A door opens, and a man steps in, followed by another who seems overeager, and we’re given the instruction to rise until the first man takes a seat in the middle of the bench. Then, like him, we sit.
The judge, as that’s who he must be, raises an eyebrow at Carissa. “Your client hasn’t turned up.”
Carissa stands. “Your Honour. ICE is transporting her from the processing centre. Any delay is on their part, and not hers.”
“We can proceed in her absence as you’re here to present her case.”
I grit my teeth. From his attitude, I don’t think he’s taking this seriously. It’s Mariana’s future at stake, surely she should be present to take part in the proceedings.
I feel a brief touch to my leg. It’s Drummer reminding me to keep quiet.
“I’d prefer to give her a few more minutes,” Carissa says firmly.
The judge looks at the ICE representative. “Could you please find out what the delay is?”
The man from ICE gets up and disappears out of the courtroom.
I start fidgeting. Fucking ICE can’t even get their detainee to the courtroom on time. No wonder immigration is in such a mess.
Minutes tick by. The judge looks impatient. Then, eventually, the ICE representative returns. He approaches the bench. There’s an exclamation from the man sitting behind it, then he waves Carissa over. A heated conversation ensues, but one carried out in low voices. Then the judge stands and indicates to his clerk. As the judge, Carissa and the ICE man disappear, the clerk announces we should all stay seated.
“What the fuck’s going on?” I snarl at Drummer, while in my head running over all the reasons why Mariana hasn’t appeared. She could have been hurt, the truck bringing her here could have crashed… My leg bounces, and I can’t keep it still.
“Don’t get yourself worked up. They could have got caught in traffic.”
But I don’t like it. Something awakens inside me, a premonition that there’s something very wrong.
“Perhaps she escaped,” Blade suggests from my other side.
Yeah, right. I don’t deign to reply.
Without my laptop, my hands have nothing to do, I clasp and unclasp them in my lap. If I had it with me, I could at least look up traffic hold-ups.
It’s about half an hour that we sit with nothing happening. At last the clerk is summoned, then reappears. He stands and says loudly, “Court adjourned.”
What the fuck?
“Why?” I call out, but my cry’s answered only by its own echoes from the empty courtroom.
I’m stunned. I’ve hoped for the best, prepared for the worst, but expected to know the outcome today. I’m reeling as though I’ve taken a blow to the head, not able to process that the case isn’t proceeding, and I won’t be seeing Mariana this afternoon. For a moment, I just sit there, wanting to wake up from this nightmare. I dreamed of taking Mariana home with me. Now I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
Behind my monitors I’m in control. I can’t cope without data, without something to process about what’s happening.
Carissa comes out from the judge’s chambers, and stomps over to us. “Outside,” she instructs, “and I’ll tell you what’s going on.” Her face is red, her body tense. Whatever she’s got to tell us isn’t going to be good.
“Okay,” she starts when we’re gathered around her. “Mariana’s been deported.”
What? “That can’t be right,” I snap.
She glares at me and continues. “The judge is furious that the decision was made without his input. I demanded he get the plane turned back. There’s a precedent for that, the case happened a while ago. When I reminded him of it, he did indeed try to do so.”
Mariana’s on her way back? “Did he stop it?”
Carissa puffs her glowing cheeks and blows the air out. “No. It had already landed.” She looks at me. “I don’t like it, Tse. Something’s wrong. When he demanded the guards find Mariana and put her back on the plane, they said they couldn’t do that. The plane apparently had to divert to a provincial airport as there was a problem with air traffic control in the capital. They turned it around pretty damn quickly, it’s already preparing for takeoff.”
“But the guards are still there—they could search for her.”
“They could. But she had transport arranged for her.”
“She couldn’t, she doesn’t…” Oh fuck! My eyes find Drummer’s. He’s already taking out his phone.
He moves away a discreet distance, but we all hear him when he roars, “Devil!”, even if we don’t hear the rest.
“I take it you’ve got suspicions,” Carissa sharply observes.
