Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “But you didn’t do it maliciously,” he notes, his hand coming through the door to touch my hand as it lays on the floor, my body remaining slumped against the wall. “You did it from your heart.”

  “I loved her,” I whisper to him, admitting this part at long last. “She was my sister, Javier. I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t want them to cause her any more pain.”

  “Come here,” he says, ushering me back up. I do so, coming to sit weakly in front of him. He reaches through the bars, his hands coming up to touch my face. “Thank you,” he says, his hands delicately wrapped around my face. “Thank you for respecting her enough to save her from any more harm.”

  As my tears fall, I remain wrapped in his forgiving nature that I don’t realize he is pulling me forward. His lips touch mine in a gentle caress and I fall for the tenderness. I don’t want to move, not from exhaustion, but because I’m finally allowing myself to feel that moment of want and adoration.

  I hate it when we parts and the coldness seeps back in.

  “I don’t know how, but I will get you out of this,” he tells me sweetly. “I got you here, I’ll spend the rest of my days making it right. I’m sorry, Isla. My grief clouded everything and I hate myself for what I did, but I have something much bigger planned than you know. You just have to hold on. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I murmur softly.

  It’s with that he leaves and I hear the noises from upstairs. The lights go out soon. I slump down in my cell but it’s not out of sadness. Instead, it’s with relief that the one person who I needed forgiveness from has started to give me it.

  “Wakey, wakey!”

  I jump awake from my restless sleep, really feeling the aftermath of having heroin around the clock, then being deprived of it altogether. I feel rough and cold sweat soaks my skin. Now that I’m awake anxiety takes over and I feel panic begin to build like bile in my throat.

  “I was thinking about how much fun the past three days have been,” Santiago says, sitting in the open doorway of my prison. “But in all honesty, Eighteen, I can’t stand your fucking guts. Ever since the day you arrived you have caused nothing but problems. You could say I’ve been building up to today. This is my moment to let total hell rain down on you.”

  I don’t say anything for fear of provoking him further. Instead, I stare at him across the space and try to tell myself to forget about the nausea rippling in me.

  “Carry her,” Santiago orders as he stands, once again forcing Diablo to take the lead. “She can have one pleasantry.”

  Diablo comes inside, leaning down to scoop me up. I’m carried out, a bid of chivalry before I’m struck with pain for their pleasure. As we leave the basement behind, I cringe against the brightness of the sun and recoil into his arms, burying my face into his chest.

  “You feeling the comedown of that heroin still, puta?” Santiago asks as we walk. “You’ll forget about it when you get a taste of what I’ve been cooking up.”

  By the time I dare myself to look away from Diablo’s chest, I’m in the main room and I see the rope system hanging there in preparation. I’m set down on the floor and my hands are immediately grasped. The recognizable roughness of ropes loops around my wrists, tightening with a knot to lock them together.

  “Go for it,” Diablo calls out, alerting whoever that I’m ready.

  As my body is hoisted up, I allow the ropes to do the work, not caring anymore. The place I needed the forgiveness from came. This – what is about to happen – is customary to Joaquín and his men. Bit by bit, I’m made to hang in the center of the room, on display as breakfast is laid. It’s not until my toes barely touch the floor that they stop and tie the rope into place.

  “Now, the party can begin!” Joaquín declares, slapping his hands together as he comes toward me. “Maybe after this, we can start again, Isla, without the lies or the deceit.”

  I stare at his enigmatic brown eyes but remain silent.

  “Or maybe you won’t be around much longer...” he says as he walks away, leaving me to question my fate.

  Now, I question if I’ll make it out of this room alive.

  Maybe my time here has come to end.

  Maybe I’ll finally be granted peace just like Gabi was.

  Gabriella Maria Santos.

  Born February 14th 1993, she was the perfect Valentine’s gift my parents could have given to one another.

