by Sasha Leone
Time passes like a dream in the tunnel.
There’s no sunlight or clock or schedule to adhere to. How many days have passed since the wedding? It’s hard to say. Every time I remember to ask Angel, he’s gone, off to inspire the people and bring down the government.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind. I’ve gotten used to this kind of lifestyle, locked away in some forgotten bunker, but now, I’m with my son, and when Angel comes back from work, I get to cuddle up with my two boys and drift off knowing that there’s only one task left: true freedom.
How are we going to get out of here? Angel and I still haven’t discussed it. Sure, I know about this revolution of his, but there isn’t much room to talk in our little safe house and there’s no way I’m letting Oscar out of my sight to go out into those dark tunnels just so Angel can tell me his master plan... if he even has one.
A revolution.
For me.
It’s all so grandiose.
But he has me now, so what’s the next step?
“Boo-boo,” Oscar demands. He’s sitting on the couch as I try to straighten the antennas on our ancient TV so that we can get a decent signal.
“One sec,” I mumble, twisting the wires like I know what I’m doing. For a split-second, the white static on the screen clears and a news broadcast comes into view, but that vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Damn it!” I curse, under my breath.
With Angel gone, and Lady off smuggling groceries, the curious side of my mind has been set free. I want to know what’s happening outside.
“Boo-boo!” Oscar demands, and I’m forced to give up on the TV. The last thing I want is to have to deal with a cranky baby. When Oscar is in a good mood, every last harsh reality of my life falls away, but when he’s grouchy, it’s like another weight is added to my shoulders. I need him to be happy. I’ve already been absent from his life for far too long to not want to make the most of every moment we have together. “I’m coming, baby boy,” I say, as I grab his bottle from the fridge and whisk it over to the king of the bunker. Down here, even Angel’s just a servant.
“Come on,” I say, patting on my lap as I sit down on the couch beside Oscar. He doesn’t budge. Usually, when he’s this hungry, he’ll crawl towards his bottle like a starving coyote, but his attention seems to be elsewhere.
“Boo-boo,” he demands, his bright green eyes looking over to the bunker door.
Confused, I reach for him. “I have it right here.”
Oscar doesn’t seem to care whether or not I have his dinner—or lunch, or breakfast, who can tell anymore—instead, he crawls right off the couch. In a moment of motherly instinct, I drop his bottle and lunge to save him from the fall. Somehow, I manage to grab him before he smacks against the ground, but that doesn’t stop my shoulder from digging into the cold, thinly carpeted cement.
A giggle escapes Oscar’s little lips as I rise up from the floor. The pain in my shoulder is mild, and it vanishes quickly against his laughter. “What is wrong with you?” I tease.
“Boo-boo!” he says again, his attention turning back to the door.
Suddenly, it hits me. He’s not hungry for dinner, he’s hungry for attention, and not just from anyone. He wants his father.
My heart struggles against this realization. Suddenly, Angel’s absence looms large. He’s out there fighting for us... but what if he doesn’t come home? It seems like Oscar’s already attached, and that’s a good thing... as long as Angel stays safe.
I try to make up for boo-boo’s absence by lifting Oscar up and down in the air from on my back. I’m not nearly as strong as Angel, but it seems to distract the little boy for a while. Still, it doesn’t take long before his eyes turn back to the door. “Boo-boo,” he says in a voice so small in breaks my heart. Ozzy’s little nose scrunches up and I feel tears coming on... then, suddenly, the ancient TV in the corner of the room blares alive.
It startles the hell out of me, and I nearly drop my newly distracted baby boy in the shock. His bright green eyes are twisted away from the door and towards the color screen. I take the opportunity to sit back up and plop us both back down on the couch.
The TV screeches and the sound twists and turns until a loud pop comes from the speakers—it’s followed by radio silence.
