Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  I give him a pat on the shoulder, appreciative of him stepping up to the mark and leave him to follow where Isla went. I hazard a guess that she’s gone to my room and I follow her, knowing that even if she’s not there, I have to pack.

  I walk into the room to find Isla standing by the large window, arms wrapped around her body. I don’t have the right words to comfort her when I know she wants to hear me say I won’t go, but instead, I pull my duffle bag from the closet and set it on the bed, making quick work to throw in a change of clothes and a few toiletries. When I zip it closed, she’s turned, now facing me with such a woeful expression.

  “Don’t leave me,” she begs, her eyes welling. “How am I supposed to cope without you?”

  I knew this was going to be hard for her, but I couldn’t let her know, not until I was sure. I hate I’m doing this to her, but she’ll understand why I am soon.

  “I won’t be gone forever,” I state, not letting her cower.

  “Javier,” she starts and I shush her.

  “You can cope without me,” I tell her, driving some courage back into her. “Hector is going to look after you. You’re to stay in my room when you’re not needed downstairs. He’ll make sure no one comes near you.”

  “He’s not you,” she says, proving once again I’m her sanctuary. “I’m scared,” she breathes, diverting her gaze to look at the floor.

  “Of what?”

  She looks up at me, an incredulous look sweeps across her gaze, but I see the fear swim through her beautiful blue orbs.

  “That with you gone I can’t ignore the voice in my head,” she says, biting her lip as it starts to wobble.

  In loving me, she’s found a new weakness, a fear that she’ll never be able to cope outside of the realms of her and me.

  We were becoming one another’s dependency.

  We thrived on the other, rode the high together, but as she said, we aren’t forever.

  It’s why I refuse to allow her to believe that her entire recovery is because of me. By me leaving for a day or two, it’ll show her how strong she’s come to be, how in the face adversity and absolute torture she’s held on, grappled at every string of strength she had left and never let go.

  It’s time she knew that as hard as this is for her, it’s hard for me too.

  We both thrive in the company of one another.

  I love her like any good drug, withdraw from her when we part in the midnight hours, but I force myself to recover so I can come back to her stronger, full of unadulterated passion. Show her that in parting, the reunion is far more breathtaking.

  “I have to go,” I push gently, trying my hardest to remain strong. “The sooner I go, the sooner I can be back.”

  Something shifts in her eyes and I see her settle some.

  “Make sure you’re not gone too long,” she says, pouting.

  I know this is going to be hard for her, especially after Santiago’s unending assaults, but she needs to live without me. She needs to restore faith in herself. While I want to fight for her, be her protector, I know she has to make steps to stand on her own.

  This girl, the one that was so strong and resilient in the beginning, is lost behind the image of a beaten victim, and I can’t allow it to remain.

  Isla is a survivor.

  I won’t stand for her to be the girl Santiago and all the men after him have made her into.

  I won’t allow her to be that.

  I just hope I’m not making the wrong move by leaving here to survive alone, but I need to go.

  “I promise, I’ll be back by this time tomorrow. By midnight, I’ll be home,” I vow, knowing this is a promise I can keep. I go over to her, pulling her into my arms so I can revel in all she is. I place my forehead to hers, closing my eyes as I even my breathing. “Longest twenty-four hours of my life.”

  “And mine,” she murmurs underneath her breath. “What are you doing to me, Javier?”

  I smile at the sentiment behind her questioning.

  “Making you love me,” I tell her, mirth buzzes into my words, lightening the mood.

  “Too late for that,” she repays, gazing upwards at me. “Lay with me? Before you have to go that is.”

  I give her a small grin, no verbal response. I take her hand, lead her to the bed and pull her down to the mattress with me. It’s getting late and she’s still not able to combat the weariness she suffers from as a result of the abuse her body has taken.

  When we’re sitting, I pull her to my body where I cradle her close, allowing her to relax against me, safe in the knowledge that she’s delaying me leaving.

