Bound by Lies

by Rebecca Shea

  “I can’t,” I admit. “I can’t leave them. For the rest of my life, I’d regret this decision. I’m trying to right my wrongs, can’t you see that? I’ve given you everything you need to bring down my father, the Estrada organization, and most of their associates. But I cannot sign that deal. I can’t go into hiding.”

  We stare at each other, each of us holding our ground.

  “So what do you want?” he finally asks, breaking the silence.

  “Immunity. That’s all.” Not that that’s such a small thing. “I’ll still give you everything you need. I just need immunity. For Emilia. For our baby.”

  He drops his head in frustration. “You know this is a risk, don’t you? For all of you. You might get them killed.”

  “They’re more vulnerable without me. You know that.” My stomach turns at the thought of Emilia on her own without protection—without me.

  After a long moment, he finally nods in agreement. “All right then. Immunity was part of the witness protection agreement. I’ll tell them you’d like to forgo just the protection portion.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  “It’s not for you, Estrada,” he bites out. “It’s for your brother. He’s been my best friend and partner for years. This is for him. Don’t mistake my helping him as kindness toward you.”

  “Understood. Speaking of my brother, I’d like to visit him… tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” And with that, the door slams behind him as he leaves.

  “IT’S YOUR LUCKY day, Estrada.” The voice pulls me from counting to three hundred and thirty-seven as I rise from my last sit-up. The morning sun is beginning to warm the air, and sweat rolls down my temples from my hairline.

  “What makes it my lucky day?” I ask Hoffman as I push myself up from the ground and grab a hand towel to wipe my head. I’ve seen more of him in the last two days than I’d like to, but right now, he’s my ticket to my brother.

  “You’ve been granted permission to see Sam.” Relief settles in my stomach.

  “I’m family. I shouldn’t need permission,” I growl.

  “You’re a criminal and your brother is a federal agent,” he reminds me smugly. “Everyone needs permission.”

  “Well, then, thank you,” I say, mostly meaning it. I’m not going to get into a pissing match with him this morning over what relationship I have with my own brother.

  His eyes narrow in disgust. “Don’t thank me; thank your aunt. She’s the one that approved it.”

  “My aunt?” I raise an eyebrow.

  He shakes his head. “Yep, now go shower. We need to be there in a half hour. Apparently, they’re going to start pulling back on the pain meds, and they’d like you to see him before they start.”

  “Okay. Give me fifteen.” I rush to shower and get ready. One glance in the mirror shows how rough I still look. I haven’t shaved in three days, and my face is covered in a short, sparse beard, but there’s no time. I dress quickly and brush my teeth, then find Agent Hoffman on my couch, sipping a cup of coffee while scrolling through his phone.

  “Ready?” I ask him.

  “Everyone’s waiting on you, Estrada. It’s like we’re moving the fucking pope with how much security you need,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

  I ignore that and head outside. Everyone is in position as I walk to the waiting car, and we move through the Phoenix streets quickly. In the hospital parking garage, I stay put until I’m told to move, then we move quickly. A back storage elevator is used to bring me to the intensive care unit where Sam is still kept, the same elevator I left this hospital in just weeks ago.

  The floor is quiet yet busy. Nurses and doctors move from room to room, and all kinds of medical equipment lines the halls. My stomach drops as we near a room where I see Cortez written on a white board hanging just to the right of the door.

  “Can I go in?”

  “Yes,” a female voice says from behind me. I turn to find a nurse in blue scrubs and a white sweater. “He’s still heavily medicated. We’ve begun to decrease his medication already. He may not respond, but he can most likely hear you. And he may be in pain, so don’t be alarmed if he responds with abrupt noises.”

  “He can hear me, though?”

  “He can if he’s awake. He’s been more alert in the last twelve hours, responding to some of our questions by squeezing our hands or blinking. He’s still intubated, so he can’t talk. His tube will be coming out later today as well. He’s made great progress, though. I really didn’t expect this outcome, to be honest.”