“Her father,” I explain quickly.
It’s not long before Drummer comes back, his eyes darkened, his face set. “Devil’s onto it,” he says succinctly.
Carissa looks from me to him, then at the men surrounding us. “I’ve not been in this situation before, but there’s nothing I can do here. I’ll return to my office and see if there’s any legal ball I can start rolling.” Her eyes meet mine once again. “I’m sorry, Tse, but now she’s been deported, it’s unlikely she’ll be allowed back. Christ, nothing was done properly. The judge wasn’t able to determine how long she had to stay away. This whole thing’s a mess.”
“Why did it happen, Carissa? Why?”
Her eyes narrow. “A mix-up, the detention centre says. She was put in the truck with the deportees early this morning, instead of in the one to bring her to court.”
Drummer’s hand on my arm stops me saying anything. There was no mix-up. I’m certain of that. Devil has to be behind it. And his days walking the earth are now numbered.
“I’ll be in touch, Tse.” Carissa looks so defeated as she walks away, I can’t apportion any blame to her.
Chapter 25
Mariana
The man has my arm held in a death grip. He must be near six feet tall, heavily built at that. There’s no way I can shake him loose. As soon as he mentioned my father, I tried to run, but he moved too fast. Now, as I’m being forcibly marched through the tiny airport and out into the heavy rain, I consider my options.
I’ve papers, but no money. No place to go. My brain’s numb as I try to process how quickly I’ve been removed from everything I’ve ever known. Even if I got away from him, what would I do? He works for my father. I’m not stupid, he clearly had a hand in bringing me here.
I’m exhausted, tired of fighting enemies too strong for me. It’s easier just to give in and go where this man wants me to go.
I can’t remember my father other than that he was a man who shouted a lot. A man who hit my mother. Hit me. Could he have changed in the intervening years? Could he really want to nurture a meaningful relationship with me? Somehow I doubt it.
As I get into the car, I automatically fasten the seatbelt, and let fate do with me what it wants. I’m glad I never allowed myself to believe a future with Tse was realistic, he’s lost to me now. I’ll never see him nor my brother again. But at least I met Tse, know enough that he’s a good man, and he’ll do the best he can to look after Drew. I have to believe that, can’t allow myself to think he’d do my brother wrong.
How will Drew take it when he hears I’ve been deported? A tear runs down my cheek as I realise I won’t ever see my brother again. Ma, he used to call me, joked that he looked on me as his mom. Well, I certainly looked out for him like any mother would have done. He’s got no one now. No one other than Tse.
I’m grateful now that Tse bought him that car, if Drew hadn’t had to have a guardian’s approval, I would never have signed that form, and Drew would have no one. Yes, Tse must honour his commitment to him, to me. He will, won’t he? I regret my words the last time I saw him. I told him I hated him. I lied.
My concern about my brother overrides any apprehension I have about my own fate. As we drive through unfamiliar scenery, the wipers constantly sweeping large drops of rain off the windshield, I look out with no interest on the country
I’ve been shunted off to. The man beside me is silent, I’m glad, I don’t want to engage in conversation.
All my hopes and dreams for my future are gone. What could Colombia offer me? A home with a man who killed my mother? What does he want with me? That’s the conundrum. Why would he want his daughter when he had no feelings at all for his wife?
At last the rain begins to ease, and the sun bravely tries to shine weak rays, but hardly seems to brighten anything up. The ground has become hilly, and now we start to climb. There are mountains around us, trees and lush greenery unlike the dry desert surrounding Tucson. The very difference makes me homesick all over again. This isn’t my home. It’s not where I’m meant to be.
I should be thinking positively, not drowning in despair. But I’m so scared, I feel like I’ve been beaten into the ground. A fish out of water, unable to breathe air. Since the moment the police arrested me I’ve had no say or control in my fate.
We’re coming up to a fortress, or that’s how it appears. High walls, a barred gate, a castle-like building inside. There’s a man on the walls, he’s got a rifle slung over his shoulder. Who is my father? Does he work here?
