“Different from the aliens Aunt Twizzle and Uncle Forbes encountered at the Tequila Ranch?” Zed asks.
“Unknown. Whatever it is, it’s a threat to Gi.”
“Which means it’s a threat to us.”
“Correct.”
Zed changes topics: “I’ve been thinking about the boys fused with the red car and I’m thinking that event is alien made.”
“We agree,” both Sonnet and the twin say in unison.
Their acting and speaking in unison make everyone at the table perk up. For Zed, it makes the hairs on his neck rise.
“We have to find the cause of this event,” they say in unison. “We suspect the screamer. Using avatars, we are already scouring the area of the murder.”
“Both of you are working avatars?” Zed asks.
They nod in unison.
“Wow. Engaging both of you at the same time. Does this mean that you can have me go avatar without being wrapped in Gi barrier?”
“We’ll all go avatar this morning. Rafa will watch over our bodies. But everyone will be encompassed with a barrier for added safety.”
“Even Twizzle going avatar? She hasn’t gone avatar since the invasion of the Anza-Borrego Desert agave ranch.”
“She’ll have no problem. It’s merely a search,” Sonnet and the twin say in unison.
“So where do we park ourselves while we search?”
“In our room. We’re in a large suite with extra chairs. The search will require our complete attention. The search that we currently do right now is limited. Once we all gather together, we’ll intensify the search.”
“So what do we look for? The same alien signature that we always look for?” Zed asks.
“That and anything that feels linked to the event of the boys’ murder. If the large man you encountered at the murder site is found, we’ll visit him to see if he’s connected. If the screamer is located, we’ll visit her or him for the same reason.”
“I guess I better let my date from last night know I’ll not be around the rest of the day.”
Sonnet and the twin cease acting in unison and Sonnet says with a smirk, “Better call her a cab, Zed. Maybe get her number for the future.”
Zed stands and leaves the table. “Call me and leave your room number. I’ll be there in five or ten.”
Sonnet turns to Rafa. “You good for this, Rafa? Sorry to assume you were available without asking first.”
Rafa sips his tea then says, “As long as room service doesn’t give out, I’m fine. I can use the time to read up on my bike. Check out the user manual. See what software updates there are that I should be aware of.”
“Uncle Forbes?” Sonnet asks.
“I’ve got nothing better to do. Besides, flying around Santiago in avatar form sounds like a great way to get to know the city. I assume we’re all getting some kind of winged avatar.”
“Everyone flies. Finches, sparrows, wrens, swallows, shrike-tyrants, swifts, terns, you name it. The twin will create it for all of us.”
Twizzle interjects, “Sonnet and the twin and I discussed all this before anyone got to the table, so I’m ready whenever everyone else is.”
Sonnet and the twin look at each other and nod. In unison, they stand and say, “Follow us.”
Chapter 18
Day 2
Santiago, Chile
The sounds of Sister Mary preparing breakfast in her small kitchen slowly rouse Isabel from her deep sleep. Pushing the fluffy blanket off her shoulder, Isabel stretches and noiselessly yawns wide. Odors of toasted bread and herbal tea waft through the room conspiratorially. Glancing at the wall behind the couch, a hanging crucifix reminds her whose apartment she is in.
Breakfast with Sister Mary!
The realization has her tapping her fingers in delight. This is truly a good day. No apprehensions about being bullied or ordered around or yelled at or worse, just her and the-kind-and-loving Sister Mary.
She pushes the blanket off and lowers her feet to the carpet, where the soft pile caresses her soles. Mushing her feet into it, she wallows in its luxury. Looking up, she sees Sister Mary peek her head out from the kitchen to check on her. Isabel lights up with a huge smile. She wants Sister Mary to know she is so very happy to be here.
“Did you sleep well?” Sister Mary asks; her concern endearing. Sister Mary is the Madonna and Mother Theresa all rolled into one exquisite motherly figure for Isabel.
“Yes, Sister Mary. I slept very well.” Isabel puts on her best behavior to let Sister Mary know how much she appreciates the extended kindness and hospitality.
