Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  I fall silent and try to calm the storm as it becomes unpredictable once more. This, what I’ve thrown her into, is a fate worse than death. I saw it coming, imagined it but I don’t think anything can prepare me for what’s going to come of this party.

  Santiago enters the room to our left, rubbing his hands together with intent, his eyes looking directly at Isla. Slowly but with absolute ease, his lips start to twitch as a sideways smile starts to form. He speaks to no one, his presence alone silence the room as he walks toward Isla.

  “Eighteen,” Santiago says, coming to a halt standing in front of her.

  She doesn’t respond so he reaches out putting an iron grasp around her bottom jaw, forcing her head up. I want to be sick at the sight of Isla as she stares at Santiago so lifeless. Her eyes are dead, the color dulled in comparison to its usual vibrant hues and I can tell how wrapped up in the depression and absolute hunger for another trip after Santiago’s drug abuse she is.

  “You going to speak to me?” he asks, starting to let her go. When she doesn’t respond, barely holding her head up, he slaps her face, repetitively, trying to rouse her from a distant state. “Aw... you really feeling the comedown hey, puta?” He asks her, keeping her head up. “Drugs are not so kind to you when you can’t get them, are they?”

  “Please,” she whispers, her begging plea resonating around the room. “P-please.”

  “Please what?” he asks, mirth lacing his tone the more he stands with her before him, like this.

  She licks her lips in vain, striving for some moisture, but she comes up dry and she gulps harshly against the dryness running down her throat.

  “Please what, Eighteen?” He asks again, cocking a brow.

  Now something lights in Isla’s eyes. Something desperate, a shot of hope that maybe he’ll grant her wish and feed her something that will take the ache from within her.

  “More.”

  Her begging makes me think about how she wanted another dose, how she yearned for another hit. If anything, it’s worse now than ever, but what makes it even more disgusting is the fact that she’s trapped, arms above head, body on show and unable to seek or properly beg for new drugs.

  Santiago gives her a moment of silence, clearly filling her with more hope as he looks contemplatively over her greedy entreat.

  “Not quite yet!” he declares falling away from his spot in front of her. “We have other things to deal with first.”

  Walking around her, he runs a hand over her waist, stopping only when he’s behind her. She struggles to look, forcing herself to spin on the tips of her toes, but she rocks straight back to facing Joaquín and me.

  I can hardly see what Santiago is doing, but I see his arms up out as he reaches up, turning her only a little as if to show his father what he’s doing. He pulls a knife out, pushing the blade out just to cut the top of her dress, before stowing it back away. He starts tearing the dress apart until the only thing keeping her front covered are the straps over her shoulders. Pushing her, Santiago twists her around so her back now faces her, she’s completely nude under the dress besides the splashing of bruises that have appeared over the past few weeks, the harsher one from her torment the day before.

  Still he remains silent, not letting anyone know what exactly he’s up to. Walking toward us, he reaches out and I turn my head to watch as Joaquín pulls a long black iron rod from the side of the chair. He presents it to his son before settling back into his seat. I don’t catch full sight of what it is, but when Santiago heads over to the fire on the other side of the room, I know immediately what he’s going to do.

  Santiago places the emblem of the iron into the flames, allowing the iron to heat and turn bright orange. He doesn’t say a word, just looks more and more pleased with how this is all falling together.

  When he’s satisfied, he starts to approach Isla. My hand curls around the arm of my chair as he goes toward her. She hangs so unsuspecting of what he’s about to do and all the room can do is fall silent and watch as he presses it to her flesh. Almost immediately, her body reacts trying to move away from the painful stimuli, trying it’s hardest to help her by moving away from the pain point, but it’s futile. Santiago merely wraps a hand around her waist, holding her in place as he keeps the hot iron pressed into the top of her thigh. Letting her know he’s not in the habit of granting mercy.

  Her scream cuts me deep. The bloodcurdling high-pitch to it burns into my memory, terrorizing all of my good memories. That noise, as her flesh burns, will be one I’ll never forget in this lifetime. Nothing will darken and quiet that noise because her howl of pain comes from such a deep recess in her it’s rocked me to my very core.

