by M C Rowley
“Come on,” said Rose. “See you in the morning.”
He grabbed his coat from the rack to the left of the door and made to leave. Jean sighed and followed.
Just as they got the crossing, Jairo stood and spoke. “I knew them all. All ten of them.”
Rose and Jean stopped and turned to face Jairo again.
“The last one, in the balaclava, too.”
Unable to hide his agitation, Rose said, “And?”
“It’s me,” said Jairo.
Rose snorted like a bull, turned on his heel, and strode out of the door. “What a surprise,” he said, walking away.
Jean smiled at Jairo. “Thanks.”
He said nothing and sat back down. Rose walked down the corridor and we heard the big security door open and slam shut.
Eleanor grabbed my elbow and pulled me out of the room to the kitchen area.
I looked at her, “What is it?”
“The house, I remember the house Reynolds kept me in,” she said.
“You do?”
“Yes,” she said, peering around the doorframe to see if Jean had noticed us slip out. She hadn’t. She was trying to talk to Jairo.
“I should tell Jean,” said Eleanor.
“Are you sure you remember the location?”
She nodded, “I’m pretty sure. It was a big house. It burned down. There’ll be news.”
“Don’t tell Jean,” I said. “We need to get out of here. It’s hopeless being locked up in here.”
“But,” she went to say more but I put a finger to my mouth as Jean came towards us.
“Follow my lead,” I said.
Jean had come into the kitchen area, “You’ll have to sleep on the couches. I’m going home for the night.”
“I don’t think we’ll get much sleep after today,” I said.
Jean smiled a tired smile and turned to leave. She walked along the corridor. I grabbed Eleanor’s arm and pulled. We walked down the corridor behind Jean as quietly as we could. She was about ten meters in front. I counted on her tiredness as much as keeping our footsteps light. She reached the heavy security door, punched in a code and pulled it open.
“Now!”
I ran to the door in a sprint just as Jean passed through and began closing it. I got to it as the door had no more than a foot to go before we were closed in. I grabbed the door with both my hands and pulled it back open. But Jean was strong. She pulled back at first, and Eleanor came to help. Then Jean pushed us back inside the hallway, swinging the security door back open all the way. Eleanor fell backwards, I kept on my feet.
“I’m sorry to do this,” I blurted out as I ran at Jean and threw her into the wall. I didn’t want to hurt her, I liked and respected her but this was no time for sentiment. Eleanor screamed and I wrestled with Jean to the floor. She was swearing at me. I knew I had little chance of beating a trained field agent in a fight, but maybe just enough in me to get out the door. The problem was Eleanor had frozen in the hallway and I was upside down on the floor myself and Jean was getting on top of me.
I had failed.
Then, from nowhere the weight was released as I felt Jean’s body fly off from me. I rolled over and got to my knees.
Jairo had put Jean in an arm lock from behind and now held her in his arms as she struggled.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Jairo slid one hand into Jean’s pocket and pulled out a set of keys that belonged the street door downstairs and threw them awkwardly to me without letting Jean from his grip, “Go.”
Eleanor was standing behind him and Jean, still in shock. Jairo turned to her, “Go!”
She needed no more convincing and ran to me and the door and we left the building, back downstairs, through the lobby, unlocked the door and stepped into the cold night. People were still walking up and down the street despite the hour. Eleanor and I slipped into the flow of night walkers and got moving.
Chapter Ten
It was cold and I put my arm around Eleanor. She was shaking in a fast-paced yet light rhythm, like a jazz percussionist tapping a snare.
“We should get off the main drag,” I said, thinking about where we would sleep.
“Yes, but we need cash.”
“No shit,” I said.
“I can get us cash, but I need an ATM.”
“You still have your card?”
“Not mine,” she said and looked at me.
She didn’t want any more questions. It was the face she pulled when she was being cheeky or planning a surprise.
I tried to brush the thought aside. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been preparing for this, Scotty.”
And she kissed me. In the distance I heard a police siren and I remembered the immediate need to find cover. My questions would have to wait.
So I asked, “Taxi then? We go to the nearest ATM. I wait in the car while you get the money. Then to a motel and we can pay in cash.”
Eleanor nodded and we started pacing down the street, trying to find a cab to hail.
It took twenty minutes.
Ten blocks down from the office, a lone red taxi stopped for us. Eleanor asked the guy to take us to the nearest bank with an open ATM, and then to a motel on the northern side of town. We assured him that one of us would stay in the taxi while the other withdrew the money. After a minute of deliberation, he went for it.
At the cash machine, Eleanor came back with a wad of bills in her pocket. She paid the taxi driver $100 up front for his trouble.
I asked her, “Why north?”
Eleanor was lying back in her seat, staring forward. She didn’t move but she smiled. “I’ll tell you at the motel.”
We stayed quiet the rest of the way.
After forty minutes, we were in the suburbs. The houses and shops got smaller by the block, until they were all single-story.
“Here is nice hotel. Family run. And still open,” the driver said.
