Excerpt 122

Ala rolled onto her side and she heard the thick metal door scraping shut.  The rope didn’t feel as tight as before, but her body was worn and her fingers felt numb. She tried to remember Emmanuel’s letter to her, yearning for a recollection of a passage that would warn her that something like this could happen. As if it wasn’t obvious that letting a stranger sleep in his bed and removing some of his very expensive possessions from his home were not obvious reasons as to why this had happened. The offer of ten thousand dollars had been ridiculous.  If all of his art meant so much to him, why not hire a professional to watch over them?  She was grasping for any angle to make the entire mess Emmanuel’s fault.

Her neck itched and she jerked her head from side to side, only feeding her frustration. A muscle stretched and then froze in her neck.  It was a deep pain and since she could not use her hands, laid there, very still, hoping to fall asleep again.  Her wet clothes were cold and stiff and cramps spread throughout her stomach from hunger.

She had been spoiled. Emmanuel had given her the least laborious summer job with the biggest payout she could ever imagine and she had not taken it seriously. She had abandoned all responsibility in her position.  And the punishment was extreme.  Bruno and those men could do anything they wanted to her.  There was nothing anyone could do except find her, but she wasn’t sure if anyone knew yet that she was missing.  Her parents thought she was staying at Emmanuel’s house and finding them in the position she did, would not be concerned if she did not reach out to them or ignored their calls.  Gene was angry with her and Gertrude was busy trying to find a husband.  Danno was the only one who would think something was strange.  Then again, he hadn’t known her long.  He could think that she chose to shut him out and or worse, go back to Boston to be with Jase.

She was afraid to think of any escape possibilities.  Most likely because she knew she would fail and they would catch her and kill her.  And then, no one would know what happened to her even if they did start looking.  There was a better chance she’d be found if she stayed alive.  The metal scraped again and out of the corner of her eye, Ala saw one of the masked men.  His footsteps approached and she tried to keep from looking at him.  She knew he was coming, but still felt caught off guard when he bent down toward her.

Something in his hand flashed in the light and he grabbed hold of her shirt and began to cut it off her back.  The scissors creaked against her skin.  He pulled the fabric off and threw it across the room.  He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up on her knees. He began to cut her shorts down the side of her thigh, clasping her bottom.  She felt her breasts harden once the cold air hit her bra, while the arch in her back allowed him to drink in her exposed form.  Mortified, she closed her eyes and waited for someone, anyone, to come in and shoot the man. The blistering desire she had for him to be dead was alarming.  It was the first time she realized that there are circumstances when murder is the only option.

segment 22

He wasn’t handsome, but did convey a confidence  that told her he didn’t need to be, which was almost more alluring then some direct aesthetic quality.

“With Marquet, you know, the department store?”

“Of course.” Ala remembered every Christmas loading the car trunk with gifts her mother bought from Marquet. The leisure suits, silk scarves, cashmere gloves; none of it her taste, a bit too senior, but very popular in her mother’s collection of friends.

“I started in Colombia, that’s where I’m from.  I only moved here about ten years ago.”

“Your English is good.” It was better than good really.  Very articulate and deep.

“My mother taught me.  She was American.  She moved to Colombia after meeting my father.”

“I see.  So, do you have advice for me?  I’m just starting out in this direction.  Before I sold ad space for a magazine that had nothing to do with fashion.”

“So, much of the business is about how you project yourself, so people trust your style. I’d say, you’ll have no issue in that department.” His eye darted her body for half a second.

Ala felt herself blush and was embarrassed.

“Well that’s good news.”

He removed a card from his pocket.

“Tell you what, I live three blocks away. Come over tomorrow. I may be able to help you with a job.”

“Seriously?” She grabbed the card, almost too quickly.

“Yes.”

“Well thank you, Emmanuel.”

He nodded just as Mrs. Neely came up  from behind and handed him another drink. Ala knew that Mrs. Neely was desperate to sleep with him, she could tell by the way her hand ran up and down the wet glass.

He would never sleep with her; Ala could already tell this from their two minute conversation.  Too sloppy. Too chatty. She looked around and didn’t see her parents anywhere.  Strange of them to go to bed so soon, but then again, it was strange for them to be here in the first place.

She could tell Mrs. Neely had a small window of time and did not want her husband to see her spending too much time around Emmanuel. It felt like the time had come to leave.

Not wanting to go home to the dark house, she rummaged through the shed and found her old ten-speed from high school.  She rode down the street, quiet except for a few cars making there way toward the highway. She found the path that she and her friends used to take to get to the brook, and sped down the hill with her arms in the air, stretching high above her head.

Apparently having more balance at fourteen years old, she swerved so severely that the only nice thing about the fall was that no one was around to witness it.  She lied there for a moment, eye level with the brook, hearing the trickle over the rocks and seeing sparse beams of reflected light taking over the surface of the water.

She wondered how long she could lie there without someone finding her.  Ten hours, twelve hours, maybe even  days?  Was anyone around that could read her mind, who knew her that well? The answer was bleak.

segment 18

Mrs. Neely carried a tray of pink drinks, with umbrellas sticking out of the tops of the glasses, around the deck.  Mr. Neely stood in front of the grill, slapping some kind of meat down while rattling the ice in his glass.  Ala’s parents were sitting on opposites sides of the fire, talking to people from the neighborhood.

Ala hadn’t remembered then particularly caring for the Neely’s, or anyone else in the neighborhood socially, but apparently, they were all friends.  A tall man in white linen pants and an aqua v neck tee-shirt sat down next to Ruth Billows. She constantly went out without her husband, who was seventy eight years old and very wealthy.  Her lips puckered every time she said a word and her chest heaved every time she laughed.  Although she had implants, she seemed to go to great lengths to never show cleavage.

The man leaned in to tell her something that others in the perimeter wouldn’t hear and she raised her hand to her mouth in disbelief at whatever he said.  He looked Latin and rich.  He must’ve been new in the neighborhood and Ala could not understand why someone who seemed so hip would be hanging out with the middle aged neighbors.