“Damn it,” I mutter again. This TV is giving me more trouble than I need right now... but it also seems to have calmed Oscar. A commercial plays silently on the screen as I take a look behind the ancient box to see if there’s anything I can do about the sound. The sudden idea that I could show Oscar cartoons makes my heart flutter. He deserves some sense of normalcy, even if he’d be watching them in an underground bunker while his father leads a revolution above ground.
“Boo-boo,” Oscar chants as I’m confounded by the forest of wires that confront me behind the TV.
“Your bottle is right there!” I call to him, knowing full well that he’s not asking for the formula on the couch. He wants Angel back. So do I, little buddy.
“Boo-boo!” Oscar giggles, and the sound of his clapping hands makes me abandon my little engineering project. What’s he suddenly so happy about? Is Angel home? Was I so concentrated on this stupid TV that I didn’t hear him open the door?
When I pop my head over the top of the ancient box and scan the room, though, I don’t see anyone. I scrunch my brows and look over at Oscar, who’s bouncing on the couch with a big grin on his face. “Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” he chants, giggling and clapping his hands.
“What’s gotten into you, crazy boy,” I smile, giving up on the TV for now. I plop down beside my happy son and follow his chubby little fingers to the silent screen ahead.
“Oh shit...” My hand covers my mouth as quickly as I realize what I just said. Bad Catalina! Don’t swear around Oscar!
Still, a new flurry of curses wants to escape my lips as I stare at a picture of Angel on the television screen before us.
Without sound, it’s impossible to hear what’s being said, but I can still hear Oscar loud and clear. “Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” he continues, pointing at Angel’s flickering picture.
“That’s dada,” I mumble, absent-mindedly.
“Dada...” Oscar repeats, saying the word for the first time.
My heart melts and I kiss my son on the top of his little round head, but my eyes stay fixed on the screen. Worry invades my gut. This can’t be good. From what I’ve been told, Angel and Juan control most of the newspapers, but no one’s ever said anything about the news channels. I can only imagine that Dante has his hand in this.
Oscar and I watch as Angel’s photo is cut in with disturbing images of the fallout from the wedding. White sheets cover dead bodies over bloody grass...
Suddenly, dread fills my chest. How many innocent people died just so Angel could get me back?
My hands start to shake, and I realize that Oscar is watching the same thing I am. There’s no way he knows that there are dead bodies under those white sheets, but I’m not about to subject him to it. I cover his eyes, but he quickly squirms from my grip.
For someone who can’t even walk yet, he sure is quick. He’s at the other end of the couch, leaning towards the TV before I can grab him again. “Dada! Dada!” he shouts with joy as Angel’s image returns to the screen. Every time he says that word, a conflicting bouquet of fireworks erupts behind my chest. My son has a father; at night we all sleep in the same room... but look what it took to get us here.
The bloody images flash behind my eyelids as I pick up my child and turn us both away from the TV. For some reason, I head straight for the bunker door. There’s no fresh air waiting for us out there, but our little room has become too stuffy to bear—it’s filled with the ghosts of the dead, from Dante’s men to the common people who cried my name as they rushed to their deaths.
The door slams shut behind us and the sound echoes through the empty tunnels. There’s no telling which way is west or east or north or south, and the last thing I want to do is get lost in this dark maze,
so, instead of running off, I start to pace back and forth with Oscar in my arms.
He seems undisturbed by my new mood. Thank goodness.
“Dadaa, dada, dadaa, dada, dada,” the little boy sings, without a care in the world. It’s almost comforting. Oscar is alright, and that’s all that matters.
But what about all those who just died? What about all those who will continue to die just so we can be safe? They must have families, too...
“Cat!?” Angel’s deep voice roars through the tunnel like thunder. “What’s wrong!?” he’s at our side before I can process his presence properly.
“Nothing... Nothing,” I lie. “We just needed some fresh—”
“Dada!”
The sharp look on Angel’s face immediately evaporates. His furrowed brows break in surprise, and the green tint in his eyes sparkles like a supernova. That’s the first time he’s ever been called dada.
“I... uh...” and that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him stammer.
