Dark Hope

by Monica McGurk

  Suddenly, a shudder shook the car as something heavy landed on the trunk.

  Maria and Jimena began shrieking hysterically. I heard a flurry of gunshots but nothing seemed to hit us. The trunk quaked and groaned, springing forward as whatever had landed on us jumped from our car to the traffickers’ car.

  I surged forward from the momentum, stepping on the gas to increase the distance between us. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a flash of sword and fire as the other car swerved off the road.

  “Michael,” I breathed. I should have known he wouldn’t have given up on us until he knew we were safe.

  A huge explosion shook us, and I almost lost control of the car. Billowing smoke raced after us and chunks of blackened metal hurtled through the sky, moving as one in a screaming arc that soon engulfed our car, dancing around us before disappearing in a flash.

  “We need to get away from here,” I breathed, more to myself than anyone else. I stepped on the gas again, inching it up. Eighty. Eighty-five. Ninety.

  By the time we heard the sirens whining behind us, bringing emergency vehicles and police to the scene of the accident, we were miles away. We wouldn’t stop driving until dawn.

  eighteen

  Once we’d gotten outside of Las Vegas, the buildings and signs seemed to fall away, exposing the desolate desert for what it was. The more distance we put between us and the Chinese gang, the safer I felt. I rolled down the window, gulping in the dry desert air, hoping it would overpower the pain that was reasserting itself so vigorously.

  We went past at least ten outpost towns, identical in all but name. I rejected each of them, having a vague sense that we would be found there, that we would stand out from all the other desert travelers moving through. But with the gas gauge pushing empty and my nerves spent, we finally gave in and pulled into a tiny mom-and pop-motel right off the interstate. A quick search of the glove compartment had turned up a credit card emblazoned with my name, another surprise gift from Michael, no doubt. The night clerk gave us a hard look, but he grudgingly gave us the keys to a room with a view of the interstate after I had fished the credit card out of my pocket to present to him.

  Once we were settled in the room, I edged over to sit on top of the air conditioning unit, one eye peeking through the curtains to watch the road. Maria and Jimena eyed me nervously. They had been curiously quiet since we’d left Las Vegas.

  “I think we lost them for good,” I smiled, turning back to them, the effort stretching my skin and setting every nerve ending on fire. They were staring at me in earnest now. I looked down and saw how bedraggled my bandages were, and I realized how I must look to them. A wave of fatigue washed over me again.

  I started to stand, and Jimena flinched as if she was afraid of me. I froze. Slowly, I eased back into my perch.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly aware of how uneasy they both seemed.

  Jimena began speaking, her child’s voice soft and slow as she looked at me with wonder. The Spanish words flowed together, gaining speed and volume as she spilled out what was on her mind, her eyes growing wider and wider.

  I looked at Maria, raising my eyebrows and waiting.

  “She thinks she saw an angel,” Maria said simply. “We both do.”

  I sighed. “Back in Las Vegas?”

  “Yes,” Maria said. “On the cars, fighting the men who captured us. Was that your friend?”

  I paused. They had been through so much already. I didn’t have the heart or the energy to lie to them, so I just nodded mutely.

  “That’s how you found us?”

  I nodded again.

  They sat, stunned.

  I leaned back into the window, the coolness of the glass giving me some relief. I closed my eyes, struggling to stay awake.

  “My mother believed in angels,” Maria whispered. “Maybe she sent him to help us.”

  I smiled, my eyes still shut, as I pondered that idea. It was much more pleasant than the reality I faced.

  “Maybe she did,” I agreed.

  “Will he come here?” Maria asked urgently. “To find us?”

  I opened my eyes, knowing we needed some sort of plan. We couldn’t stay here forever. I thought through what was likely to happen back in Las Vegas: the throngs of emergency personnel, the minute investigation of the crash scene. None of it would matter to Michael, of course. He would simply evaporate into thin air, using that sixth sense of his to find us.