  Neither of us speaks, I know she’s far too spent and much too stressed to say a word, to beg me to stay, so we lay here in gentle ease, enjoying that neither of us have to say a word for us to enjoy time together.

  It doesn’t take long before her body becomes heavier, nuzzling into my embrace more than ever, and I know she’s fast asleep. Begrudgingly, this is my opportunity to leave. Slowly, I start to move her, separating our bodies while making sure not to rock her from her slumber.

  I stand beside her, gazing down at her sleeping form and a pang of guilt rushes through me. I’m abandoning her so completely and I hate myself for it. With my trouble thoughts, her current state seems to burn me more. I watch her sleep, safely comforted by her dreams, lulled in by the eerie peacefulness of the compound.

  Taking out my phone, I pull up the camera, setting the lens on her and I take a quick snapshot – one to see me through this journey. After that, I approach the bed, leaning down to softly kiss her once.

  “I love you, Isla,” I whisper into her ear before I start to pull away. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  I take the moment to disappear into the night.

  I break free of the house, rushing toward the car Hector just threw me keys to. I just want to leave so I can get back. Something in me tells me I’m making a wrong move here, a gut instinct I can’t ignore, but I can’t look back. If I don’t go, I let more than myself down.

  “Javier!” Joaquín calls after me, rushing out following my steps onto the drive. “You seem in a hurry to be gone and without a goodbye.”

  “Sorry,” I state, glumly. “I’m going home because my cousin’s in deep shit, not because I want to.”

  “If he wants a job...” Joaquín starts, giving me a smirk. “Bring him here. Anyone with your blood is welcome.”

  “If he gets out of jail, I might well offer him that,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Sure you can handle two Santos relatives?”

  “Any family of Miguel Santos is my family!” Joaquín declares merrily, reaching for my hand. “After all, $200,000 means this man is in debt to me. It seems only fair you offer him a job.”

  “Then we’re both on the same page... take the SUV...” Joaquín gestures to the black vehicle in front of us. “Santiago said it still has a full fuel tank.”

  “You sure?” I ask, hauling my bag onto my back. With a nod, he guides me over to the car, even opening the door for me.

  “I’m a man of high family values, Javier. It’s why I’m so hard on Santiago. He’s all I have and it seems your cousin only has you. Give him a bigger part of life, a new opportunity... a fresh start.”

  My plan worked perfectly and I keep true to my word as I type in a zip code in Arizona. It comes up with my old home address and I sit back to put my seatbelt on.

  “I don’t plan to be there long. I will be home tomorrow evening, the following morning at the latest.”

  “Think about bringing him here as a new recruit... I can make red tape disappear so we can get him across the border.”

  Joaquín seems wickedly intent in getting my cousin here and I wonder if he cares about my cousin or just a new body to add to his ever-growing army. Who am I kidding? Of course, he only cares about the body count.

  “I think after this he’ll be looking for a fresh start,” I say, giving a grin. “I’m sure being given a position where being an angry p
erson is a quality will suit him fine.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Joaquín mentions, that same gleeful tone hits her. “I’m always looking for my next best recruit.”

  “In him, you’ll have it,” I say, allowing him to shut the door. I look at him through the open window and offer him the same exchange of politeness as he’s had to me. “Trust me... I’ll make sure he’ll pay you back for this.”

  “Bring him home first.”

  I ignite the engine, allowing Joaquín’s words to sink in. I drive off, heading toward the awaiting open gates and I take a deep breath.

  With $200,000 and no one following, a man could drive just about anywhere.

  Sitting in the SUV, I find I can’t do this.

  My bravado weakened with every mile and I wondered what would happen if I were to walk into someone’s life without as much as a forewarning.

  But I can’t start the car and go back now. So I tell myself to man up, to take control and get out of the car – and I listen pretty quickly.