Oscar squirms in my arms as he reaches for Angel. I let him go and his father picks up the slack. “What’s happening?” he asks, after taking a moment to gather himself.
Angel bobs Oscar up and down in his huge arms as naturally as any father ever did. I gaze at my two boys with a heavy heart. They look so much alike...
“You were just on the news,” I mumble, trying to shake the images I just saw out of my head. Slowly, the actual events I witnessed in person also start to invade my memories. I killed a man. There was blood and violence everywhere. Not every guest there was corrupt, right? How many innocent people got caught up in our war?
“You got the TV working?” Angel asks, hardly disturbed at all. I have to remind myself that he’s probably seen much worse—hell, he’s probably done much worse. There’s no way he would be this effected by the images of those bloody white sheets.
I can’t tell him why I’m upset; he’ll think I’m weak, and now is no time to be weak.
“There was no sound,” I tell him.
“That’s probably for the best,” Angel mumbles. He lifts Oscar up to the sky and the baby boy giggles with glee. “Dante’s men control the TV stations; it’s a good thing most of the slums don’t get a good signal, otherwise we might have some serious competition.”
“Competition for what?” I ask, already knowing full well what he means, but the nausea that’s swirling around in my stomach needs a release. Just tell me what I need to hear, Angel. Lie if you have to.
But Angel’s no liar. He furrows his brows and brings Oscar back down into his chest.
“For their loyalty,” he states. “What else?”
My gaze falls away from the two most important boys in my life. My heart is quickly filling with an unavoidable guilt. “... Are we just using these people?”
My eyes stay glued on the ground, but I can feel Angel’s glare cut through me. “We’re using each other,” he states, like a soulless businessman.
“What good is anything if they’re dead?” I respond, tears blurring up my vision. “If their families are dead? How many sons and daughters and fathers died just so I could...” I can’t finish.
“You don’t think that any of that was worth this?” Angel asks, pushing Oscar forward so that his soft cheek rubs against mine
“Mama.”
“Mama’s here,” I whisper. Angel lets me take Oscar and I hold my son tight. This time, he doesn’t try to squirm free. His head falls against my shoulder, almost as if he’s consoling me. I feel so weak. Oscar is the last person who should be dragged into this mess.
“Mama’s not use to this life, to this violence, but that’s alright, I understand,” Angel says. He stands over the two of us like a protective shield, but his warmth for us is offset by his coldness for everyone else. “Neither of you should have to get used to this life,” he repeats, lower this time. “I’m getting us out of here.”
19
Angel
“Right now!?”
The look on Catalina’s face has me worried. This isn’t how I hoped she’d respond. It looks like her conscience has rooted her feet into the floor. Fuck. A conscience can be a dangerous trait in this world.
“Tonight,” I tell her. “Let’s get inside. It’s not safe in these tunnels.” No one except for Lady and Juan know about Oscar, and I plan to keep it that way. If anyone else finds out about him and Cat before I can bring them to safety, then it will already be too late.
I usher the two of them inside and slam the door shut behind us. “Where’s Lady?” The portly old maid is nowhere to be found.
“She’s out for groceries,” Catalina mumbles, her mind clearly still distracted. I hate seeing her like this—though, I knew it was only a matter of time before something like this came up. Cat may be tough in her own way, but very few people can handle the violence that comes with a revolution. Luckily, I’m one of those people. A life hardened in the underworld has prepared me to make decisions that cost lives and shed blood.
Cat isn’t wrong about this being for selfish reasons, either. None of this would be happening if it weren’t for my family feud with Dante—but even then, I probably wouldn’t have started a revolution to end his reign. In the underworld, wars might spill out into polite society once in a while, but they are never meant to. Revolutions are different; the whole point of them is to disturb polite society. Still, the only reason I’m revolting is to keep my family safe—re-taking my empire has become secondary.
“How long has she been gone for?” I don’t like the sound of Lady being gone for long. She’s pretty unassuming, but if anyone gets a hold of her for any reason, I can’t exactly see her holding up under torture. Sure, she’s made these trips before, but things are more dangerous now.