  “Yes, I’m sure he will come to us. We just need to wait here for him. Maybe we can rest.” I gestured to the two small beds that took up most of the room, eyeing them doubtfully.

  Maria looked at me in awe. “Yes, we can wait for the angel to come to us,” she said very seriously, and then broke into giggles. “The angel will come to us.”

  I smiled. “You’re very tired. As am I. Let’s lie down and get some rest. Who knows what will happen next.”

  Maria patted the bed upon which she sat, talking in rapid Spanish to her sister, who dutifully climbed up onto the bed next to her. “You take that one,” Maria said to me, pointing to the empty bed. “I will keep watch now. We can switch later.”

  I slid under the scratchy sheets, holding my breath to keep from crying out against the pain as the rough cotton rubbed against my exposed wounds. I bit my lip. I’ll just rest here for a little bit, I reasoned with myself as I closed my eyes, and then maybe I can go out to get some medication and fresh bandages. Now that I knew I had a functioning credit card, the idea of going to a drug store did not seem so impossible.

  After resting for I don’t know how long, I opened my eyes, preparing myself to get back up, and looked around. But I was no longer in the motel. I was in a long black hallway, seemingly with no end, its great length punctuated by a series of closed doors. I looked down and saw I was not in my bed; in fact, I was not lying down at all, and somehow I was free of all bandages, my smooth, pink skin glowing in the half-light that floated through the hallway from an unknown source.

  You’re dreaming.

  Was that Henri’s voice or my own? I couldn’t tell, but it felt right that I was dreaming; it seemed to be the only explanation for where I found myself. I began walking down the corridor, trying each door as I reached it, but each one I found locked. Finally, one doorknob turned in my hand, and I eased the door open.

  I had stumbled upon Jimena and Maria being strangled by the guard, and suddenly I realized I was back in the Chinese mafia’s maze of rooms.

  Their eyes pleaded with me to help them. I looked around and again spied the heavy glass ashtray. I picked it up in my hand, preparing myself to strike the guard, but this time the ashtray turned into a rock, a huge rock with a blunt face. I looked up to where they were struggling and found that the girls had vanished. Instead of the Chinese goon, I was facing a lone man, dressed strangely in some sort of shroud.

  He crouched before me, shielding his head from my blow, his eyes confused and fearful. He pleaded something in a language I did not understand, but I felt my heart harden. I raised the rock and swung down hard upon his head, only realizing as I did so that the hand that held the rock was not my own, but the calloused and dirty hand of a person much bigger and much older than me. A man.

  I bolted upright, gasping for breath. Suddenly I was back in the dingy motel, tangled in the coarse cotton sheets.

  Just a dream, I told myself, clutching at my shirt.

  You were dreaming? Henri sputtered into my consciousness. God doesn’t send you random dreams at a time like this. Tell me, Hope. What did you see?

  I pushed his intrusion away and propped myself up on one elbow to look around the room, trying to get my bearings. The room was filled with the half-light of dusk. I’d been asleep for some time. Jimena and Maria were perched on the foot of their bed, blue shadows from the television flickering over them.

  Tell me, Hope. Henri pressed me, insistently.

  It doesn’t make any sense, I hissed at him in my mind. Leave me alone; it was just a dream. />
  I cleared my throat, turning my attention to the girls and effectively shutting down any further attempt Henri could make at conversation.

  “What are you watching?” I croaked through my parched mouth, trying to push the nightmare from my mind.

  Maria turned and smiled. “You’re awake. Look.” She walked to the television and turned up the old-fashioned knob so that I could hear. The announcer’s smooth, accentless droning continued.

  “The fiery crash was seen by several witnesses, though exactly what caused the crash remains unclear.” The scene cut from flashing lights to a talking head, one of the witnesses. “There was some sort of chase, but then something big landed on the car that crashed. I don’t know how to describe it, but I got the distinct impression it was very large.”