  “The Estradas are almost invincible,” I say and smile.

  “He’s a Cortez.” The sharp voice startles me. “Everything about that boy is a Cortez,” my Uncle Tommy says. “He was never an Estrada.” My Uncle Tommy was my mother’s brother and denounced the Estradas after she was murdered.

  My Aunt Natalia walks up behind him and wraps her arm in his. “Mijo,” she says quietly, hesitating. My uncle wipes a tear from his eye, and she takes a step forward. “Please go see your brother. We’ll wait for you down the hall. And I’d like to speak with you for just a minute before you leave.”

  My uncle laces his hand through my aunt’s, and I watch them walk slowly down the hall, hand in hand, toward the waiting room. My stomach clenches, and I realize I miss them. I miss everything that we were when we were all a family. I miss my uncle building us a tire swing. I miss the parties and the holidays. I miss my family.

  Shoving the thoughts away, I turn to open the hospital door. The swishing sound of his breathing machine is the first thing I notice. Next are the bandages taped all over his chest. A sheet lies over his bottom half, stopping at his abdomen.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner. They wouldn’t let me.”

  His eyes are closed, both arms at his sides. His hands are curled just slightly, and his fingers twitch occasionally. It hurts to see him like this, all because of me.

  “I hope you can hear me,” I lean in, resting my forearms on my knees. “I’m so sorry you got hurt. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure Saul pays for what he did. I will make sure he doesn’t get away with this.”

  At that, Sam’s fingers twitch wildly, and his pulse quickens as displayed on the monitor next to his bed. He can hear me.

  “Sam, listen,” I say quickly. “I know you can hear me. I need to tell you that I’m not taking the deal. I can’t do it. I can’t walk away from Em and the baby. I know how hard you worked to get me that deal, but I can’t do it.” Tears fill my eyes as I look around and see the destruction I’ve caused—Sam lying injured in this hospital bed, my Uncle Tommy, who can barely look at me, down the hall, Emilia and the baby, gone. All because of me.

  “I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. For the anguish I’ve brought to you. I only did what I knew to do. I know you don’t understand, but I need you to know how sorry I am.”

  I inhale sharply as the heart rate monitor settles, and his pulse stabilizes. “For the rest of my life, I’ll work on making it up to you and to the family. Emilia left, Sam. I’ll stay and do whatever it takes to help Hoffman with the case, but as soon as I’m able to, I need to find her. I’ve abandoned a lot of people in my life, but I won’t do that to them. Please understand that this is the only reason I’m walking away from the deal. Everyone will have my full cooperation. I promise. I know my word doesn’t mean much, but from here forward, it will.”

  I pause, wondering how to say goodbye. “You have no idea how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. Love ya, man.” Before I stand up to leave, I whisper a quiet prayer for Sam.

  As I leave the room, a nurse walks over to me. “Your aunt would like to speak with you. She’s waiting in the lounge at the end of the hall.”

  I look to my security detail, and they nod in approval. My stomach twists in anxiety as I walk the length of the hall. White, vacant walls guide me to my fam
ily, a family who has disowned and hates me. I push through the door and find my aunt and uncle sitting side by side.

  “Tia. Tio,” I address them humbly.

  “Mijo,” my aunt says, standing up, her voice raw with emotion. “Come here.” She holds her arms open and waits for me. I hesitate, but finally, my feet carry me to the family I’ve missed—my mother’s family.

  Pulling me into her arms, she presses her face to my chest and mumbles in broken Spanish how much she’s missed me. A lump forms in my throat as she holds me. My uncle stands and waits, finally interrupting our reunion by also wrapping his arm around both of us. Finally pulling away, my aunt invites me to sit down.

  I sit in the lounge chair across from them.

  “Alejandro,” my aunt says quietly. “We’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” I tell them and take a deep breath. It feels so good to see them.