“I... I don’t know,” Cat’s eyes are glued on the TV. A news broadcast is covering a battle that just took place uptown. I wasn’t there, but I helped plan the attack. We managed to capture some of the army’s top men, and that’s a good start—we don’t want any more fucking tanks showing up to our gatherings.
“Let’s turn this shit off,” I suggest, though it’s more of an order. The ancient television clicks off with a loud hiss when I punch in its dial.
“Dada! Boo-boo!” Oscar calls to me from Cat’s arms. He reaches towards the couch and I spot his bottle laying there. When I pick it up, it’s lukewarm.
“He likes it cold,” I mutter, brushing by Cat and putting the bottle back in the fridge. Luckily, there’s a spare at the back. “Come here,” I grumble, picking Oscar out of Cat’s arms. She lets him go and I plop down on the ratty couch.
“Dada,” the word hits my heart so hard that it burns, but I force myself to stay calm. I was almost knocked off my feet when I heard Oscar say it outside. Who taught him that? Cat?
“Boo-boo?” I respond, holding up the fresh bottle.
“Boo-boo,” Oscar confirms. He sucks his bottle as I hold it up to his lips. His gaze never leaves mine, it’s almost like he’s afraid I’m going to leave him again.
Don’t worry, buddy. I’m not going anywhere, not without you. It’s why I’ve decided that the three of us need to split town. Without being able to contact Juan about possible escape routes, I’ve been left on my own to think up a way out of here. He wasn’t lying when he said it was nearly impossible, but he also didn’t have an army of revolutionaries at his fingertips. If I can cause a big enough distraction...
“We can’t leave...” Cat whispers. She stands in the middle of the makeshift living room with her arms crossed.
“That’s what I thought, too,” I say, looking back and forth between her and Oscar. “But I have a plan—”
“No,” Cat interrupts. “You don’t understand. We can’t leave, not now, not until we’ve helped those who have risked their lives to help us.” Her eyes are heavy with conflict, but her voice is strong and determined. I can see she’s made up her mind, even if she doesn’t entirely realize it yet.
Fuck.
“They’re
not helping us,” I growl, not daring to move. The last thing I want to do is disturb Oscar’s dinner. “They’re helping themselves. I know you’ve been trapped in one prison or another for the past two years, but while you’ve been locked in your gilded cages, the people have suffered. They’re done with suffering, and now they’re finally fighting back.”
“... They wouldn’t be risking their lives if it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for me,” Cat continues, unconvinced.
I shake my head. “They just needed someone to push them in the right direction. It would have happened eventually, but if it wasn’t someone with my knowledge and resources, they might have already all been wiped out. I’ve done them a service. By being their leader, I’ve given them a chance.”
“You maybe their leader now,” Catalina says, looking down to the floor. “But what about when you leave?”
“I’ll come back.”
“And leave Oscar and I again?” Her eyes are quickly on me again. Now, she’s just prodding me. I set Oscar down and rise to my feet. Catalina shrinks under my height, but she doesn’t back down. My heart kicks and screams for her. God, she’s a special woman, but by lord can she be frustrating.
“Enough!” I command. “Everything is in place,” that’s a lie, I have an idea on how to get us out, but it hasn’t been put into practice yet. “We’re leaving when I say we’re leaving. All of us, as a family.”
Cat turns away from me just as a thump comes from the couch. We both whip around at the same time to see that Oscar has dropped his bottle onto the floor. Milk dribbles from his lips as his big green eyes study us with curiosity.
“We shouldn’t be fighting around him,” Catalina whispers. She brushes by me to pick our son up off the couch.
“We weren’t fighting,” I say stubbornly. “We were discussing the details of our trip. We’re leaving, and that’s final.”
“And what if we get caught?” It’s like Cat can’t help herself. Even with Oscar in her arms, she’s not afraid to tell me when she thinks I’m wrong. “Then they’ll not only have us, but they’ll also know we have a son.”
