“He wants to be quiet about it, catch her alone.”
I smile. “Camilla’s never alone.”
“I know. She is surrounded by loved ones. I’ve been keeping an eye on her as well. Emilio must have seen me. He knows better to confront me. He can’t kill me outright—it’s impossible. He needs Camilla first. He needs to take her to the fountain—that’s where the sacrifice will take place.”
“How will she be sacrificed?” I ask, but afraid to hear.
Gabriel shakes his head. “She won’t.”
“Tell me,” I insist.
“Her blood will be drawn, and then she’ll be cast into the fountain. She’ll fall to its depths, against her will, where she’ll drown and die. Only then, with her death, will the ritual be complete.”
“If…if she were to die, what happens to you?”
“My claim to immortality is revoked, and after five hundred years of living, I’ll finally die, dust to dust.”
I feel sick and angry. “Emilio has to die,” I say, determined to draw his blood.
Gabriel appraises my face, hardened. “No, Daria,” he pleads. “I’ll kill Emilio and you’ll be far away.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll track Emilio alone—and finish him off—alone. If you’re there…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything were to happen to you. I’d forever be in misery.”
I cradle his head on my lap. I run my fingers through his hair. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll survive. You’ll survive. Camilla will never know she was meant to be sacrificed. Emilio will die.”
Gabriel looks up and into my eyes. “Yes, he will.”
That Fancy Accent Doesn’t Fool Me
Gabriel and I turn on Santa Maria Circle. He checks in on Camilla. She’s at home, safe. He leaves, on foot, seeking Emilio, assuming he’s nearby. I wait in my house, nerves on end. I pace and pace and pace. I clutch my phone to my chest, hoping it’ll never ring. If it rings that means bad news.
It rings. I panic and answer. “Hello?” I say, not recognizing the number.
“Senorita,” Emilio says. “Darling, Daria, where is Gabriel?”
“Out looking for you,” I say.
He laughs. “Good luck. Daria, I want you to get in your car and meet me. I’m texting you the directions.”
The text reveals a road nearby.
“Why?” I ask.
“I want to meet, talk.”
“I’m not going to let you sacrifice Camilla. You’re not going to take Gabriel’s immortality away. I’ll kill you myself if I have to.”
“My, my, what tales our Gabriel has been telling.”
“You’re saying he’s lying?”
“Meet me, Daria and I’ll give you the truth, not fairy tales.”
I know I shouldn’t. I know I should call Camilla.
“Don’t call anyone,” says Emilio, as if reading my thoughts.
“I’m on my way.”
“Gracias, senorita,” he says, and then hangs up.
It’s late. My parents are on their way home. I’m torn between telling them everything and telling them nothing. What if Emilio kills them? No, I can’t take that chance. I must protect them. I must protect Camilla and Gabriel. I have to meet Emilio. I know where my dad keeps his gun. I know the combination. I open the safe and retrieve the .357, and load the bullets. Emilio’s mortal. He can die. I won’t miss.
I shut my headlights off when I turn onto the road. He’s nowhere in sight. I keep moving, at a snail’s pace, in the dark. One hand is on the wheel, the other holding the gun. My finger is on the trigger. I finally come to a stop. Have I been stood up? My heart skips a beat, thinking that this was all a ruse to get to Camilla. How could I have been so stupid?!
I decide to turn around, flee. I cut on my lights. Someone is standing in the road. It’s Emilio, smiling. I rev the engine, preparing to run him over. He’s not smiling anymore. He darts out of the way just as I slam my foot down on the accelerator. I keep driving, hoping to find another way out, but when I reach the end, I realize it’s a dead end road. Clever, Emilio, clever.
I shift gears, propelling in reverse. I collide with another vehicle. Lights shine bright in my rearview mirror, blinding me. Emilio is behind me, foot on the accelerator, pushing me. He makes one final push, jolting me forward, out of control. I open the door and fall out, onto the ground. The gun is in my hand. I stand and shoot. The first bullet hits his windshield. I circle towards his driver’s door, at the window, and fire. The glass shatters. I hear a door creak open. He’s crawled out of the car. I circle around the vehicle again. I can’t waste any more ammo. I walk, light on my feet, but in the dark, even with the cars’ headlights, it’s hard to see. I fall and trip on an unseen rock. My gun goes off.