  “I’m proud of you for finally cooperating with the government,” my uncle says, grudgingly proud. “Sam had been keeping us informed. We knew you’d wake up one day and realize this is not the life you were meant to lead. All we could do was pray for you,” he says, his voice crackling with emotion. “Your mother would finally be so proud of you.”

  Finally he says, and he’s right. My mother would be just as disgusted with my behaviors and choices, until now.

  I nod solemnly. “I’m still cooperating. I’ll give them everything they want or need, but I’m not taking the witness security protection.”

  “Why not, mijo?” my aunt interrupts.

  “Emilia. She’s pregnant.”

  My aunt gasps and closes her eyes. “She left.”

  “I know. She had to, for her protection. She doesn’t know I’m coming for her.”

  “Por que, mijo? Why didn’t you tell her? We saw her yesterday. She was so scared.” My aunt hasn’t changed a bit, still speaking in half Spanish, half English.

  “For her safety. If she knew I wasn’t taking the deal, she would’ve wanted to hang around and wait for me to be finished here. Until Antonio and his henchmen are caught, it’s not safe here. I have a pretty good idea where she’s going. It should be easy to find her.”

  “If it’s easy for you, that means it’s easy for Antonio,” my uncle snaps. “She’s not safe—no one is safe until that murderer is off the streets.” My uncle shakes his fist in the air. “I’d murder him with my own two hands—” He cuts off suddenly, his head dropping forward. I know he never got over my mother’s death. For being her older brother by six years, they were unusually close.

  His words shock me, though. I didn’t know they knew what my father did. I thought it was my secret—mine and my brother’s—this whole time. “Sam told you?”

  “He did,” my aunt says and rubs my uncle’s arm. “We had our suspicions, but it’s just sickening to finally have the truth.”

  “I was just as shocked. I mean, I knew he was a horrible man, but I never suspected he killed her.”

  “He was too big of a coward to pull the trigger,” my uncle mumbles bitterly. “He had someone else do it. I know him. He loved her—but she got in his way, and that coward didn’t have the balls to do it himself.” He uses the back of his hand to wipe tears from his eyes. “I have prayed for years to have answers, but now I don’t know if living in ignorance or knowing the truth was easier.”

  I listen to my uncle break down, and I feel sick. The pain he’s carried all these years and the hatred he has for my father has trickled down to me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say somberly. “I loved her just as much as you did, and I miss her every single day, and I’m sorry for any pain that I personally caused you.”

  My aunt shakes her head. “No, mijo. We know that you became a product of that environment. We don’t blame you.”

  “I blame myself. I could’ve left. I should have left.”

  “He would never have let that happen,” my uncle says honestly, his voice sad. “We tried so hard to convince him to let you come with us. I’m not sure why he let Samuel go so easily, but he… he had his eyes set on you. There was no escaping this for you. For a long time, Samuel was so hurt that your father turned his back on him. But as he grew, he understood that he was blessed. Everyone felt so much sorrow for you. Living that life.”

  “Everything we used to do when I was young, I miss. The birthday parties, the holidays, the barbecues—”

  “Antonio hated that stuff,” my uncle blurts out. “Anything that he didn’t plan, anything that made your mother or you boys happy that he didn’t provide, he didn’t want to be a part of.”

  The air is thick with emotions. My Uncle Tommy sniffles as he finally gains his composure, and my aunt just rubs his arm gently, trying to calm him.

  “Uncle Tommy,” I say, getting his attention. “Remember when you built Sam and me that tire swing in the backyard of our old house? You tied it up and it was so high that Sam fell off and broke his arm?”

  He smiles and a low chuckle rumbles from deep within. “I do, mijo.”

  “The tree is still there,” my aunt says with a smile. “Sam made sure when he bought the house and fixed up the backyard that the tree remained untouched.”

  “I still can’t believe he bought the house,” I remark.

