It Never Rains in Colombia

by W. H. Benjamin

  Harlow looked at her as if she were a lunatic. She realised that the girl she had first met had disintegrated before her eyes and been replaced by this...Monica, this glittering troubled drama queen who had arisen like a phoenix from Sophia's ashes. “That was really dangerous,” Harlow said with barely contained anger as they pushed through the crowd.

  “What?” Sophia shouted above the music.

  In the silence of the dark stairwell, Harlow felt that she couldn't let Sophia get away with her crazy, attention-seeking behaviour without saying something. She had to know it was wrong. Somebody had to tell her. “That was dangerous,” Harlow repeated, watching Sophia skip down the stairs. Harlow caught up with her.

  “It was just fun, nothing would have happened,” Sophia said dismissively.

  “You could have fallen,” Harlow almost shouted, “don't you care about yourself at all?”

  “We all have to die sometime,” Sophia retorted.

  “That doesn't mean you have to throw your life away,” Harlow snapped.

  Sophia pushed the emergency exit bar down opening the stairwell up to the bouncing, colourful lights of the main club.

  “I wasn't,” Sophia explained simply linking arms with Harlow. “Relax,” she commanded, pulling her friend forwards.

  Harlow pulled her hand away, stopping just outside the exit door on the edge of the dance floor. “I can't relax when you act like that.”

  Sophia had been going full speed toward the dancing crowd but came skidding to a stop, shocked by the violent way Harlow had retracted her arm. She turned toward Harlow seriously. “It was just a joke,” she shouted above the music as Amy came barrelling down the stairs in hot pursuit, spilling her drink all over Harlow's back. Amy's eyes widened in surprise and then she burst out laughing.

  “I'm so sorry,” Amy said, holding the empty glass in one hand, posing in the door frame.

  Christian emerged from the darkness behind Amy like a ray of light. “Wohh,” he exclaimed, surveying Harlow's dress, “I think it's time we went home.”

  “It's too early,” Sophia complained.

  “She can't stay here like that,” Christian said simply.

  “So, she can go home. I don't want her here anyway,” Sophia remarked, disinterestedly walking past Harlow as if she were a shadow. She disappeared with Amy into the crowd.

  “I'll be back. Wait here,” Christian said following them into the crowd.

  Harlow stood there for a while, feeling the red-wine-soaked dress clinging to her skin like a heavy slug. She waited, but Christian didn't come back. The material felt uncomfortable against her back, beginning to dry from the heat of her skin. The pungent scent of alcohol wafted up to her nostrils and she left the club bursting out into the fresh air past the burly bouncers in their black suits. It was darkest night. The whole street was silent as she wandered down the road.

  “Why do I always make friends with these crazy girls?” Harlow asked the open starlit sky. The sky replied with a raindrop, landing squarely on her forehead. Within a few strides, the slow downfall of rain had become an incessant shower, as if the air were shouting words at her that she couldn't understand. The rain soaked her hair and she jogged toward the distant light of a bus stop, thankful that she had rescued her coat from the cloakroom. Harlow perched on the edge of the cool red plastic bench surrounded on three sides by transparent Plexiglas and watched the shower of rain as it fell. It took her fifteen minutes to get up and look at the post that stood next to the bus stop.

  In the rain, outside of the safety of the bus shelter, the itinerary posted told her there was no night bus running in the area. Harlow read the map below the bus schedule trying to figure out where bus stop Z was from her current position.

  If I make it there, there should be a night bus.

  Z seemed to be entrenched in a maze of mysterious roads. She looked around her at the deserted streets that were being attacked by the angry pitter patter of rainfall seeping into the cracks of the pavement, falling in big heavy drops. Finally, she ran back under the safety of the bus shelter. The pavement all around was glistening with the light from the street lamps. The puddles vibrated with the motion of the rain. Harlow opened her phone scrolling down the names. There were no taxi phone numbers in her phone book, nothing from A to R. She didn't have any internet connection, either; she watched the page load, a blank screen appeared, then she returned to scrolling through her contacts. She stopped at R. Her finger automatically pressed the dial button as the highlight reached Roberto's name. The phone began ringing, then Harlow realised it was 2 a.m. and hung up.