  I hate myself more than ever.

  I let the bastards brand her. I allowed that, I had a hand in this and my culpability will hang on my conscience longer than I will live my life. What’s worse is my inability to stand up and protect her. I know that doing that will cost me dearly and I need a chance to learn more about Isla and about her time with my sister. I need her to forgive me.

  So I watch as he continues to hold the hot iron to her, the smell of burning flesh beginning to filter into the air. Taking the iron away, there imprinted on her ass is a fresh burn showing quite clearly the El Salvador emblem – a skull with the initials – E.S.C – and flames bursting around the entire thing. It’s now etched into her skin and I can tell from the way her legs shake that the pain is unbearable.

  “I’m not quite done,” he announces, throwing away the burning iron. He gives one look around at us all, but his gaze settles upon me the longest. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a stainless steel switchblade, the lights reflecting off it. “This puta wants to play rough and do dark deeds, then I’ll leave her a real reminder of who will deliver her punishment... fuck! Who has already been punishing her and is yet to stop.”

  He slides the blade out and stands beside Isla’s quivering body. Crouching down, his hand wrapped completely around the handle, he raises it up to where he’s just burnt her. With the very tip of the blade, he starts to cut into her, forcing her to cry out more than ever. Her eye flies backward, more howls emit from her and slowly she settles into bursts of pleas, one following the other.

  “Stop,” she whispers, her head falling forward. “Please. Just stop. I’m sorry. Please!”

  Santiago only continues, clearly unaffected by her woeful pleas, while I sit here being eaten up by each and everyone one of them. I force myself to look at Joaquín, with a hand to his face, he watches lazily. I see no sickened emotion or ounce of pleasure. He looks completely impartial to the view ahead. Looking away, I catch sight of the girls sitting around with the men. They’re all horrified, tear-ridden but horrified. The men among them, not even flinching.

  “Done!” Santiago declares, standing up, but his body shields what he’s added.

  When he starts to withdraw, I can see he’s sliced his name under the burn, the blood running down the natural curve of her body. Every letter of his name sits deeply cut into her flesh, a permanent reminder of where she’s been, who she’s been with and who’s ruined her at long last.

  “Are you done?” Joaquín asks after clearing his throat.

  I can’t tell how he’s feeling as he watches his son, but when I look closer, I notice the disgust in his eyes. This only angers me. He wanted this to happen. He ordered her to be placed into isolation for these past three days, he wanted her weak and he wanted her strung up like this. He has no right to feel pity.

  Why the fuck isn’t he happy now?

  “Not quite,” Santiago responds, shaking his head. The excitement that starts to overtake him is clear, but he’s not winning any favors, especially with his father. “The fun’s only just starting now.”

  “Santiago,” Joaquín starts with an exasperated tone.

  “No, no, padre,” Santiago stops his father, waving his hand at him. “I’ve been working out a way to make our business boom. We make standard drug runs, but I think we need t
o be thinking of something more unique. Something even Thomas had no hand in designing and concocting!”

  Eagerness fills the room, but Joaquín looks on dubiously yet full of wonder of what his son has done.

  “My men and I have been concocting a new line of LSDs that could take us globally. I plan for the high to be so high that a man could believe he has the strength of a thousand men and actually be able to live up to the illusion. I want hallucinations so bold, so striking that any man can wake up and remember it so well he thinks it has happened.”

  Diablo is quick to enter the scene, a small bag of what looks like pink paper. He hands it over and quickly leaves the area. Opening the clear pouch, Santiago snags one of the small squares and holds it up.

  “We went with this because distribution can go widespread and with little detection,” he announces, becoming quite the fucking businessman as he talks about his newest creation. “Dissolvable paper, which isn’t a new tactic, means that the drug is straight into the system with no trace. We didn’t want to change the tried and trusted method. These can be easily hidden and stowed away when entering clubs,” now I watch the devil come to play. “And you’re about to witness first hand their potency,” he turns on his heels making quick, sharp strides toward Isla again as she hangs with tears running down her face, her head lolling once more. “Eighteen... look at me,” he calls out, she responds by obeying. “Open your mouth,” he orders, holding his finger out to her.