We thanked him and Eleanor slipped him another bill, and he left us staring at the travelers’ hotel. It was a prim and proper looking, with plastic coated tiles and a bland cream color on the walls.
The lady who checked us in was in her sixties and dressed in what would commonly be accepted as pajamas. She moved around the desk, her hands on the top, side-shuffling fast, clearly embarrassed at not having been ready to receive us.
Eleanor told her we would stay one night and that we would pay in cash, if that was okay. The lady nodded and showed us to a small double room with humble décor—wallpapered in cream, with a picture of a boat hanging on the wall, above which a cross hung.
We thanked the lady and locked the door. Eleanor walked around the bed and untied her hair.
“So,” I said, “why north?”
“I remember,” said Eleanor, “where Reynolds’ people kept me after Mexico, after all of that.”
She hung her head. When we had first found Jairo, Eleanor had put a bullet in the brain of the man who ran the Sons of No One Cartel, Matias Esteban. I understood her feelings. I, too, had killed a man since this all began.
“When Reynolds’ people just let me go, after they got Jairo in Mexico, I remember the location. A big house. North of here.”
I sat down and rubbed my temples. “You knew where Reynolds was?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I never saw him.”
“And you remember the location?”
“With the help of a map, yes.”
“And you think that’s where Estrella might be?”
Eleanor stood and faced me. “Estrella is everything now, Scott. We have to help Jairo.”
I turned my head and a scoff slipped from my lips. “If he wants it.”
Eleanor walked round the bed and came up to me and held my shoulders. “What do you mean, if he wants it? You don’t think he’s suffered enough?”
“El, I have spent more time with him than you have. You haven’t seen what he can do. And in all the time we had together in the jungle, y
ou know how many times he mentioned his girlfriend and daughter?”
Eleanor looked away from me.
“Not once.”
Eleanor’s hand went to her mouth and she sat on the bed, not crying but staring into the distance. I sat down by her side and put my arm around her. No words were necessary. We both knew this was a mess. That our son, returned from the dead, would never be the son we had each visualized in our minds, instead we had the harsh reality. That he had been raised by evil people. Made to do evil things. We never had the chance to bring him up, teach him right from wrong.
Jairo was a lost soul.
I turned to Eleanor and kissed her on the lips. She kissed me back. Within minutes we were ripping each other’s clothes off and making love. And the pain went away, like ice on a burn, replaced by carnal pleasure.
Afterward, we fell asleep naked in each other’s arms.
We woke at first light. Eleanor got up and prepared coffee with the minuscule motel-standard filter machine. She ordered some eggs from reception and paid in cash. Once we’d finished and put the dirty plates outside the door, we poured more coffee and began thinking out a plan.
I had questions. Namely, how Eleanor had an ATM cash card when Jean Santos had us on lockdown. And also how she could remember where she had been held after Mexico.
I started with the latter. “I cannot believe that Reynolds let you go—no drugging, no blindfold. That doesn’t add up.” Eleanor puffed out her cheeks and I quickly adjusted my stance. “I mean, it’s out of character for him, no?”
Eleanor frowned. “Yes, it is. But that’s what happened.”
“Alright,” I said. “Tell me where we have to go.”
“And the card?”
“I was given that too. They wanted me to help locate Jairo. Remember, he found me. I don’t know how. I’ve hardly had a moment alone with my own son.”
“I know.”
She was right. All that had happened had been Reynolds’ planning. So why even question it? Not until we found Estrella at least. Then maybe we could get answers. We headed down to the lobby where the proprietor, now dressed regularly in a shirt, cardigan and long skirt sat at reception.
“Checking out?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I wondered if you help us. Do you have a computer with internet access we could use quickly?”
The lady smiled, “Yes, I don’t see a problem with that.”
I added, “It’s to try and book our next night’s sleep. We’re heading north. A romantic road trip.”
I smiled. The lady seemed not to care and showed us through to a back office. Once she had left us alone, I did a Google search for big houses or mansions being burned down. It didn’t take long. About 100 kms of where we were, a large manor called Place House has been incinerated by a massive blaze only weeks ago. Police suspected arson.
We had found our target.
Chapter Eleven
We grabbed another taxi and paid upfront, considering the length of the trip. After an hour, we were in rich, green countryside, looking for the right turn off. The driver had a GPS app on his phone and once we typed Place House into it, a little red arrow began bouncing up and down to indicate where we had to go.
After another 45 minutes, we arrived to a long stone driveway, blocked by metal gates. We thanked the taxi, who shot us a strange look given our choice of sightseeing as he drove away.
I helped Eleanor over the wall to the side of the gate and we began walking up the long path.
From a distance, across the large lawns and swaying Italian pines, the house appeared in good condition. But as we got closer, I could see the black finger marks rising up from below the rafters, the scars of a huge fire. As we got closer still, I saw the yellow tape wrapped around it.
“It’s cordoned off,” said Eleanor.
“It’s only plastic tape.”
She nodded. We walked on up the garden.