“Did you have good dreams?” Sister Mary asks. Sister Mary often uses dreams to assess people’s state of mind. The casual question is her secret way of gauging a person’s emotional wellbeing, but Isabel flinches at the query.
“I don’t dream, Sister Mary. I just sleep.”
Isabel retreating into herself ever so slightly is a change not lost on Sister Mary, who presses just a little more but gives Isabel an out.
“Really? I think we all dream. Maybe you don’t remember them. For some people, they never remember their dreams.”
“Yes, Sister Mary,” Isabel says obediently. She would never argue with Sister Mary, even if Sister Mary is wrong. She knows she never dreams. She just goes to sleep and then wakes up. There is never anything in between. Listening to other people talk of their dreams is like listening to someone talk of snow skiing. She knows people do it, but can only imagine what it’s like.
“I have tea and toast for you for breakfast. You have a choice of honey or jam for your toast, whichever you like best.”
Glad for the change of subject, Isabel hops off the couch and almost skips to the dining room. After seating herself at the table, she waits for Sister Mary to say the morning prayer of petition for blessing and grace. When Sister Mary finishes, Isabel spreads the jam on her toast and bites into the bread. Savoring the sweetness, she chews slowly.
“I’m going to have you follow me around today because I’ve not made plans for you. Is that okay with you?” Sister Mary asks.
The question makes Isabel feel so grown up, like one adult to another, but unused to the treatment she only nods perfunctorily and chews.
“I have some errands that we’ll go on and then you can help me with my duties. Maybe tomorrow we can see about getting you back into school.” She frowns for a second then adds, “And we must get you some clothes. I’m sure we have a lot to choose from in our second-hand clothes store. We’ll get you set up today.” No point going back to the Lopez family for whatever Isabel left behind, not until she cools down a little about Isabel’s mistreatment at their hands. Better to deal with them when the anger doesn’t color her actions.
When she stands she notices a spot of red on Isabel’s dress.
“Oh, you’ve dropped some jam on your dress. I’ll moisten a towel and we can wipe it off.” When she returns with the wet towel, she stops when she realizes it’s not jam.
“Isabel?” Sister Mary asks.
Isabel looks down, stands, lifts her dress up and finds that the feminine pad she is using has leaked. Observing the shape of the pad through Isabel’s underwear, Sister Mary says with surprise, “So young to be menstruating. Is this the first time?”
Isabel nods her head as embarrassment flushes her cheeks.
“Follow me, my love,” Sister Mary says kindly, one girl to another. “We’ll take care of that and it is nothing to be ashamed of. It means you are reaching womanhood a little early.”
Relieved by the familiarity afforded the mishap, as if it’s nothing to be ashamed of and is easily fixed, Isabel recovers.
After Sister Mary has Isabel remove her underwear, she washes them in the sink. To dry the underwear quickly, Sister Mary irons them and gives Isabel toasty-warm freshly clean underwear.
When Sister Mary leaves Isabel alone in the bathroom to replace the feminine pad, Isabel whispers quietly, “Guardian angel, if you are watching, thank you ve
ry much for Sister Mary. Please don’t ever take her away from me.”
She is immensely impressed that Sister Mary has performed the whole transformation without a derogatory or chastising word. When she opens the door to the bathroom, she is so grateful for the kindness that she launches herself into Sister Mary. Wrapping both arms around her and burying her head into her chest, she gives her a hug that makes Sister Mary’s lower lip quiver.
“Isabel, my love, what a battered puppy you must be. I’m sorry for your life up to now. I promise to look after you and do what I can to make things better for you.”
Isabel turns big thankful eyes up to Sister Mary, and it is all Sister Mary can do to hold back a tear. The life this poor girl has had, parentless and apparently friendless, it tugs at Sister Mary’s heart. She pats Isabel on the shoulders and says, “Let’s begin the day with new clothes for you. We’ll make this the start of the new and improved Isabel.”
Isabel smiles a smile that is felt to the oceans and the mountains.
One hour later, the new Isabel is dressed in stylish black jeans, a loose pullover white blouse, bolo tie around her neck, a black jacket with crushed velvet floral designs, and a wonderful black wide-brimmed felt cowgirl hat. “Eco-warrior” was how the salesgirl described the whole look to Sister Mary and Isabel. Black high-topped tennis shoes with knee-high black socks were the final touch that made both Sister Mary and Isabel smile.