  I walk across the street, heading for the house and walk up the path. I walk passed the silver Ford I knew would be parked here and approach the door. I don’t think about anything as I push the doorbell, hearing it ring out on the other side of the door.

  A sudden rush of voices has me standing taller, clearing my throat and looking as if I’ve thought this through. As the door opens, a tall man with dark blonde hair stares at me for a moment. Then a woman with blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail and bright blue eyes comes to join him.

  The resemblance is shocking, to say the least, and it causes my heart to cramp fiercely and painfully. Seeing her mother makes me miss Isla all the more.

  “Can I help you?” he asks, giving me a questioning gaze.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Dougherty?” I ask, politely.

  I had coerced enough information out of Hector during one of the few nights he came and sat with me while Isla started to recuperate. He never hung around often, only when she was so dead to the world she wouldn’t freak if she heard him. I found out her whole name, found where she was from, and found out enough to get here.

  After Santiago brought her back yesterday so distraught and tormented, it was the final straw.

  I hadn’t exactly expected Joaquín to give me Santiago’s SUV, but I was more than happy when he did, it made this easier. They used the in car GPRS to get back from here, it gave me a location and I knew enough from Isla that it was one of these houses.

  “Yes...”

  “I’m here to talk about your daughter...” I begin to say, seeing their eyes resist lighting up but trying not to believe what I’m about to say. “Isla...”

  I ask myself what I’m doing. I’m a stranger with little credibility. I could be, to them at least, the man who took their daughter. Not the man trying to save her.

  “What do you want?” the man asks, cutting me off. He’s a tall man, quite well built with sophisticated framed glasses, a partial bit of peppering stubble and dark, cropped hair, sprinkled with the start of gray hair. “Are you another one trying to tell us you know where our daughter is? Because we’ve had enough of your kind coming here and feeding us false hope about her whereabouts!”

  I watch her mother look at me panic-stricken, but remains unmoved by her husband’s outburst.

  “Is she...”

  I shake my head, dismissing that thought.

  “Please, if you could just let me in, I can give you all of the information you need.” There’s a brief pause before I continue. “Then I’ll tell you exactly where you can find her.”

  They say nothing, tentatively believing the words of a stranger and I’m ushered in, grateful to be off of the street. I’m drawn to this home, full of pictures and I spot the ones with Isla in almost immediately. She looks like she was such a happy child, so full of life, full of smiles, and she grew into such a happy young woman.

  One she will become again.

  After all, I went to La Ponderosa, to join the El Salvador to play a much larger game, reap my revenge and save my sister, but now it’s so much simpler.

  It’s all about Isla.

  I don’t care about revenge. I just care about breaking free and running away with her. I don’t intend to do anything that could endanger that – certainly not now.

  “Please sit,” Isla’s mother orders me gently breaking me from my reverie.

  I listen, sitting down while she takes the seat directly in front of me. I’m awe-struck as I sit in the living room of the Dougherty’s home. Before me is Isla’s doppelganger. She really is every bit her mother and then some.

  “Is she well?” she asks, her tone cautious as she asks without her husband here.

  “As well as can be considering where we live,” I say and I notice that her eyes alight with terror. “She was taken by Santiago Castillo... to be part of the El Salvador cartel in La Ponderosa.”

  I watch and register their shock and horror. It’s as I expected. I agonized the entire journey down here, imagining their reactions discovering what their daughter had been reduced to. I’m glad I was so spot on with my speculation.

  “They use her mainly as a drug mule, using her to carry drugs across the border with a handful of other girls.” I pause, allowing them to digest what they’re hearing. “She’s also become a bit of a protector to the girls. Our boss has seen that as a unique quality in her... she has done so much to look after them in the time she’s been there.”

  “Have they hurt her?” her father asks, pushing passed his failing emotions.

  “Yes,” I reply, somberly but sincerely. I feel I need to be honest, otherwise, Isla will come from one hell to a new one. “Quite a few times.” I see them look at me with so many questions, but remain silenced by their grief. “She had a bad reaction to a drug they gave her, that and they cut her quite badly,” I tell them, deciding to dilute the details. “A week or so ago.”