  We're not that close. He's sleeping. He'll be annoyed if he picks up. She closed the phone, stuffing it back into her pocket, then consulted the map and began the long trek to find bus stop Z. Pushing her hands in her pockets, she busied herself looking for street names, rain falling into her eyes, burning them. Her head in the twilight clouds so much so that her left foot became submerged in a cold puddle of water before she could avoid it. She yanked her foot out quickly, shaking the water off. Now she regretted changing to the flat shoes. Her hands deep in her pockets became rigid, clenched into fists in indignation. Her pocket buzzed, surprising her fingers. Harlow took out the light pink phone and realised it had been ringing for sometime; it only buzzed when there was a missed call. In her hands, the phone began to screech, the familiar ring tone of alarm bells she had set so she would always hear it ring.

  “Hello.” She wondered what to say.

  “Hey,” a groggy voice said, “did you call me?”

  “Umm no, yes.”

  Roberto laughed, “Okay, what's up?”

  “Did I wake you up?” she asked feeling bad.

  “No, no,” he insisted hurriedly, “I was up anyway.”

  “I'm lost,” she admitted, “I came to the after-party with Sophia and her friends after her concert and now I don't know where I am.”

  “Where's Sophia?” Roberto asked curiously.

  “She's still inside.”

  “Which club is it? Maybe I can help.”

  “The Golden Monkey,” Harlow told him.

  “It's in central. I wish I had GPS,” she said sadly, “then I could find this damn bus stop Z.”

  “Stay there. I'll come get you.”

  There was silence.

  “By bus? You don't have a car.”

  “Don't worry about that. Which bus stop are you at now?”

  She looked around. “It's on Gossamer Street.” She looked back down the road at the lonely bus shelter that stood far in the distance, a beacon in the darkness.

  “I won't be long. You can wait in the club if you like. It's not safe out there.”

  “I'll be fine.”

  He hung up.

  The idea of going back was repugnant to her.

  As Harlow walked to the bus stop, she considered all the criminals that operated by night, preying on the vulnerable under the cloak of darkness. She paused at the bus stop and looked around at the deserted road. Standing in the rain, she thought about all of those future inhabitants of maximum-security prisons whose main office hours were the twilight hours of the day, who roamed the streets looking for teenage girls, and how she must appear like a sweet candy to them. Harlow rushed back down the empty streets to the club. At the double doors, the bouncers surveyed her: Hair drenched by rain. Foot covered in dirt. Smelling strongly of alcohol. As she tried to re-enter, the big bouncer on the left said “£50.”

  “I just came out,” Harlow spluttered. She raised her right hand to show him the star-shaped stamp they had placed on the back of her hand when she first entered, filled with glee. He looked down at her bare hand disbelievingly. The stamp had already faded, washed away by the rain. Harlow felt the emptiness of her pockets and cursed her luck, turning away from the double doors sadly. She stood a few feet away from the bouncers, awkwardly, not wishing to return to the bleak outpost of public transport. She waited outside in the heavy rain; the golden lights of the club's si
gn shone on the ground all around her.

  When the car pulled up to the club, Harlow took in the beauty of the falling rain reflected in the headlights like a shower of shiny, silver, confetti.

  “That was quick,” she exclaimed, getting into the passenger seat of the Mercedes Benz, “I wasn't sure you would come.”

  Roberto looked at her seriously. “Of course, I would go anywhere for you.” In that moment, she couldn't doubt him.

  They drove for a while and made polite small talk. He was always careful not to mention his sister and she was empathetic enough to avoid the topic. In the quiet moments, she would think of Christian and the look of concern in Christian's eyes when he looked at Sophia that night, the way he would drop everything to go to her. Finally she couldn't stand not knowing. “What the hell happened in Colombia?”

