Manipulate

by Pam Godwin

A fist slammed into the side of her head, and she collided with the nearby wall. Her skull throbbed. Her eyes ached with tears, and that was when she truly understood.

  There was no law here. No justice. No defense for the innocent.

  This was military corruption.

  “I’ll give you one chance.” The officer clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s up to you if you want to live or die.”

  There were no options. If she didn’t cooperate, they would kill her.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed her modesty. Then she removed her sneakers, jeans, and t-shirt. When she met his heartless eyes, she wore only her bra and panties.

  The impulse to wrap her arms around herself made her twitch. But she felt the need to make a stand. No one else would be fighting for her here.

  Holding her hands at her sides, she pushed her shoulders back, despite the ungodly terror twisting up her insides.

  “Where is Hernandez?” He paced a circle around her. “Garcia?”

  “I…I don’t know—”

  He gripped her jaw and yanked it upward at a painful angle, putting his bearded face in hers. “Where’s Cortez?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about! I live in Arizona. I’m just a schoolteacher. I don’t know anyone by those names!”

  “Okay.” He released her and stepped back.

  Did he think she was Vera? How deeply had her sister entangled herself with the cartel? Deep enough to fall into the sights of the Mexican military?

  If this was a case of mistaken identity, Tula couldn’t point that out and send them after Vera. She’d come to Mexico to protect her sister, not get her arrested.

  There had to be another way.

  “I gave you a chance, and you didn’t take it.” He nodded at the soldiers behind her.

  “Wait! Let me call someone.”

  Who? Who the hell would she call? Her boss? A fellow teacher at work? She didn’t have friends or family. No one could bail her out of this.

  She was on her own.

  The two uniforms grabbed her arms and aggressively wrestled her to the table, bending her over the surface with her chest pressed against the cold metal.

  In the next breath, her panties were ripped away, leaving behind an ice-cold quake of horror.

  This wasn’t a strip search. It was sexual assault.

  “I want to call a lawyer!” She bucked against their hold, terrified and exposed with her bare butt in the air. “I have the right to an attorney!”

  Hands slammed her face down as the other man shackled her arms to the table legs.

  Behind her, it sounded like two pieces of metal were being tapped together. Whatever that was shot violent tremors down her legs.

  She craned her neck and glimpsed a metal rod in the officer’s hand. A wire dangled from it, and she followed the end to where it plugged into the wall.

  Ungodly terror crashed down upon her, sitting over her mouth and nose and crushing her chest. A trickle of air slipped through, just enough to keep her organs functioning, but it was crippling, suffocating.

  Boots kicked her feet farther apart. Handcuffs tethered her arms to the table. Then she felt fingers, frigid bony digits separating her butt cheeks and the tender tissues around her vagina.

  Before she could scream her objections, the metal rod penetrated her rectum in one brutal shove.

  A sharp, ripping burn incinerated her anus. The sound of buzzing electricity warped the air as a jarring, horrendous jolt electrocuted her backside.

  The pain was so excruciating her bladder released, spilling urine down her legs. Vomit burst past her lips, and her eyeballs felt like they were exploding out of their sockets. As if every drop of life was trying to find a way to escape her body.

  She screamed until her vocal cords bled, until she couldn’t draw air into her lungs. Snot bubbled from her nose, and tears soaked her face, sticking her hair to her cheeks and mouth.

  The torture was never-ending, striking flames through her anal cavity, over and over. Fifteen to twenty jolts. Five seconds each.

  He removed the rod, stabbed it into her vagina, and started again. Back and forth he went, reaming that metal device in and out and frying her insides with punishing bolts of lightning.

  She cried for him to stop and tried to jerk away from the source of her pain. The pain… It howled through her body and blurred her vision. She couldn’t move, couldn’t swallow or gasp beneath the agony.

  Buzzing, taunting zaps, scuffing boots—all of it grew distant amid the pounding in her ears. Time ceased to exist. Her face stuck to a puddle of vomit, sweat, tears, and snot. Her body lay wasted on the table, electrocuted to the point of death.

  She welcomed the end. Willed it to take her from the torment. Yet her heart kept beating. Her lungs continued to suck air. Her body wouldn’t die.

  Then the buzzing din of static stopped, and the room fell quiet.

  A hand stroked over her head, petting her hair. “Are you ready to talk now?”

  “Stop.” Saliva leaked from her mouth, her voice raw and ruined. “Please.”

  She didn’t have enough energy to lift an arm. Her throat throbbed from screaming and dry heaving. It even hurt to blink.

  “We’re going to annihilate La Rocha Cartel.” His hot breath brushed her face. “Doesn’t matter if you’re a small-time player. You need to start talking.”

  “I don’t know anyone in any cartel. I’m. Just. A teacher.”

  Why were they doing this? Why did they want to hurt her so badly? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “My name is Petula Gomez from Phoenix, Arizona. Please, believe what I’m saying. You have the wrong person.”

  “You want more?” He patted her cheek. “I’ll give you more.”

  He rammed the rod into her ass and resumed the electrocution.

  Fiery waves of voltage shot through her body, causing muscle contractions that were so violent it felt like her bones were fracturing.