“You bitch!” Emilio yells and tears the gun from my hand.
He’s pointing it between my eyes, as I lay on the ground.
“Did I get you?” I say, hopeful.
“No, you’re a lousy shot.” He cocks the hammer. “But I’m not.”
“Why kill me here, now? You had your chance plenty of times.”
“I’m not going to kill you.” He raises the gun, away from my face. He points towards the sky and fires: pop, pop, pop. It’s empty. He throws it on the ground.
“Why’d you do that? You could’ve used that to kill me.”
“Oh, Daria,” he says, hauling me up with brute force. He’s nose-to-nose with me. “Your death is will be slow and painful.” His fingers are digging into my arm. I try to jerk away. I’m not going down without a fight. He curses in Spanish, and then in English says, “Keep struggling. The longer you fight me, the longer you’ll suffer.”
I defy him again and jerk away. I’m free. I’m running. I feel arms around my waist, an unpleasant hug, as Emilio captures me against him. He drags me, screaming, towards his car. I try to kick him and fail. He’s too strong.
“You must be an expert at kidnapping girls,” I say.
He’s laughing as he pulls my hair and slams my head against the car window. It doesn’t break, but I think my mind is shattered. He’s talking, but I don’t know what he’s saying. Everything is a blur. Is it night or day? I can’t tell.
“Help me,” I manage to say, to anyone who will listen, and then everything goes black.
I awake, hours or days later, I can’t tell. I open my eyes to see Emilio, above me. He’s panting, angry. I look down and see my skirt, pushed up. He’s raping me in his car. My mouth is gagged. My hands are bound. I can’t scream for help. I can’t hit him. I can’t take my legs and push him away. He’s holding me down. I scream anyway, gagged.
He laughs and continues to thrust. “Scream all you want, bitch. No one can hear you.”
I close my eyes and drift away.
Rape Me
I open my eyes. He’s driving. I’m bound, but not gagged in the backseat. We’re on a highway. It’s still dark. I squirm around and notice my cell phone is gone. He must have destroyed it. My head is throbbing. I close my legs. He pulled down my skirt. My sex feels like it’s been torn to shreds. I’m horrified at the damage he did. He raped me. He abused me physically and mentally. I know I’ll never forget his face: the way his teeth were clenched, the way his eyes were—cold, cold like ice. I can still feel the dried spots of his sweat on me.
My wrists hurt. He’s bound them in cloth, but the knot is twisted beyond repair. Only a blade would loosen my binds. I look around the backseat, for any sort of makeshift sharp weapon. I see nothing. I feel my lip with my tongue. There’s dried blood on it. Did he cut me? Or kiss me until I bled? I’m about to spiral into madness. I shift the what-ifs away from my mind. I can’t focus on what Emilio did. I can only form a plan for the future: what I’ll do once I’m unbound. Gabriel has to know that I’m missing. He’ll come for me. He’ll save me. He’ll kill Emilio. It’ll all be over soon.
“You’re awake,” he says, looking at me from the rearview mirror.
“You must be disap
pointed,” I say in a voice not my own. I’m dehydrated. I clear my throat as best as I can. “I know how you like to take advantage of unconscious girls.”
He laughs. “I admit, I wasn’t planning on taking you, but you were knocked out, silent, and that short skirt…” He shakes his head. “It’s your fault, you know, wearing such revealing clothes.”
“Did you wear a condom? Pull out?”
“No,” he says. “Don’t worry. You won’t live long enough for it to matter.”
“Gee, thanks, lover.”
He laughs. “If you’d been willing, it could’ve been much better.”
“Doubt it,” I say. “I’m sure Vicki was more than willing.”