  After seven years of struggling to expand our family, my mother suddenly fell pregnant and as quickly as we learned of her existence, she was coming home from the hospital – a perfect little addition to the family.

  I grew up as her protective older brother; having that seven year age gap enabled me to watch over her. That fact only grew when our parents were tragically killed when a drunk driver slammed headon into their car one Friday night. By that time I was eighteen, I vowed to look after her. Together we saw each other through school, she helped me study hard, and she was the one who clapped the loudest when I graduated.

  A decade on and it seems almost a beautiful irony that I learn my sister died, too.

  Like a ten years was too long for our parents to wait for her to join them. My finger rubs over the last photo I have of Gabi and I give a small smile.

  Gabi never took our parents death well and while I had her to fight for, she became lost in this world. She got caught up with the wrong crowd, found a friend in drink and drugs, but her fight with it was so quick, I thought she was one of the luckier ones.

  Then, just as she began to change her life for the better, she was cruelly snatched away. She was in her second year of college, studying hard to become a teacher, giving any way she could to help make the growth and development of children special.

  And she would’ve.

  Had she not fallen in love and come over to Mexico during Spring Break to spend a week away with the man who had wrongly stolen her heart.

  The moment I received a call to say she was missing, a piece of me broke off, blackened and withered. Hours turned into days and before I knew it, I was cruising through months while my entire life fell apart around me. I spent tireless days and sleepless nights trying everything to find a lead, anything that would draw me closer to finding her.

  It wasn’t until I saw a news report about the El Salvador cartel being tied to Spring Break kidnappings that I went with my gut instinct and pretended to be a deportee. Looking very much like my grandfather did at my age, it was easy to fit the image of an illegal immigrant and not one officer said a word when I boarded that bus so full of angst and aggression, my bag slung over my shoulder.

  The moment my ass touched that seat, I breathed easier, already feeling one step closer to finding my sister.

  Now, however, my lungs are iron cast and it’s not Gabi’s fault.

  No, because now every time I close my eyes I see Isla and I realize she’s a mortal wound. Just for an entirely different reason than my sister ever would be.

  “You coming down for the showing?” Hector asks.

  I look up finding him leaning against the doorway. This man has me confused over his agendas.

  “Yeah,” I say, slipping the photo into my pocket as I force myself to stand up. “No one gets to sit out of watching this do they?”

  “Hell no!” Hector exclaims.

  “Believe me, I knew Eighteen was a firecracker, but damn, since you got here she’s been right off her game. Not on runs, but when she’s here with us,” he shakes his head, sighing a little as he stands in the doorway with a distant look on his face. “She lasted longer than most to break, I suppose.”

  There’s something about the way he looks at me, an ebb of disappointment or something flashes into his expression I struggle to catch it. His eyes barely give anything away always making him seem to impartial, so on the boss’ side. Right now, I can see that he hates what’s become of Isla – even if he won’t openly admit it.

  He goes to leave, but I can’t let him go. I want to know a little more. She said sh
e and Gabi arrived together, but they never knew one another, Gabi would’ve told me all about knowing someone like Isla.

  “Hey, about Eighteen...” I say, the nickname Isla’s given causes a bitter taste in my mouth. I loathe she’s been stripped of everything, including her identity. “How did she wind up here?”

  A small grin grows upon his lips, the disappointment and momentary kindred disappears as he becomes nostalgic.

  “She was quite the party animal,” he starts, the smile growing. “There’s a bar on the sea front that all the kids come to when they’re escaping for Spring Break. You see, that’s the perfect time to pick up new girls, the ones that come here to party and get a little freaky. It’s like prize pickings. They dance around, get wasted, and dabble with drugs and strangers... they make it all so easy.”

  “She was no different?” I assume, unable to imagine Isla a party girl.