  Isla looks at it, seeing the bright pink paper with the El Salvador emblem on it and her eyes light up. They flicker up to look at Santiago in disbelief.

  “I guess you earned this,” he says, a wickedness to his tone. “It’ll help,” he promises her.

  I close my eyes, hating how willingly she listens, how ready she is for a new high. She doesn’t even care what as long as it takes her away from the here and now. She doesn’t fight Santiago and this wonder drug he’s brought out, instead she eagerly awaits the power he holds with just one slice of paper. Dropping the small square onto her tongue, he backs away, looking at Hector as he begins to walk toward his father.

  “Let her down,” he orders once she’s taken the bait.

  As Hector works the pulley system, Santiago gives Joaquín the bag of drugs, looking all too smug with himself. He only turns back to help Isla up, undoing her bindings as she now sits on the dirty floor, half-naked, and completely out of sorts.

  “They’re known as blotters, and dependent on the dose can take up to thirty minutes to work,” Santiago speaks, educating us all. “However, the dose in our blotters is higher than most, allowing the high to be almost instantaneous. It’s not enough for an overdose, but it’s enough for the user to start to feel the effects within ten to fifteen minutes after they’re taken rather than the usual thirty minutes to an hour.” He crouches before Isla, speaking at her, but not to her. “All it takes is a quick dose of the drug to be applied to the paper and you’re ready to go which enables quick manufacturing and quicker distribution.”

  To his credit, Santiago does make a believable businessman, but like all men after making a pitch, there are always going to be glitches. I doubt he’s cared over the ingredients to this revolutionary LSD he’s created in order to gain points with his father. I highly doubt he’s worried about the side effects or the damage a bad trip can do.

  “Isla is our first human to try the final product,” he declares, narrowing a glance at Isla. He doesn’t move, just stands and stares as Isla falls victim to the drug she so willingly took. “We spent the last few days giving Eighteen heroin. This built up her tolerance for the drug and slowly brought around a withdrawal. It was to both weaken her and make her beg for anything we had offered. Even if the high of this won’t touch what the heroin would’ve, it made her so ready for anything we could’ve put out as an offering.”

  “So what’s the plan now?” Joaquín interjects, striking up a conversation while looking around Santiago for a moment. “Now, she’s like she is.”

  He tosses a hand in disarray at Isla, who has barely moved, but slowly you can see she’s fallen prey to the blotter placed on her tongue. Her brow is furrowing as her eyes begin to glaze over and I can tell already this isn’t going to be a good trip for her.

  “What’s the plan, son?”

  “Ah that...” he trails off, once more that wicked smile he wears so often resumes its place. “The hallucinogenic part of this drug is the fun part,” he tells us, backtracking to Isla. “Watch,” he orders in a hushed tone as he lowers himself down to Isla’s level.

  Softly, Santiago touches Isla’s face. The gentleness doesn’t cause her to flinch; instead, she reacts to the loving touch by leaning into it. Even with her eyes open, she seems to not even realize it’s Santiago touching her at all. She’s fooled instantly by his gentleness and calm.

  “Isla,” he starts, his tone as soft as his touch. “It’s me, baby girl.” His words evoke emotion in Isla that makes her seem so childlike. Her eyes widen immeasurably, casting a look at Santiago with absolute awe. “I'm here," Santiago whispers, a hand grazes across her jaw, telling her to release her tears. "Daddy's finally here."

  “You are?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

  “Yes, I am,” he replies, playing his part well. “I’m finally here.”

  "Thank you," Isla replies, a relief taking hold of her tone. "I don't want to be here anymore, daddy."

  “Do you want to go home?”

  She begins to nod her head, her lip quivering as her eyes begin to well up and stream with fat tears trawling one after another. She starts to move toward him, her arms out as if in preparation to wrap around his neck and hold him close, feel his warmth and his comfort.

  But Santiago changes.