  My aunt smiles. “I can. Everything he loved was once in that house. All his good memories were there. It’s very sentimental to him. Your uncle here helped him remodel most of it.” She rubs his arm. “You should come see it, Alex. It might be cathartic for you. I have the keys. We can go anytime.”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. That house was once everything good, but also the beginning of everything bad.

  “Sam said he’s the most at peace there.”

  “That’s how I feel at her grave,” I admit. “I feel her there.”

  “And Sam feels her at the house. When was the last time you were there?” my aunt asks.

  “The day we moved. I haven’t been back since. Ironic that my witness security house is just around the block from it.”

  “Sam mentioned that. He was concerned you wouldn’t be happy about that.”

  I shrug. “Nah, I can’t complain about anything Sam has done for me.” It’s the truth, even though I hated him when he was after me.

  As we sit there, my mind starts to wander, and I think about what it would be like to see the house again.

  I run my hands up and down my thighs, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Let’s do it,” I say nervously. “Let’s go see the house. I’ll have to ask first. They usually do a security sweep first.”

  “Ah, yes,” my aunt says knowingly. “Well, why don’t you go request that.”

  I nod and head over to my detail where they’re clustered together, laughing and talking. As I approach, the mood turns more serious. They’re not happy about my request, but after one phone call, we’re all set. Sam’s house has had round-the-clock surveillance since his shooting. The house is clear and can be accessed immediately.

  I close my eyes for the short drive back to the neighborhood as I fight to bring back the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury. I remember the one of my mom smiling as she works in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove or baking cookies. I unbury the memory of the barren backyard, except for that large tree with the tire swing. I find the memory of the front porch where Sam and I would sit for hours and play checkers, or draw hopscotch in chalk on the ground. I let those memories free, and I feel them. Feel the love within them.

  As the car slows and parks at the curb of Sam’s house—my childhood home—I have to take a deep breath. The brick bungalow-style house looks almost identical from the outside. New landscaping has changed the curb appeal, and shutters have been added, but it otherwise looks almost same as it did twenty years ago when we left.

  I step out of the car and follow the flagstone pavers to the front porch. Potted plants adorn the sides of the steps. My aunt fidgets with the keys in her hand, finally turning the lock an
d pushing the front door open.

  My brain works overtime as I take in the newly remodeled space. It’s perfectly combined with touches of the old peppered with new. The kitchen was opened up and made modern, but not so much that I don’t recognize it. I can still see my mom standing at the counter with her small mixer in hand. The wood floors are original but have been sanded and treated. They look just as I remember but darker. New windows and doors have been put in, but the style is identical to the original.

  Modern furniture is mixed with rustic Mexican décor that I’m sure Sam got from my Uncle Tommy, who still has family in Mexico. A few walls have been knocked out to give the area between the kitchen and living room a more open concept, but I still see the corner of the living room where our Christmas tree sat, and the back porch where I stored my baseball bat and glove.

  My aunt stands back, letting me wander and remember. I run my finger across the brick mantel of the fireplace, and I find myself standing at the patio door that leads to the backyard.

  “Go ahead, mijo. You should see what he’s done out there.”

  With a breath, I twist the lock on the French doors and pull one side open. The back patio is just as I remember it as well. Covered, but he’s stained the concrete to look like stone, and added another world to the backyard. A large pergola sits just off the patio, covered in flowering vines. Large outdoor furniture rests beneath it with a small fire pit in the middle. A custom-made built in barbecue and wet bar are just off the pergola.

  But what takes my breath away is the tree. The long over-reaching limb where that thick rope used to hang with a large tire attached is still there and prominent.

  Sam and I spent hours every day playing on that swing. My mom would sit on the back porch and drink lemonade as she watched us. I can’t help but smile, and it amazes me how something so simple can hold the fondest memories.

  “I told you, mijo,” my aunt says as she wraps her arm in mine. “He left it.”

  “It’s just like I remember, only bigger.”

  “Everything he loved about this house he left untouched.”