I knew in my heart that Eleanor had her verve back. We were on a mission, instead of sitting around that office in DC. The same she had felt for the duration of Jairo’s abduction. In truth, mine had died out after ten years of looking for him. I had never said it to her explicitly, but I had given up. So it felt good to see the fire in her again. The determination to find this little girl, Estrella, our new family.
The only problem was, what did we expect to find here? The place was destroyed. And it was hardly like Reynolds to leave a map behind with the location of his captive. But as long as there is hope, you move. And if you’re moving, hope grows.
“We have to get Jairo out after this,” said Eleanor.
I said nothing. I had to admit it, I resented her undying love for our son. She hadn’t seen his brutality, his ability to kill without remorse. I had been trying not to let it show, but Eleanor knew me too well.
“I know you don’t trust him, Scott. It doesn’t matter to me. We need him.”
Maybe as a precursor to the argument, our walking pace stepped up a gear. We were close to the door and the yellow tape.
“El, I have spent a lot of time with Jairo. More than you. I trust him, but I don’t think you understand what he is.”
“What he is?”
Eleanor stopped and turned on me. Her eyes were burning. She’d known the argument was coming. To be fair, I felt the same way.
“He’s a person,” she said. “He’s our son.”
I let my head drop. “I know that.” I put my hands on her shoulders and drew her closer. I felt her muscles relax. “He is our son. He always will be. And I am so relieved we found him. I truly am. I wouldn’t change that for the world.”
I waited for a response. Eleanor’s eyes turned upwards, glassy and watery and tired, and looked at me.
“We need to find Estrella,” I said. “We must. We’ve been given a chance. A chance to not let this happen again. I will not stop until that girl is safe in our care. I will not let another twenty-two years go past without knowing our own blood. I just won’t.”
Eleanor sniffed and nodded at me, and hugged me. I hugged her back hard and kissed her head.
“Now, let’s go see what we can find.”
We went through the front door, ducking under the yellow tape. Inside, the hallway had been made open plan, with two staircases running up to the second floors on either side. The room itself sank down three steps, and three charred black sofa-shaped items sat in a horseshoe. The only thing that wasn’t black was the chandelier, hanging in the middle like an atomic nucleus.
There were three doors on either side of the room, before the stairs started.
“I’ll check the right side, you go left,” I said.
Eleanor nodded and went about checking the first door.
I moved toward the right ones.
I walked through the first door and began searching. The interiors had once been lavish: glass cabinets, wooden adornments on the ceilings, oak doors, and thick wooden floors. But it was all burnt now. I passed through a dining room and a visitors’ room, looking at blackened canvases hanging on the walls. The place was like a maze and I lost track of where I had been. The rooms all looked the same essentially. Until I reached a large door, still intact. It was metal.
I pushed it open and found an office—a desk, and what used to be carpet on the floor and wood paneling on the walls. There were three windows in the room but only one of them looked outside. It was cracked—from the pressure of the fire, I imagined. This room was blacker than the rest. This was where the fire had started.
The other two windows were internal. The glass was covered in soot. To the side of each of these windows was an intercom system and another door. Both the doors were locked.
I walked back to the hall and was checking the doors I hadn’t been through when I heard Eleanor shout part of the house.
“Scott, come!”
My heart quickened as I ran toward her voice. This house had been an inferno. And then searched and pillaged by the law. Finding a clue was less than likel
y. But all the same, I ran to where Eleanor’s voice had come from with excitement.
I found her in a room on the other side of the house. It was plain and a single bed was next to the wall.
She was standing in the middle, waiting for me.
“This is where I was held,” she said. “Before they released me.”
“Jesus,” I said.
“There are more rooms like this. I think this is where Reynolds held his captives.”
I nodded. It made sense.
“Let’s keep looking.”
We started going through the rooms in that wing of the house. Eleanor was right—most of them used to be bedrooms. All had thick, lockable doors. We checked at least five of them, until we found what we were looking for.
The sixth room was similar in size and shape—a bare square room with a high window that allowed light to enter. Like the rest, it had an en suite WC and its only furniture was a single bed. But what made it different was what we found on the floor. Scattered randomly around were little black lumps of charcoal. All over the floor.
Burned-out and cremated children’s toys.
Eleanor came to me and rested her head on my shoulder. “All this time,” she said. “My own flesh and blood was so close. I didn’t know she existed then. I can’t—”
I squeezed her. “You didn’t know, El. How could you have known? Let’s search it. We might find something.”
There wasn’t much to search, but when Eleanor let out a kind of squeal while she was under the bed, rummaging around, I knew we had something.
“Scott! Take a look!”
I stopped as Eleanor crawled backwards from under the blackened bed frame dragging a cardboard box that, miraculously, had not perished in the blaze. The outside was damaged, but it was intact. It was an old FedEx box, about thirty cubic centimeters in size. Eleanor got out from under the bed, sat in front of it, and began peeling back the flaps.
Inside were photos. But they were cooked. The first layer of them was impossible to make out; they had melted together to form a crust. They must have cooked like a slow ’n’ low Texas barbecue. Eleanor peeled back the crust of photos and revealed a soft center to the package. A handful of photos the heat hadn’t reached.