  Her mother breaks, convulsing into heavy sobs and her husband is quick to respond. He puts his arm around her shoulders, offering her a comforting tug of her body toward his. He caves a little, giving way to a moment of weakness before he looks back at me.

  “What are you to her?” her father asks, tentative with me as he, thankfully, realizes I’m not the enemy. “What is your want? Why are you here? What are you to her?” he asks his first question to me all over again, frantic tones take over.

  I was hoping I’d be her everything.

  I could've promised her that forever, but she's learned more being where she is than I ever will be able to teach her - forever is a promise you can’t just keep. She's seen death, helped it at times. I hate to admit it, but death was her best friend and in loving her, I welcomed it. It kept me there, kept me with her, kept me treading farther into whatever hellish nightmare Joaquín enjoyed creating.

  But it’s also what brought me here, and they’ll never understand how deeply rooted Isla is in me. I would die for their daughter. No matter what happened, a mortal wound to me would be better than one to her. I just wish they knew how much of my life I pledged to Isla unwittingly.

  So I learned to say what she thought that we weren't a forever love. It wasn't something guaranteed. We merely existed in shadows and in darkness. And it was exactly how we liked it.

  When all the demons around us finally slept, we truly came alive. At dawn we met, at dusk we parted and in the midnight hours between we reveled, we lived, we loved because in those few short hours we were able to feel like hell wasn't built into the brick and mortar around us.

  At night, it was just Isla and me. At night, it was just us.

  But it was in those exact midnight hours that eternity felt like the only option for us.

  “I’m just a guy who came at the right time,” I say, toning down what I think I could be to her.

  Her father scoffs, and I resist the urge to smirk.

  “I think you’re more than that.” Her father’s comment is a snub, I can feel it. “How do we know you’re not just
a con artist?” he asks, cocking a brow. “We’ve seen many of you before.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” I say, reaching into my back pocket. “So I took this.”

  Unlocking the phone that Hector gave me, I open up the photo app and flick to the last photo taken. It’s a photo of Isla, sleeping peacefully in my bed. She looks so calm, so at ease, but I know the truth. Presenting them with the phone, I allow them to take it

  “Isla,” her mother gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth, tears stream down her cheeks.

  Eyes that match Isla’s blue stare at me as her father gazes at the phone, and I watch as tears brim her lashes.

  “She’s really alive?”

  “She’s really alive,” I confirm, nodding my head as if to make the affirmative more real. “I’m not going to paint you a pretty picture, tell you she’s okay, because that girl has survived so much, but that’s the most important thing... she’s survived. She’s still surviving.”

  “Why are you doing this?” her father asks, barking his words with a snappy retort. “We don’t know when this photo was taken. It could’ve been taken a year ago for all we know.”

  “It was taken about six hours ago,” I state, interjecting her father’s rant. “Isla was outside your house this afternoon.” I can see their eyes liven with shock, but I need them to believe me. “She saw you gardening in your floral leggings, Mrs. Dougherty.” I look to the right, straight back at her father. “She saw you leave without kissing your wife goodbye. It broke her heart.” I don’t stop, even as their expressions morph. “She sat across the street and wasn’t allowed near either of you.”

  “Why not?” Isla’s mother asks, aghast. “Why would she not come to us?”

  “Because she had a gun pushed into her side,” I say, not lamenting anything to them. “The man that brought her here did it to torture her a little. He got her right where it hurt the most.”

  I watch as both of them become distraught.

  “I’m sorry if this is hard to hear but what she’s had to live through has been harder.”

  That’s the sentence that is most cutting about it. No matter the tears they’ve shed, the heartache they’ve experience, nothing will ever surmount to what Isla has been punished with. They had one another, she lived most of her capture alone, regardless of whom she befriended.