  "I'm not your daddy!" Santiago brutally announces, the softness disperses from his tone to give way to the venom. He slaps Isla, forcing her into the cruel, overbearing reality of her environment. "He doesn't even know where you are, Eighteen!"

  Isla looks Santiago over, a blush creeping on her pale skin as she takes in the sight of him. Slowly, her eyes start to widen and she twists her body on the spot, trying and struggling to find the source of her father’s voice and adoration. She looks feral, her pupil’s dilating as she comes up empty for finding him.

  “He was here,” she says her voice unbidden with tears, looking around the room at everyone sitting and watching. “He was right here. He was here!” She looks at Santiago, getting onto her knees so she can lean toward him, grabbing at his shirt. “You must have seen him! He was here! What did you do to him?”

  “He was never here, Eighteen,” Santiago harshly tells hers, taking great delight in destroying her mental state and crushing every piece of hope she had. "I don't even think your family are looking for you anymore! It's been a long time since the forum they used dried up and all leads disappeared. I think all hope was lost when the last lead we gave them was a dud. Yet they were so grateful when I told them I had seen you and seen how happy you were."

  If there is one thing I would never call Isla, it would be happy. She hasn’t reveled in a light, joyful emotion for a long time that’s clear to see. It’s fact worn by every girl in this room. A harsh, debilitating truth that every cartel carries with them. They take and take and they destroy souls and people’s mentality to get what they desire.

  The El Salvador cartel is no different. If anything, they’re the cruelest they can be with the drug abuse and the rapes they’re well immersed partaking in.

  “No,” she begins, shaking her head as depressing hysteria sets in, the drugs worsening her mood. “No! No! They’re still looking. They wouldn’t stop!” Her voice starts to raise, the tone heightening and the paranoia that seeps through causes Isla to become breathless, heaving with fresh sobs. “They wouldn’t stop! They wouldn’t believe I was happy!

  “You’re completely alone in the world now, Eighteen!” he says and it’s almost like that one line destroys her wholly. Her sobs suppress as she watc
hes him. “No one in the world cares about you anymore! You’re here until death because Mommy and Daddy decided that life was easier without you than holding onto some vain fucking hope you were ever going home to them! You’re ours to keep because no one else wants a pathetic, murdering little puta in their lives. So we use you for our own personal gain and you’ll enjoy every single minute of it,” he smirks, releasing a short burst of laughter. “I mean if only to repent your sins where Gabi is concerned or poor little Jenny. Hell, you should be groveling for the pain you put your family through. You drove them to misery!”

  He’s playing to the drugs and he’s being clever. He has clearly looked into the effects of drugs that alter moods and conjure illusions because he has Isla in the palm of his hand while he plays his games with her.

  Putting his hands on her wrists, he tries to pry her away but she doesn’t let go. So as he stands he uses more force, once he’s free, he drops her. He leaves her as she falls into a heap on the floor. He abandons her, leaving her on the floor while the rest of us watch and wait. Some follow Santiago and start to eat. Others, like myself and Joaquín, just watch her as she lays so still, so docile, just staring ahead, barely blinking as the truth of Santiago’s words set in stone in her mind.

  I can hear Santiago begin to strike a conversation with his men, commanding them to eat and enjoy the meal his father has had made, but I don’t care for him. I watch Isla, telling myself not to run to her aid. I have no idea how she’ll feel once her comedown has finished or how she’ll deal with still being unable to fix the itch she’s been feeling as a result of the heroin. I bow my head, vowing she’ll have it easier than some.

  “Gabi?” I hear her whisper, my head jerking up. There’s a blissful smile that captures her face as she stares onwards. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she says, her tone almost sounding breathless. “I thought you’d never come back to me because of what I did,” her hand moves outwards, sitting before her. “I’m sorry for what I did,” there’s a silence, Isla’s eyes force forward, her hand out stretched. “I killed you and I covered up for it. I never wanted to do it. I never wanted you to leave me,” tears start to fall, her remorse smothering her. “I took you away from everyone. I stole you. I killed you, but here you are,” there’s a moment of silence, everyone waiting with bated breath. “Are you here for me?”