from leaving, shoving his back to the door.
“Sit down, Estrada,” he grinds out.
I have to take several deep breaths as I step back and assess the situation. I’m taller than he is. I could take him in a heartbeat. But I’m too distracted to really care about him at the moment.
Through the window, I watch Sam open an office door and hold it open for Emilia. She ducks in and Sam follows, closing the door behind them. She’s so close. My heart is racing, and my palms are damp with sweat.
“I said sit down, Estrada!”
I take a bold step forward into his personal space. “Open. The goddamn door.” My voice is deadly.
“What makes you think she even wants to see you?” he says through gritted teeth. “Haven’t you hurt her enough already?” His question angers me, but it’s the truth. I’ve taken everything good about her and destroyed it. She was innocent and pure, and I was selfish and greedy. I pulled her into my world without giving her a choice.
Still… She’s right fucking there.
“I need to see her.” My voice breaks as I stare at the closed door down at the end of the hall.
“Need and want are two very different things,” Agent Hoffman says. “What you want could screw everything up for you—for us,” he hisses. “I’m not going to let that happen.” He pulls a set of handcuffs from behind his suit jacket and orders me to turn around.
I reluctantly comply. More so because I’m afraid I might beat him to death if he doesn’t stop snapping at me. My fuse is short as it is.
Snapping the cuffs over both wrists, he leans into me from behind. “Watch yourself, Estrada. I will make your life a living hell.”
Like it isn’t already? I know hell. I was living in hell when Emilia became my bright spot, my hope. But I have to let her go now, I tell myself. It’s the promise I made to myself in the hospital. I’m letting her go, our baby go. It’s for the best, for both of them.
Feeling drained, I let Hoffman pull me out of the conference room and lead me in the opposite direction of Emilia.
I RUB MY arms furiously, willing the goose bumps to go away.
“Are you cold?” Sam asks, shrugging out of his suit jacket and handing it to me.
“I’m not cold. Your office just kind of freaks me out.” I look around cautiously because I feel like someone is watching me.
Sam looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “How so?”
“I don’t know. I just get a weird feeling here.” I shiver as I say that. Unease settles in me. There are cameras everywhere, federal agents—guns. I feel out of sorts here, like I’m being watched or recorded.
“I just have to grab a couple of things, then we’ll be out of here. What time is your appointment again?”
“Noon, but since I’m a new patient, I have to be a little early to fill out paperwork. The appointment shouldn’t take long, though. My head feels better, and I don’t have any of the symptoms the paperwork mentions. It should be a routine follow-up.”
He shakes his head slightly. “No, you still have nausea.”
I sigh. “You know that’s not related to my head bump. I had nausea before the injury.” I pick at my fingernail nervously to avoid eye contact.
“Em,” he says quietly as he gathers file folders from his desk. “I’m worried about you.”
I sigh. “Don’t be.” He shouldn’t be worried—I’m not his mess to clean up. I’ve already inconvenienced him enough. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I say it. I mean, I know why I said it, but it’s an apology for so many things.
“For what?”
“For everything. For being such
an inconvenience to you. For complicating your life.” I rest my hand on my stomach. “I promise as soon as you find Antonio, I’m leaving.”
“No,” he blurts out. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re an inconvenience.” He rounds his desk quickly and stands in front of me. His voice is panicked. “I want you to stay.” He reaches out and grips my upper arms, forcing me to look at him. “I want you to stay, Em.”
“Why?” I ask him, confused. I’m pregnant with his brother’s baby. I have nothing to offer him. I’ll just be a burden. “I’m a burden.”
“You’re not. You’d never be a burden.” His thumbs rub soft circles into the sensitive skin of my arms. “Come here.” He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting embrace. “I want you to stay,” he whispers into my hair as he holds me. “I need you to stay.” My mind struggles with why Sam would need me to stay, but it feels good to know he wants me here with him.
TWO HOURS LATER, we’re leaving the doctor’s office. “Well, that was good news,” Sam says, opening the car door for me.
“I told you I was feeling good¸ no weird symptoms.” I smile at him as he slides into the driver’s seat.
“The doctor said you’re still not out of the clear. I’ll be watching you.” He smirks at me.
I have no doubt he’ll be watching me. He hasn’t stopped watching me. It’s comforting and unsettling at the same time. I’m so used to being by myself. Even with Alex, I had a little more breathing room.
We merge into traffic, and I sit quietly, taking in the streets of Phoenix. “Is this still Phoenix?” I ask as he turns onto a palm tree-lined street, wondering where we’re going.
“It is. Phoenix is huge. This is East Phoenix. Just a mile that way,” he points, “is Scottsdale.”
The radio is on low, and Sam takes a work call as I press my forehead against the warm glass window and admire the beautiful houses and the quaint shops that line the road. When I first came here, imagining myself in one of these houses was impossible. But now I lose myself momentarily in daydreams of living in one of these houses, with Alex, raising our baby. The lush green yards, kids biking in the streets. It’s the American dream. And maybe I would’ve never really had that with Alex, but I can’t help but picture it.