  Her mind flirted with the edge of unconsciousness, and she reached for it, needing the comfort it would give her. But her awareness hung on, refusing to burn out.

  Hours passed. Maybe days. It felt like several lifetimes came and went before they unlocked the handcuffs and kicked her onto the floor.

  She lay where she landed, crumpled on her side, unable to move. Silent tears escaped her eyes. Drool tickled her cracked lips, and perspiration clung to her naked skin.

  The shaking in her limbs was unbearable, every inch of her drenched in a cold sweat. The pain, the shock, the unholy fear—it gathered in her core and vibrated outward like a jackhammer.

  She couldn’t escape it, couldn’t silence the torment.

  Voices sounded from the hallway, and she pried her eyes open.

  Three men stood just outside the room—the officer and two unfamiliar soldiers—staring at her passport.

  “She doesn’t know anything.” The officer handed off the I.D. “She’s not the woman.”

  She tried to reach out an arm, form a word, or do something to get their attention. She needed to tell them to call an ambulance.

  But they turned and walked away.

  The edges of her periphery closed in, shrinking her vision until nothing existed.

  She blacked out.

  When she woke, the first thing she sensed was the clothing against her raw skin. Someone had redressed her.

  The surrounding space felt bigger.

  She opened her eyes to a new room, this one filled with at least a dozen people. She lay on the cement floor against a wall. Handcuffs shackled her to the bench beside her head.

  They weren’t letting her go?

  Her chest tightened, her panic deep and internal. The agony between her legs would’ve made her sob if she’d had the strength. She didn’t have enough life in her body to move a muscle.

  But she could shift her gaze, and as she looked down, she registered a large amount of drugs in a bag at her feet.

  “We apprehended an American
.” Her torturer stood a few feet away, addressing the room with his hands folded behind him. “Petula Gomez attempted to traffic fifty kilograms of marijuana into the United States.”

  Her stomach bottomed out.

  She had never touched an illegal substance. Never been associated with drugs in any way.

  She was being framed.

  Incapacitated beyond exhaustion, her body tried to sink back into oblivion. She fought it, desperate to defend herself.

  Some of the people in the room tossed out questions. At the edge of her awareness, she sensed the sounds of a flashing camera. A news reporter?

  She was too scared, too far out of it to comprehend or open her mouth. Everything inside her felt as if it were slowly dying.

  Consciousness slipped in and out. When she woke again, two soldiers were loading her in the rear of an armored vehicle, subjecting her achy eyes to the bright sunlight.

  It was morning.

  Her heart lurched. An entire evening had passed.

  They’d confiscated her purse, phone, and identification. All she had was the clothes on her back.

  A twenty-minute drive transported her toward a terrifyingly familiar part of Ciudad Hueca. She knew where they were taking her before the barbed wire walls appeared through the truck’s tiny windows.

  Jaulaso.

  The most violent prison in the nation.

  The living conditions in Jaulaso were so dangerous and inhumane there had been several attempts to shut it down. And like many prisons in Mexico, male and female inmates cohabited within its walls.

  Her chance of surviving in Jaulaso was zero. Especially as an American woman with no connections or experience. She wouldn’t make it the first night without getting raped.

  Adrenaline returned to her body, energizing sore muscles and injecting life into her blood. Her heart pumped harder, and her hands clenched in the shackles.

  By the time the soldiers dragged her into the crowded halls of the prison, she had enough strength to walk on her own.

  The man who booked her led her into a small room with a table and two chairs. He left her there alone, without an explanation or a fuck you.

  Shivering on the verge of hysteria, she huddled into the metal chair and tried to make sense of what was happening.

  Mistaken identity?

  That must’ve been the reason for her arrest. The military had followed her from Vera’s house, after all.

  She and Vera were only two years apart in age. They shared the same last name, black hair, brown eyes, slender build, and golden complexion. They looked similar.

  She couldn’t blame her sister for this. The Mexican military fucked up. When they realized Tula didn’t know anything, they covered their mistake by framing her.

  She was in Jaulaso because of corruption.

  What happened to her last night was too overwhelming to process right now. She compartmentalized it, shoved it all down and out of reach.

  But she couldn’t do anything about the coldness inside her, the deadened sensation in her brain, and her inability to react or function normally. She was in a severe state of shock.

  Her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall, and she attempted to calculate the timeline since she’d crossed the border. How long had she been unconscious?

  The sandpaper feel of her tongue suggested dehydration, but hunger pangs hadn’t set in yet.

  It felt like she’d been arrested days ago, though she must’ve only been detained for one night. Everything hurt. Her body was unresponsive to simple commands, her motor functions clumsy and zapped of life.

  After doing some painful guesswork in her head, she estimated she’d been tortured in that room for eight hours.

  She lost another two hours waiting at that table before the door finally opened.

  A white-haired, pudgy man lumbered in, wearing a wrinkled collared shirt and a crooked tie.

  “I’m the U.S. consular here in Ciudad Hueca,” he said without preamble and sat across from her.

  “They tortured me.” Her voice shivered beneath a strained whisper, and she cleared her ravaged throat. “The military… They…they electrocuted…” She couldn’t even say it out loud.