  Roberto had been expecting this question. His calm façade remained unruffled as he drove.

  “Do you want to go out tomorrow?” he asked easily.

  Harlow felt her heart quicken. “Don't try to distract me.”

  “Can you be distracted?” he asked.

  “I can, but I need to know.”

  “What do you need to know? I'll tell you,” Roberto said as he drove. Before Harlow could speak, he asked, “So was that a yes or…?” he trailed off keeping his eyes fixed on the road. He caught some of her expression in a side glance.

  “I thought you had a girlfriend?”

  He replied nonchalantly, “We broke up.”

  “Why? Sorry, I don't mean to pry.”

  “It's okay, things just weren't…” he sighed, “We're not right for each other.”

  “There's a party tomorrow,” Harlow offered, “We could go there.”

  Roberto's expression grew stern, “I wanted it to be just us.” Suddenly he smiled and said, “Ahh, it doesn't matter now.”

  She added, “We don't have to hang around with everyone else. Plus, if you don't like it, we can go somewhere else.”

  “I'm sure we'll have a great time,” he remarked, smiling to himself.

  She began texting Mei. In the middle of a word, she stopped typing. “I haven't forgotten and neither should you.”

  Roberto's eyes were trained, dead ahead on the road as if he hadn't heard, but she saw him frown as she began texting again.

  Chapter 11 – Lost Girl

  Amy ran Rutherfords unofficially. She wielded tremendous power. Amy had the headmaster's ear and acted as his right-hand man, so to speak. She kept an eye on lateness and absences in class. On top of that, she was one of the most popular girls in school. People flocked to her, surrounded her, and did anything she wanted. She ruled them all, some through love but most through fear. There wasn't a soul that dared to cross Amy. Luckily, Harlow had always been able to avoid Amy's notorious death stare. Sadly, today that same death stare was trained directly on Harlow. She could feel the heat of it boring a hole into the side of her head as she sat idly in class waiting for the bell. Harlow couldn't understand it; she usually arrived late to class but today she had come just in time. Ever since the beginning of English class, when the DVD had started, every time she glanced up to look around her at the wearied students she would find Amy's beady eyes on her. Harlow thought back through the last couple of weeks, What did I do or not do? An image of Roberto's beautiful smiling face appeared before her. There's no way she could know, Harlow thought. The bell rang and Harlow jumped up, packing her books quickly into her bag as if somebody were chasing her. She looked across to her left at Sophia's empty seat. I guess superstars don't need to come to school, she thought angrily.

  Leaving the classroom, Harlow entered the hubbub of the hallway, and for a time she thought she heard the hard sound of footsteps following her. All of a sudden, Harlow stopped. I fear no one, Harlow turned around so rapidly that Amy almost crashed into her. She pulled up short.

  “We need to talk,” Amy declared.

  “About what?” Harlow asked.

  Amy grabbed her arm and pulled her through the crowded hallway, making heads turn as they went. In the girl's bathroom, Amy locked the door, then checked under the cubicles for feet.

  “Why don't you just open the doors?” Harlow suggested. She met with a frosty silence. Amy began pushing the closed doors open. One of the doors didn't budge and she knocked on it hard, without mercy.

  “Hello,” came the uncertain reply.

  “Get out,” Amy demanded. The stall door unlocked slowly. The girl opened the door with an indignant face. Once the door was open revealing the cold mask of Amy's face, the colour drained from the girl and she scurried away, struggling with the locked exit.

  “Turn it to the left,” Harlow said helpfully. The girl's hands began to shake, and Harlow ran over, fearing that the girl was on the edge of tears. Harlow quickly unlocked the door and the girl, whose nerves were clearly frayed, escaped.

  “Lock it!” Amy commanded.

  Harlow blinked in confusion trying to clear her thoughts. Amy was still talking and she felt like she was deaf, as if her ears were blocked with cotton wool.

  “Wait, wait, slow down,” Harlow said to Amy, grabbing her hands in desperation.

  ”I don't—” Amy said, stopping her sentence short, “There's no time,” she complained. “Don't you see? I think Sophia is in danger.”