  “While investigators sift through the wreckage to identify what it was that impacted the car to cause the explosion,” continued the announcer, “conspiracy theorists, including representatives from the Area 51 Club, have descended to investigate whether a UFO or some other ‘alien probe’ may be the culprit.”

  I groaned. “Do you understand what they just said?” I asked Maria.

  She grinned, nodding. “They have been playing the same news story over and over all afternoon so I had time to figure it out. But wait—there is more. Listen to this.”

  She stopped speaking so that I could hear the anchor continue. “And in what proved to be a busy night in Las Vegas, another mysterious explosion and fire in Chinatown.” The scene jumped to footage of several fire units battling a blazing inferno. I sat straight up in my bed. “A vast apartment or townhouse complex owned by Chinese businessmen went up in flames around midnight last night. In a shocking twist, scores of young women—now presumed to be victims in the illegal sex trade—were rescued and freed from the fire and are now held in custody by local police. Police are working with the FBI to determine their origins and are hoping to free the women and press charges against the perpetrators soon. No sign of the businessmen on site, though, Connie, and it looks like it will take a while before the arson squad and other crime units piece together exactly what happened.”

  The scene cut to another interview, this one with a worker in a shelter not unlike the one Maria had been in while in Atlanta. Maria turned the volume down again and turned back to me. “Your friend, the angel, did that.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I suppose he did.” At that, I looked around the room. “He isn’t here yet?”

  Maria shook her head. “Nobody has come or called. I made sure Jimena watched while I went out.” She picked up a bag and brought it over to me. “I got you some food and medicine.”

  I looked into the bag. Stale pastry, a bottled orange juice, and some granola bars.

  “They didn’t have much at the gas station,” Maria said apologetically. “I hope it is okay.”

  I forced a smile. “Of course it is. But how did you pay for it?”

  Her eyes grew wide again. “I picked up the credit card, the one with your name, and it changed to mine. So the cashier never questioned me. It was another of your angel’s miracles, I think.” She frowned then. “I found more bandages for you, though. And some aspirin and ointment.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you.” I frowned a little bit, surprised at how good I felt. I pushed the bag to the side and pulled the sheets back. “I think I’ll go take a look.”

  The girls’ curious eyes followed me as I made my way to the narrow bathroom and closed the door firmly behind me. I laid out the bandages, ointment, and aspirin on the ledge behind the sink. As I did, my reflection caught my eye. My face was red, a rash of angry yellow blisters clustered along my mouth and chin, leading down my neck to where the collar of my shirt splayed open. I stared at my reflection unflinchingly.

  “Time to see just how bad things are,” I murmured to myself. I thought of the girls and turned on the tap in the sink. I didn’t want them to hear my reaction if it was really bad.

  I delicately undid one of the bandages on my arm and started unwinding it. I gasped. Though it was clear that I’d been injured, the oozing mess that had been my blistered skin was starting to dry out, a delicate layer of new skin already forming. I bent my elbow and winced—it was tight. If it healed too fast, I might not have a good range of motion. I would have to move around a lot, I supposed, so that my skin would heal properly.

  “I can’t believe it,” I whispered, turning my arm this way and that. Swiftly, I unwrapped the bandages on the other arm to find the same. The blisters were all gone, and everywhere I looked, new, pink skin was in their place. I undid the buttons on the front of my shirt and saw the angry red marks that followed the path of what had been the collar of my T-shirt. The raw welts along my abdomen that led down toward my waistband were healing, too. I blushed, remembering the feel of Michael’s hands along my midriff, the trail of his finger as he popped open the button on my jeans.

  I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall of the bathroom, the cool tile soothing my skin as I tried to shake away the memory by focusing on my injuries. “I must be imagining it,” I murmured to myself.

  I stood up, opening my eyes to resolutely examine myself again. But I had been right. I was healing. Along the edges, some of the skin already bore the shiny, telltale look of scar tissue.