The gates are opened. The car pulls in and parks. The driver gets out, comes around and opens my door. I’m not waiting for him to be polite, just terrified of stepping out.
“Come.”
Another few seconds, then I take a deep breath. My legs are shaking when I put my weight on them. I wrap my arms around my waist as I look at the oppressive building in front of me. It looks like a prison. One from which there’s no hope of escape.
Inside, I soon find, it’s lavishly furnished, as though someone very rich lives here.
My escort nods to a heavily armed man in jeans and tee who’s appeared. I rack my brains as I look at him, comparing him with the vision of my father I try to conjure up. But his features have been lost in the depths of time. Rationally I realise sixteen years have passed, and this man’s too young to be my parent.
He takes up a position next to an enormous fireplace as the man who brought me here leaves.
The door opens again, causing my eyes to look across expectantly. A woman comes in carrying a tray, and places it in front of me. There’s coffee and cakes on it. Automatically I thank her, but have no desire to eat or drink.
An ornate clock with a swinging pendulum loudly ticks off the minutes. I watch as though hypnotised as the weight veers back and forth. It’s half an hour later, the untouched coffee now cold, that I hear loud, uneven footsteps from the hallway.
The guard, who’s obviously been assigned to watch over me, stands straighter. I hold my breath. A man enters. He looks to be in his forties which makes him the right age, he’s got a scar on his face, and walks with a heavy limp. His eyes are hooded, his lips thin, his features sharp. He’s not handsome, but there’s something there that reminds me of Drew. I think this could be my father.
The man whose hands are red with the blood of my mother. I shudder. Something breaks inside me, and my strength returns. I refuse to be cowed.
“Déjanos!” he snaps.
The guard almost salutes, and replies, “Sí, General.”
When we’re alone, the newcomer approaches. “Mariana, mi hija. Bienvenido.”
I stay seated. I get his gist, but respond to make it clear, “I don’t speak Spanish.”
His eyes rise, and he spits out, “A la mierda tu madre! Your mother never taught you?”
I shrug. “She wanted me to fit in in America.” I notice him looking me over, I do the same to him. “You are my father, I presume.”
He startles, as if it hadn’t occurred to him I wouldn’t know him. “I am.” He limps over and sits down on the couch opposite, the low coffee table in between us. Still his eyes are taking me in. “You need feeding up.”
“I’ve been in a detention centre for a few months. I wouldn’t look my best,” I snap at him.
He sits forward, his eyes blazing. “Let’s get things straight right now. I demand respect.”
“People earn respect.” I don’t know why I’m challenging him. For Christ’s sake, this man murdered my mother. He could do the same to me. But he wants me for a purpose, I’m certain. There’s something about the way he’s assessing me. He didn’t bring me here just to kill me. What would be the benefit of that?
“I don’t think you know who you’re talking to. I am General De Souza. El Procurador. People fear me with good reason.” He swipes his hand through the air. “I could snuff you out just like that.”
It must be that I feel I’ve lost everything, that I’ve nothing to live for, as his comment doesn’t worry me. Other people might show they’re afraid of him, I refuse to show fear. “Just tell me why you’ve brought me here. Now I’m in Colombia, I’ll need to figure stuff out. So let’s get this over with, then I’d like to go to a city and try to get on with my new life.” I sound far braver than I feel, but he’s rubbing me the wrong way.
As if he realises confrontation isn’t the best way to get through to me, he raises his chin, and his voice is less gruff when he speaks next. “You are my daughter, Mariana. Where else would you be but with me? My home is comfortable and you are welcome here. You will stay with me until I, we, decide what’s best for you.”
I haven’t had a parent decide anything for me in a very long time. Inappropriate things come into my head, like asking why he killed my mother, why he raped her and forced her to leave. Why he broke a four-year-old’s arm. I force those questions and my anger down.
Instead, I indicate our surroundings. “You were a corporal in the army when I was a baby. How did you get to be a general, and I presume this is all yours?”