“You look like you came out of a fashion magazine,” Sister Mary tells Isabel.
The admiration from the sales girl and Sister Mary, as alien as it is, makes Isabel tingle inside with a new sureness. No more would Isabel slink around as if she were invisible and beneath people’s notice. When the salesgirl stands next to her and they look in the mirror, she sees that she is just like the sales girl, stylish and proud. It’s a wonderful sensation.
“Tomorrow we’ll come back for another outfit for you,” Sister Mary announces. “We’ll let you try this new look on for size and then accessorize it, maybe different pants or blouse; things to trade off for each day of the week.”
Sister Mary is truly world-wise, Isabel decides.
For Sister Mary, this is living vicariously like a mother does with a daughter. Dress her up and watch her go. When she realizes how much fun it is dressing Isabel, she decides to stretch them out, one-a-day for a week. It’s as much of a bright spot in the day for her as it is for Isabel.
Isabel admires her reflection in the mirror, amazed at the new her. She tilts the brim of the hat left and then right, forward and then back, discovering that each tilt creates a different nuanced look; the bold Isabel, the sly Isabel, the cool Isabel and finally, the mysterious Isabel. She likes that one the most and settles on that adjustment.
Just as they are checking out, Sister Mary’s cell phone pings with a message and she reads it. After a few minutes of texted conversation, she tucks it back into her clothes and says, “Isabel, we have to make a little detour. I have to make a pickup at the Ministry of Justice for Father Donovan. Then we can get on with our errands.”
Isabel follows Sister Mary out of the store to her small car. At the car, Isabel notices her large friend standing in the shadows of a building across the street, his dirty coat making him blend in with the dirty graffiti-covered wall behind him. He is watching her watching him. She waves to him and smiles, glad that he is around. He nods in return.
Sister Mary, seeing Isabel wave, turns to see whom she is waving at. In the direction Isabel is looking, a number of people walk in both directions on the sidewalk.
“You saw a friend, Isabel?” Sister Mary asks.
“Yes, Sister Mary.”
“Anyone I know?”
“No Sister Mary.” Isabel is sure no one knows her longtime friend. He is always alone and always there only for Isabel.
“I wonder what your friend will think of the new Isabel, the Eco-warrior, as the sales girl called you.”
Isabel is sure her friend sees only the old Isabel, and it gives her a measure of security. He accepts her for what and who she is. That is why they are friends, just like she accepts him for what and who he is.
Sister Mary steers their car out into moving traffic that takes them out of the neighborhood, and eventually into the center of metropolitan Santiago. High-rises tower around them on every street. They arrive and park a few blocks from the Ministry of Justice and start walking towards the main entry fronting the Plaza de Constitucíon. As they near the plaza they’re surprised by the congestion of people on the streets. The area is crowded with college and high school students. Beyond them up ahead, they hear sirens and chanting. People are yelling and someone on a bullhorn is haranguing.
“¡Qué problema! It’s another student demonstration,” Sister Mary says in exasperation. Had she known about it, she would have told Father Donovan to wait a day for the pickup, but now that she’s here she decides to weather the crowds, and hopes things don’t get out of hand with the police and students fighting each other like they have in the past. She pulls Isabel close to her and keeps to the edge of the buildings.
Two stray dogs with bright orange cloth banners strapped to their backs nudge past them. Isabel smiles at them then glancing around, begins to feel apprehensive about being among so many people. The noise from the group of students with a long banner marching up the center of the street chanting is intimidating. And the mob of hundreds of people behind them is overpowering. Everyone has signs or flags or banners. If the voices of the people weren’t so aggressive, it might be mistaken for a festive parade.
“Agh. Wrong place at the wrong time,” Sister Mary laments as she tries to get ahead of the surge in people behind them, hoping to make it to the ministry entry before the crowds get too repressive. She pulls Isabel by the hand and weaves her way through the throngs of people.