  “If there was something wrong, I would know,” Harlow insisted haughtily.

  This girl who's always shoving me aside in the hallways, who didn't even know my name until two seconds ago, who is she to tell me about Sophia?

  “Look,” Harlow explained calmly, “she's my friend, If there were a problem, I would know.”

  “Would you? Do you know anything about her?” Amy asked.

  “Look, I only came to tell you because she seems to care about you. Obviously I made a mistake. You're clueless. What help would you be?”

  “What makes you think something’s wrong?” Harlow asked, unlocking the door.

  Amy seemed indecisive. She was ready to leave, her body turned half toward the door, but something kept her there. She turned back to Harlow. “She told me.”

  The girls’ bathroom door opened and Claire, Sophia's younger sister, burst in looking unabashed. She came in with such force that the door clattered closed loudly behind her.

  “I told you to lock it,” Amy barked snidely.

  “You, you did this. Where is she?” Claire shouted running across the room, angrily toward Amy.

  Amy puffed out her chest ready for a shouting match. Tossing her shoulder-length hair back malevolently, she replied coolly, “I haven't done anything.”

  “I told you to stay away from her,” Claire said angrily, backing Amy into the door of the cubicle. “Where did you take her?” Claire shouted, slamming her palm against the cubicle wall, trapping Amy, her face reddened.

  Amy was indignant at first, “I...she, I didn't force her, she begged me. I took her to the White Rooms. She was fine. We were at the bar. I turned around for like a second and she was gone. I tried to phone,” Amy admitted, “but I couldn't find her.”

  “When was that?” Roberto asked, strolling into the bathroom. He said something to Claire in Spanish and she moved away from Amy reluctantly, her face still burning with fury.

  “Thursday,” Amy admitted quietly.

  Harlow was lost. “She's been gone for three days?” She posed the question to all of them and it hung in the air like a bad smell. “Sophia's been missing for three days?” she repeated.

  “That's why I called you last night, but you didn't pick up,” Amy said to Roberto.

  Harlow felt her heart sink. “I stopped talking to her,” Harlow explained as a tide of shame washed over her. “Maybe she's with Christian.”

  “Why would she be there?” Amy probed.

  “Why not?” Harlow retorted.

  “She wouldn't go there,” Roberto said.

  “What are the White Rooms?” Harlow asked.

  Amy began to speak but Roberto cut her off, “It
's a club. A really bad club.”

  Amy raked a hand through her hair nervously and walked away toward the sink, leaning on it for support.

  “Has this happened before?” Harlow asked.

  There was silence.

  Claire hesitated, then said, “On the day of our mother's funeral. She just left, didn't take any clothes, just ran away.”

  A few hours later, Harlow, Claire, and Roberto stood in front of the Contessa Hotel's revolving door. The sky was grey, clouds heavy with the burden of oncoming snow though it was still early January. They emerged from the golden elevator and found themselves standing in front of a light oak door, room 309. Sophia opened the door looking fresh and cheerful—not what Harlow expected.

  Claire hugged her desperately. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Harlow had expected to find Sophia frazzled, with unwashed hair and the makeup from Thursday night smudging her face like a sad clown. “Hey, guys,” Sophia said brightly as Claire released her. She stood aside to let them pass.

  “I thought something had happened to you,” the words tumbled out of Roberto's mouth before they reached the sitting area of the luxury suite. Sophia shrugged, “I'm fine. You worry too much.”

  When they passed the main bedroom, Harlow saw clothes strewn everywhere, one suitcase half open, the other closed, shoes blocking the entrance to the room.

  “Where are you going?” Roberto asked, following Harlow's gaze. “Home,” Sophia announced resolutely falling back into the antique couch.

  Harlow sat across from her, unable to believe her ears. “Colombia?” she asked.

  “Yes. Cartagena,” Sophia replied.

  “That's not home,” Claire said in confusion, “What's going on? Does Christian know about this?” She was at a loss.