“Very,” he says. “But I denied her. I wasn’t using her for sex.”
“No,” I say. “You wanted information.”
“Exactly,” he confirms.
I turn and look out the window. “Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“You keep talking and I’ll gag you,” he threatens. “I do love a silent woman. It gets me excited. I might just take you again.”
I ignore his threats of rape. “We’re going to the Fountain of Youth, aren’t we?”
“No, we’re going to Disney World.”
“He’s going to kill you.”
“Gabriel?” He shakes his head. “Doubtful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re not going to shut up, are you?”
“No.”
He sighs. He changes lanes and accelerates. The hot air from outside enters the car, through the shattered window I shot through.
“He’s not going to kill me because I’m going to threaten to kill you. See?”
“What makes you think he cares about me?”
“Oh, that juicy tidbit came from Victoria.”
“She doesn’t know anything.”
“Oh, people are quick to dismiss our ditzy Victoria, but she is the best observer I’ve ever seen. It helps when one wants to gossip, you know. She noticed you and Gabriel talking, and then avoiding each other, talking again, et cetera, et cetera. She put two and two together. Alejandro was out of the picture. So, what was her conclusion? You and Gabriel were in love with each other.”
“She doesn’t know anything about love.”
“No. She thinks sex equals love. I was afraid to touch her, I admit. I was afraid she was diseased.”
“And how do you know I’m not?”
“You’re not a whore.”
“How do you know? I slept with Alejandro. I slept with Frankie, my ex-boyfriend, and Vicki’s before she met you. I’ve been naughty as some might say. I’ve even kissed Camilla. I’ve fantasized about her boyfriend, Tony. I’ve dreamed of the three of us, together. I didn’t try to stop you, either. I enjoyed it.”
I’m lying about the last part, but I need him distracted—all the blood rushing from his brain…
He’s silent, processing. He finally says, “Well, I was wrong. You are a little whore.”
“I am. Why don’t you find a rest stop? I’ll show you how naughty I can be.”
And then I’ll bite it off. How does that sound, Emilio?
His eyes appraise my cleavage, two pearls waiting to be polished. “Hmm, tempting, but we mustn’t become distracted. So, Gabriel means nothing to you?”
“That’s right.”
“You’d get down on your knees and pleasure me, right in front of him?”
I hesitate, sickened at the image, and then say, “That’s right.”
He laughs. “Oh, what a little liar you are.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Yes, you are!” he barks. “You’re just like her,” he says, a little softer. “That’s why Gabriel is obsessed with you. That’s why he’ll do anything to save you. And that’ll be his undoing.”
“Who’s her?” I ask.
“She was before my time. She was in Gabriel’s time. I’ve only seen portraits. You look like her. I assume she was a liar, too.”
“Who’s her?” I repeat, angry.
“Would you like to hear a story?”
“Get on with it, you Spanish prick.”
“Un-uh, be nice.”
“Please,” I say.
“Spread you legs,” he commands.
I do, hating myself. He stares at me from the rearview mirror, glancing every now and again to the road. I notice the traffic has lessened. He focuses ahead.
“Well, once upon a time, there was a young, adventurous man named Gabriel Antonio del Castillo. He was married to Esperanza, a beautiful, but quiet woman who liked to stay at home all the time, embroidering or something boring. Gabriel, however, was in love with another woman, Isabel. You could be her twin.”
My heart hurts. Gabriel only loves me because I remind him of this Isabel.
“What happened to his wife?”
“Well, before Gabriel embarked on his journey across the Atlantic, Esperanza was about to give birth.”
My heart breaks. He was married and about to be a father.
“What happened next?”
He continues. “So, Gabriel sailed off into the sun,” he begins, gesturing with his hand, fluttering his fingers like wings, “leaving Esperanza behind for a painful childbirth. They had a son. She raised him well, but after some time, there was no news about Gabriel. Then, she got a letter stating that he had died. Distraught, she killed herself.”
“What about the son?”
“Before Esperanza died, she left the child in the care of a nun—Isabel.”