“All mine.” His lips curl in a self-satisfied grin. “And I’m the General, not a general. Let’s say I saw a need for things to be supplied, and filled it.”
“Things…?”
Again, his hand moves through the air in a downwards direction. “No need to discuss business now. Not when I’m getting to know the daughter I haven’t seen for so long. You’ll find everything out in good time.”
Now why does that sound more like a threat than a promise? I shiver.
He notices. “You’re cold? Our climate must be a little cooler than what you’re used to. Your clothes, perhaps you’d prefer to change into something warmer? I have a room prepared, clothes in different sizes.” He breaks off, and for a moment a look comes over his face which is almost of regret. “You are my daughter, Mariana, yet I know nothing of you. Not even how tall you’ve grown.”
If you hadn’t been such a cruel man, my mother wouldn’t have left taking me with her.
“If there’s a room prepared, I’d like to go to it.” And be done with this painful interview. I raise my eyes to his face, firmly meeting his gaze. Knowing I’ve got to portray myself as a strong independent woman from the United States of America, and not some pawn he can play with. Except I never was, and never will be, an American.
He chuckles. It’s rather an unpleasant sound, one you could imagine him making when he takes an enemy down.
“Alright, Mariana. I’ll get you taken to your room. You can rest until dinner. You’ll be escorted down.”
A strange choice of words, but as I just want to get away from the company of this murderer, who I suspect has more than the death of my mother at his door, I go with it. I stand. He gets up himself, going to the fireplace and pressing a bell.
The man who’d been in the room earlier reappears. A quick exchange of Spanish, which I take is my father issuing instructions. Confirmed when the man reopens the door, holds it ajar and steps back to allow me to pass.
Before I go through, my father’s final words reach me. “Later, Mariana. We’ll continue getting to know each other later.”
I shiver again. Then I am led up a marble staircase. On the landing, there’s a full-length portrait of my father. Pompous ass. Then I’m led on, down a corridor which looks filled with antiques, and finally another door is open
ed. The man steps back, waving me inside.
That I hear a key turning in the lock is disturbing. Quickly I turn. No, I wasn’t mistaken. I’ve been locked in.
Looking around, I survey the room I’ve been given. There’s a large bed in the middle, a satin cover on it. The curtains to the large windows match. The furniture is elaborate, nothing like the functional type I’ve been used to. In fact, my whole trailer would fit in here and then some. An open door leads to a bathroom, a luxurious tub with massage jets, and a large walk-in shower. Various toiletries have been provided, more expensive looking than I could ever afford.
I stay standing, then turn in a circle, my mind whirling. Finally deciding, though this might be nicer, the fact there’s a key between me and freedom means I’m secured as much as I was in the detention centre. The only difference being, there, at least, I knew why.
Chapter 26
Mouse
“What the fuck has Devil done,” I scream into Drummer’s face. “What has he done, Prez?”
“Step back, Mouse,” Drummer rasps. “Calm yourself down. You’re in no state to help Mariana.”
But I don’t move. “Help her? How can I fuckin’ help her? She’s in fuckin’ Colombia!” My hands rake through my hair. When I snarl my fingers on a tangle, I just rip strands out, ignoring the pain.
“Will you fuckin’ let me talk to you?” Prez pushes his chest against mine. We stand head to toe. “If you give me a minute, I can tell you what Devil said.”
“Come on, Mouse.” Now it’s Blade trying to talk me off the ledge. “You think we’re going to desert your ol’ lady? Turn around and go home? Ain’t you been a brother long enough to know we don’t walk away from shit like this.”
“For fuck’s sake, Blade. She’s in Colombia.”
But Blade’s watching Drummer carefully. “Listen to Prez, Mouse.”
“Not discussin’ it here,” Drummer says, looking around the courthouse. Yeah, we’ve found a quiet corner, but could be overheard. “Come outside, Brothers. Let’s find some space.”
Mouse Trapped Page 20