Five minutes later, they are inside the Ministry and walking towards the office where they are to make the pickup. While the building walls diminish the sounds of the crowd outside, the bullhorned voices cut through them, making Isabel and Sister Mary edgy. The noise feels too much like a prelude to violence.
When they arrive at the interior office and close the door behind them, Sister Mary breathes a sigh of relief, happy to find it cuts out the remainder of the protests. The ambiance inside the small office is refreshingly calm and coolly air-conditioned.
“I’m Sister Mary here to pick up a package for Father Donovan,” she announces to the woman at the front desk. The woman picks up her phone and buzzes the appropriate party. After a moment of conversation, she hangs up, informs Sister Mary that the package will be brought down in a minute or two, and then suggests that Sister Mary take a seat. Smiling at Isabel, she comments on how nice she looks, which makes Isabel blush and Sister Mary shine with pride.
Looking away in shyness, Isabel turns to the large photograph of the National Stadium on the wall adjacent to the woman. Below the picture is the name Estadio Nacional Julio Martínez Prádanos. It is the largest stadium in Chile. She advances to the picture to get a closer look.
The picture is an aerial image taken at an oblique angle from hundreds of feet above. It shows an empty stadium that looks like an extruded capital O. The red seats and the green field strike a chord within her and she steps even closer for more detail. Suddenly, her mind fills with images of soldiers and prisoners. This is the stadium used as a detention center when President Salvador Allende was overthrown by the military, when Augusto Pinochet rose to power. The images become vivid memories of people being marched into the stadium at gunpoint. As she becomes immersed in the experience, she hears cries of pain and screams of people being tortured down in the bowels of the stadium. The laughter of the soldiers and the harsh yells of the interrogators fill her ears. Gunshots startle her.
“Isabel?” It’s Sister Mary tapping her on the shoulder. “Are you okay, my treasure?”
Isabel snaps out of the reverie and looks up at Sister Mary with bewildered eyes.
“
It’s the stadium,” the woman behind the desk says. “I don’t know why we have a picture of it here. People still associate it with the torture and killings during the coup d’état. They should tear the stadium down.”
Sister Mary shakes her head, doubtful that someone as young as Isabel would have a strong association with the crimes perpetrated at the stadium.
“Are you feeling well?” Sister Mary asks, wondering if the angry crowds outside have affected Isabel.
Isabel looks from woman to woman, who both show concern, and says, “I’m okay. I just got lost in the picture. It’s so big.” She says nothing of what she just experienced. It’s her secret, one shared only with her big friend. Only they know its significance. It’s something that’s been with her for as long as she can remember. She simply takes its sometimes occurrences for granted. Speaking of it causes her distress and is avoided.
Sister Mary’s eyes shift to the picture. “Yes, it is big isn’t it?” She judges the picture to measure three feet by five feet.
Fifteen minutes later, with a package for Father Donovan in hand, Sister Mary and Isabel walk towards the building exit, but the noise from outside feels ominous. The air is filled with screams and “pop-pop” sounds like rubber bullets being fired. An object hits the window next to the doors, cracking the glass. Shot from a police water cannon, water pounds and splashes against the glass doors, making a frightening racket that echoes off the walls, floor, and ceiling down the hallway. Guards block their passage and turn them back, telling them to take a different exit. Outside beyond the guards and doors, it’s a chaotic mass of people.
Sister Mary and Isabel hurry back down the crisp corridor to the safer side street exit on Moneda. When they arrive, no guards block their way out. They push the doors open and step out onto the sidewalk just as a crowd surges towards them from the plaza.
A young man wearing a cloth over his lower face collides with Sister Mary, shoving her into Isabel. Sister Mary’s head slams hard against the building wall and she lands unconscious on top of Isabel. Blood issues from the side of her face. Isabel, pinned beneath her, is stunned and disoriented by the fall. A woman trips over Sister Mary’s feet, falls against the wall and lands on top of Sister Mary. Trying to get up, she trips two people running from the plaza and they fall next to Isabel on top of each other. They are soaked with water from the police water cannon. People running, trip over them and land on them. Water from the water cannon shoots into them, eliciting screams. A young man pushed sideways by the running mob, falls on the person on top of Sister Mary.
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