“Isabel was a nun?” I’m astonished.
“She had entered the convent before Gabriel married Esperanza. She needed something to calm her temper. Feisty like you, perhaps a whore… She soon became tied to the Church, not Gabriel.”
“But he still loved her?”
“He adored her. A flaw of his, I suppose.”
“Did she love him back?”
“It was rumored that she did, but as I said, the Church was her new home, her new life. Gabriel, to ease his sorrow, met Esperanza, and the rest as they say, is history.”
“But, after he realized he was immortal, did he go back to Spain? Did he see Isabel?”
“He did. He found her caring for his son.”
“What happened?”
I find talking to Emilio to be easy. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. What is truth? What are lies?
I’m heartbroken that Gabriel loved Isabel so deeply. I’m heartbroken that he married Esperanza, and had a child. I’m heartbroken that Gabriel didn’t see me first. Why was I born so late? Why was he born so early? Fate is cruel.
“Enough chit-chat,” he says.
“No, continue. I’ll be good.”
He smirks. “Oh, you already were.”
I kick the back of his seat. He’s taken aback and nearly collides with another car.
“You bitch!” He manages to correct the car, staying in his lane.
He’s muttering, cursing in Spanish, driving off the highway. He’s found a turn off. He drives off, and then onto a dark road, abandoned. He stops the car and gets out. I try to open the door with my feet, but fail. He hauls me out and slams me against the car. Slap, slap, slap. He strikes my face, over and over. He pulls my hair. He bites my neck. I can’t stop him as he violates my sex with his finger, rubbing round and round.
“You like that, don’t you, you dirty little whore.”
My face is hot. I’m panting. I don’t want to be excited, but I can’t help it. If I submit, I can catch him off guard. He must be hiding a weapon on his person, somewhere.
I kiss him, soft and sweet. He’s taken aback, confused. He kisses me back. He tastes like sweat. I keep kissing him.
“Untie my hands,” I say, seductive. “I want to touch you.”
He hesitates, and then says, “You are a little whore, Daria.” He produces a knife, a switchblade, and places it against
my face. “I should cut you up, so no one will want you.” He doesn’t, instead, cutting my binds.
He points the tip of the blade at my eye. “Be good or I’ll pluck out those pretty green eyes of yours.”
I nod. We kiss. He’s fondling me. I take my hand and unzip his pants. I have him in my hands. He groans at the pleasure. I stroke and stroke and stroke, feeling his heart pound against my chest. He stinks, but I press on. He’s still holding the knife in his hand, the other occupied below.
“Touch me,” I say, pressing my breasts against him.
He pockets the knife and cups my breast, fondling me. His hands are occupied. One of mine is free. I open his shirt and caress his chest. He’s inside me before I know it. I’m pressed against the vehicle. It’s rocking, squeaking. I go to grab the knife from his pocket, but he releases me, and then turns me around, and takes me from behind.
He’s panting in my ear, thrusting like mad. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he says.
Scars
After, he’s exhausted, but has strength enough to threaten me again. He takes the knife and targets my eye.
“No, no!” I plead. “No!” I scream. “Please, please, don’t. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I was scared.”
I’m not acting. I’m fucking freaking out.
I’m tugging on his shirt, praying that he’ll have mercy. He puts the switchblade away. I collapse against him, hugging him. I’m grateful, exhausted, and out of my mind. I’m crying with my arms wrapped around his chest. I’m shaking. I feel as if I’m about to fall apart.
Emilio, to my surprise, embraces me. He kisses my forehead, very tender. I look into his eyes.
He says, “You’re completely at my mercy, you know that, right?”
I nod, still crying. “Yes, Emilio, I know.”
He’s still holding me. I’m grateful. He’s holding me up. I fear that if I were to fall, I’d never get back up again.
He rubs my back and pulls down my skirt. “How can I be sure that you won’t defy me again?”
I hold his face in my hands. “I won’t, I promise.” I kiss his lips, encouraging him to believe me.
Swept Away Page 7