  “Oh no, she was... but only that she was so hell-bent to never touch a drug. She was a total abstinent bitch to it. Of course, our recruiters kept on and she kept refusing which only made her a prime girl to take,” he steps toward me, eager to tell me all the details and I let him. “You see that girl downstairs, she ain’t like the others... she’d dance without care, Javier. She’d party like she was totally wasted, get lost in the music like all of her friends, but she never touched a drop of alcohol or took a hit from any of the drugs that floated around the clubs. She was completely sober.”

  My entire body begins to seize as I listen to the girl Isla used to be – so pure, innocent, so unbroken.

  “Santiago was told about this girl we were watching and headed out with the guys one night. He came home with her tied up in the trunk of his car after dropping a roofie into her drink. He charmed her and stole her. It’s been something he’s gloated about ever since. It’s why he makes her do the drugs run. Why he takes great fucking amusement at hearing she tests the drugs. The little angel fell for Santiago.”

  “Not willingly,” I remark, curling my lip in disgust. I don’t want to hear anything else about how they took a girl like Isla from her life and sent her straight to rock bottom. “So what’s going on to happen this morning he’ll see it as a part of their story, I’m guessing?”

  “You could say so,” Hector responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “The guy always did fucking hate it when another guy got it, but she seemed to accept whoever wanted her. She took whatever was being offered as well after a little resistance, took the drugs when her face was forced into a pile of coke, let that high take her over.”

  “Until two days ago,” I note, cocking a brow. “I heard she fought against being injected.”

  “To begin with,” Hector replies, a small shrug. “She gave in quickly when the withdrawal was too much. That’s the thing with heroin; it gets it victims so fucking quickly it’s a master drug! Joaquín wanted her weak for this, Santiago knew enough that heroin would do it.”

  “Hardly fair,” I jest, unimpressed.

  “Life ain’t fair,” Hector announces, shrugging with disinterest, offering a piece of truthful philosophy. “Now, get your ass downstairs so the fun can begin!”

  As he retreats from the room, my eyes narrow to slits and my hate for this place magnifies. They’re all so quick to bark about the justice happening when they’re all dabbling in the most illegal activities ever conceived by man. It makes my blood boil and with it, I form a plan. I want to leave this place alive, with a line of dead bodies behind me.

  “C’mon, Santos! It’s time to see what you set in motion... you got this bitch strung up ready for us!”

  That notion cements my feet, I don’t budge, nor do I attempt to move. He’s right – this is down to me because at the moment I found out my sister was dead, murdered no less, I saw red and allowed the mist to force me to frame a culprit – namely Isla.

  My feet drag with each new step I take. I guess the guilt is finally making an appearance, weighing me down with each step.

  It’s a new day, but it’s not bringing anything good with it. Instead, I’ll have to watch Isla be punished.

  I slept restlessly for a third night, thinking of her down in the basement, kept in isolation and I woke up thinking of her, only subdued by the lone photo of Gabi. Isla is all I can think of between memories of my baby sister and drawing breath.

  She’s looking for repentance, begging for it and now I see why she is like she is. She says my sister died six months ago and ever since she’s apparently been all too willing and all too giving and now it makes sense. Now, I see why she accepts the manhandling and the abuse and why she strives to be the best.

  Because if she’s the best she’ll receive more attention which also means she’ll be the one the men want. She puts herself into the firing line to save any other girl suffering more than they have to. She punishes herself so others endure less. She takes the horror and the hollowness so she can sleep knowing she saved one girl getting close to that brink of emptiness.

  She does it for my sister.

  But what have I done?

  She gave me her heart, entrusted me with it when she made it abundantly clear she trusts no one here, and I threw it to the floor, placing my foot upon it and began to break it more than it already was.

  She thinks she’s the monster but I became one the night I cast her aside and called her out as a killer.

  I’m no better than the rest of these men.

  Noise starts to break into the corridors the closer I get to the main room, men cheer and speak while girls giggle and do as they’re meant to. You could almost assume life is normal, but I know the moment I enter that room I’ll hail a new hell.