  I remembered the doctor’s warnings about infection. I grabbed the tube of ointment and delicately patted it onto my skin before rewrapping my bandages. I ignored the questions that were swirling about in my mind, questions I couldn’t answer. Instead, I clumsily rebuttoned my shirt and stepped out of the bathroom.

  “Okay?” Maria asked, looking up from the television. Jimena simply watched, her deep, dark eyes seeming to understand everything.

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  “See, your angel takes care of you, too,” Maria beamed.

  At the mention of Michael, I paused. “He should be here by now.”

  “Did you have a plan to come here?” Maria asked, quizzically.

  I shook my head, feeling my eyebrows come together stiffly, as if the healing skin was resisting their movement.

  “We didn’t have a plan to meet up anywhere. He just always seems to know where to go. I hope nothing happened to him.”

  “What could have happened to him? He is an angel of God!” Maria practically shouted the words, giddy with the belief that all her prayers would be answered. “He will come here and take us somewhere safe. I know it.”

  Somewhere safe. Just where would that be?

  I cleared my throat again. “Maria, where do you plan to go? Now that you have Jimena, there’s no reason for you to stay in the United States, is there?”

  Maria suddenly became somber. “I cannot go home. Mi tío is still there. We won’t be safe. Maybe I can come back to Atlanta with you?”

  I thought about the complicated web Michael and I had woven and of all the things we still had left to do. We couldn’t take her back to Atlanta.

  “We’ll see,” I said vaguely, hoping to figure something out by the time Michael got here.

  It wasn’t like Michael not to be on the scene—unless he’d gone to take care of some greater problem that demanded his attention in another part of the world. Half impatient, half afraid, I jumped to my feet and started pacing the room.

  “I’m going to leave him a message,” I announced to no one in particular. “I’ll leave him a message where to find us, back at our old hotel. That’s the only way I can think of to reach him. If he checks anywhere, it will be there.”

  I fished the phone book out of the nightstand, pushing away the Gideon Bible that rested on top of it. Quickly, I scanned the Las Vegas listings for our hotel and dialed out.

  “I’d like to leave a message for room 305, please,” I told the operator at the front desk. “Michael—I mean, Don Carmichael.”

  “Let me put you through directly,” she answered. There was a click as she made the connection, but it rang only once before I heard Mich
ael’s voice.

  “Hope? Is that you?” He sounded frantic.

  “Michael!” I said, startled. “What happened? I mean, we saw what happened on the news, but why aren’t you here? We’ve been waiting for you, and I’ve been worried.”

  There was a slight pause. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be right there.” I rattled off the address that was printed on the face of the phone and he continued. “Are the girls with you? Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, we’re fine. But Michael,” I said, lowering my voice, “we have to get them out of here. We have to get them home, to Mexico. But I’m not sure Maria wants to go.”

  He sighed. “We’ll take care of that when I get there.” He paused again. “How are you feeling, Hope? Do you need me to bring a doctor?”

  I laughed. “No, it’s the strangest thing. I seem to be healing. I’m still stiff and sore, but the skin, it—well, you’ll see when you get here. I don’t think there is any risk of infection any longer.”

  I heard him sigh with relief. “I’ll bring a few supplies, just in case. I should have never let you go last night. It was too dangerous, and I knew it.”

  I bristled, but reminded myself there was no need to argue. He had taken me along, and because of that, Maria and Jimena were free. “Just get here as soon as you can,” I said. “We’ll be waiting.”

  I put the old-fashioned phone back in the cradle and paused. How strange, I thought, that he needed directions to find us.

  It’s not so strange, snickered Henri. Ask him about it.

  Stop annoying me, Henri, I thought, irritated that he seemed so useless, so bent on making me suspicious and doubtful because of his own jealousy. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. At least he helped me when it counted—unlike some angels I know. Some Guardian Angel you’ve turned out to be.