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have jurisdiction here in Mexico.”

  She was empty. Numb. Barely alive. “I need to get a message to my sister.”

  After he wrote down Vera’s contact information, he explained her rights in a bored, repetitive tone.

  “How do I end this?” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Declare yourself guilty. Accept the charges. That’ll give you the best chance to transfer to the states and conclude your sentence in the U.S.”

  “Conclude my sentence? That’s my best-case scenario?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his bulbous nose.

  “I’m innocent.”

  What would happen to her job? Her American citizenship?

  He arched a brow and tossed her a that’s-what-they-all-say look. “Your other option is to fight for your innocence in Mexico.”

  That was the right thing to do. The only option.

  “Okay.” She might not have been thinking clearly, but she knew she would never plead guilty to a crime she didn’t commit. “I’ll prove my innocence.”

  “Fine.” His voice drawled with an unnerving lack of care or compassion. “I’ll help if I can, but these things take time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Years.”

  “No. Impossible.” Her breathing accelerated. “I’m innocent. I’ll be out of here in a month. Two months at most.”

  “Good luck with that.” He heaved from the chair, grabbed his briefcase, and walked to the door without looking back. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “We have a new one!” The prison guard shoved Tula through the sweaty, packed halls of Jaulaso. “Hot, fresh meat.”

  Did he really just announce that?

  The blatant leering of filthy men pulled her chin to her chest. She folded her arms around her midsection, eyes on the floor, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

  The lack of strength in her legs made her stagger, her muscles achy and skin feverish as dozens of inmates whistled and screamed vulgarities at her.

  Frailty trembled through her and hitched her shoulders around her ears. Tears hit the backs of her eyes, but she refused to cry. She was still standing, still walking on her own. As long as she didn’t fall, maybe she would make it to the safety of her cell in one piece.

  The immediate future squeezed a fist around her throat. Until she proved her innocence, she would have to fight for her life, every second of every day, and that fight started now.

  The scent of vomit clung to her hair, but the air in the hallway smelled worse. The pungency of urine, feces, and body odor polluted every inhale, making her eyes water beyond her need to sob.

  The corridor was so crowded she had to step over half-naked people and weave around piles of garbage and discarded clothes.

  The darkness accentuated the humid dampness and overall gloom and emphasized how few lights functioned in the facility. Prisoners with working light bulbs squatted in their cells making crafts or preparing food. Others sat in complete blackness.

  It was fucking depressing.

  Despite the obscurity, men and women of all ages milled around the walkways between cellblocks. The guards were grossly outnumbered, and some didn’t even wear uniforms. She struggled to distinguish them from the inmates.

  Her escort stopped at a cell, where three men huddled together, whispering. A fourth man rushed out and gripped the guard’s arm.

  “I’m afraid.” His lips pulled back, revealing broken teeth. “My cellmates are gang members. Put me somewhere else. Anywhere.”

  “Back in your cell.” The guard shoved the frail man into the dark cage and continued walking.

  She jogged to catch up, craning her neck to check on the man as she passed. The distraction cost her.

  The guard propelled her int
o the next cell, and her weakened, tortured body collided with the grimy wall.

  A stained, threadbare blanket lay wadded in the corner. Rodent shit and dead bugs littered the concrete floor.

  There was no bed. No sink or toilet. No other inmates. Nothing in the cell except a blanket she wouldn’t touch if her life depended on it.

  At some point, she would need to empty her bladder and wash the puke from her hair.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” She glanced back at the guard.

  He gestured down the corridor, slammed the barred door, and strolled away.

  The door rattled in the frame and bounced open.

  A terrible feeling crept into her gut as she rushed forward and tried to bolt the gate.

  No lock. No latch. Nothing to keep the door from hanging ajar.

  How was she supposed to sleep? She needed the security of a locked cell. She needed to let her guard down and close her eyes, just for a little while.

  Two shady middle-aged men sat in the corridor across from her, watching her hold the door closed.

  Averting her gaze, she glanced at her sneakers. Desperation moved her into action.

  Five minutes later, she backed away from the door and hugged her waist.

  Her shoestrings wrapped around the bars, tied in complicated knots, and cinched tight enough to hold the door closed.

  The men in the hall had smirked at her while she did it as if she believed a shoestring could protect her. Of course, it wouldn’t stop someone from entering, but it would slow them down.

  The task had also kept her mind busy. But now that it was finished, she couldn’t escape the fear that seeped in with the clamor of shouting and grunting outside her cell.

  The deep, rumbling voices of Mexico’s worst criminals echoed off the walls and drove her into the corner of her cell.

  Reality enclosed her on all sides, weakening her legs and chopping her breaths. Hands clenching with white knuckles, heart pounding, and muscles painfully rigid, she was helpless against the surge of emotions.

  She was in the most ruthless prison in Mexico.

  Alone.

  Unarmed.

  Terrified.

  If she didn’t survive, would anyone know what happened to her? Her sister, her colleagues at the school, her students… Would they learn she’d been wrongfully arrested and left to die in Jaulaso? Or would she become a missing person, never to be found?