  With a shuddering breath, I step into the room. I catch the floral pattern of her dress before I realize the real horror of what’s going on. I freeze a few feet within the doorway, catching full sight of Isla. I’ve seen her in this position before, ready for her moment of reckoning, prepped to be reprimanded, but this time is different.

  On closer inspection, I can see she’s shivering as beads of sweat pearl across her forehead, dripping down her face in no hushed manner. Her head sits lolled over, hanging as her energy continues to dwindle as she’s left unfed, without rest, and cruelly forced to become the addict she always fought never to be.

  “You’re front and center with the boss!” Hector announces, placing a hand around my shoulder and drawing me into the room. “You made this happen, you get front row!”

  “She looks fucking amazing up there,” a guy from my right announces. He looks at me excitedly as he catches me staring. “Diablo,” he says putting his hand out. “You didn’t get to meet me because I’ve been doing some jobs for Santiago. I heard about your feat to earn a spot here.”

  “Thanks?” I respond, a little confused by his excitement.

  “Just lap it all up, man!” he exclaims, a mirthful laughter bursts into his voice. “Been here what? A few measly weeks and already you’re making waves.”

  He moves on as his name’s called and exposes Joaquín sitting on his throne, watching me. He waves me over and I do as I’m told quickly and promptly. The man has a face of the devil, scarred and rugged from years of serving the beast within, but his eyes show a little more remorseful behavior.

  “Like what you see?” he asks, looking ahead and straight at Isla.

  I follow his gaze, allowing her frail form to imprint itself so deeply into every recess of my brain, I know I’ll never be able to forget it.

  It’s now I take a real good look at the creation I helped make.

  Her hair hangs greasily and limply. Her skin marked from the needles Santiago forced into her arms. The pinpricks up her arms are on show as her hands are held above her head, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  The blood now dried to a crust on her legs immediately puts me off eating. The way her head hangs pierces my heart like tiny daggers and I watch as her eyes blink in slow, prolonged motions as she stares at the floor. She doesn’t once react to her surroundi
ngs, doesn’t look at what’s to come and doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

  She’s the epitome of defeat – worn, broken and irreparable.

  She’s my creation.

  “Well?” Joaquín prompts, breaking my reverie. “Never thought I’d see the girl at this point, but she’s been on a downward spiral for a while. She needs reminding that you can’t fuck around in our business.”

  “Why don’t you just kill her?” I question his motive, knowing that death would save a lot of bother.

  “Because now I know that would be too easy,” Joaquín declares, snorting a little at the idea. “She killed my little Gabi that makes Eighteen far more precious than ever. That girl will repent for a long time yet over killing my Gabriella. She’ll forever fall at my feet for it.”

  My little Gabi.

  I tell myself not to react, reminding myself over and over how I’m nothing here. I’m not a man after his sister or a man with revenge forming. No, I’m a fucking civil servant to abusive, murdering cunts. The way he keeps saying that Gabi was all his sickens me, and makes me want bloodshed, but I stow my own murderous thoughts.

  If only for now.

  “What was Gabi to you?” I ask, forcing power into my voice out of fear of it cracking.

  “Seventeen,” he admits, giving me a half-smile. “Now sit and watch, Javier!”

  The action of following his command is what stops me flying into a frenzy. I sit and I bite my tongue. My nostrils flare as anger infiltrates my system, flooding me with white-hot emotions, telling me to attack. I take a deep breath, forcing away the thoughts of my sister being groomed by a man like Joaquín. After all, he clearly took to Gabi while Santiago took to Isla. When one was gone, Joaquín requested his son’s pickings to appease him.

  “So what is this here?” I ask, looking across the room at Isla, allowing my anger to recede behind its mask.

  “This?” Joaquín poses, pointing a finger out to Isla as she still remains insentient. “She’s being made an example off... again... and now she’s misbehaved the way she has, she’ll leave this place with a permanent reminder of who she belongs to and who granted her mercy enough not to kill her.”