“You took that news rather well,” Octavia says.
The sound of her voice diverts my attention from Violetta and I zip my gaze back to the woman in front of me. “How so?”
“I figured you wouldn’t find it as an acceptable response.”
“I don’t,” I say, my tone flat.
She laughs softly. “I thought as much.”
“Here’s a thought…Why don’t you tell me what youdoknow, instead of fucking with me?”
Whether it’s due to my tone of voice or the words I use, I detect movement from my peripheral vision. My hand is on my firearm and pulling it out of the holster before her security gets to his feet. He stills once my weapon is pointed at Octavia. Benito has shifted, his body shielding the majority of Violetta’s tiny frame, his barrel aimed at the other guard who is also halfway out of his seat. The stewardess has yet to emerge from her hiding place in the kitchenette, not that I blame her.
“I’m not going to kill her,” I say with a pointed look at the gunman closest to me. “However, if you take a step in the direction of me or my companions, I’ll assume it’s with the intent to cause someone harm. In which case, I’ll shoot Octavia and this flight will be a lot shorter than we all originally planned.”
Octavia rattles something off in Spanish and her guy reluctantly returns to his seated position. Then she brings her gaze to me and tilts her head. “Look, all I can tell you is my supervisor sent me to America with instructions for me to retrieve you and escort you back to Guatemala. That’s all I know and I’ll swear it on the Virgin Mary herself.” She makes the sign of the cross and ends the ritual by kissing her fingertips.
I lower my firearm and then jerk my chin at Benito in a silent order for him to do the same. He’s slow to move away from Violetta, but when he does I quickly scan her face. She appears no worse for wear, which is better than not because I need Benito vigilant, not busy consoling the young woman.
“I understand the need for discretion,” I say to Octavia, “as well as secrecy. What I don’t understand is how you, or someone else, knew to send me that specific phrasing in the text message. Would you care to explain?”
Octavia shrugs and I clench my jaw to keep from strangling her. “I just sent what I was instructed to. What do you Americans always say? ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’” She holds up her hands in an act of supplication. “I’m not trying to fuck with you, only carry out my orders.”
“I can respect that.”
“I hope so because my gut tells me you’re going to find that you have more questions than answers, and when that happens I don’t want to be anywhere near you, señor.”
“Octavia, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Violetta
Iwas right about Tristano: he can draw his gun faster than I can blink.
Beni as well, but he’s not the one in charge and giving orders. However, he is the one protecting me, so I won’t discount his importance.
The tension inside the plane is slow to dissipate. Even my pulse still thrums speedily, despite the weapons having been stowed away in their holsters and Octavia retreating to the private room in the back.
I grab the unopened water bottle to give myself something else to focus on, and because I’m thirsty. My throat has been parched for a while, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to pantomime my need for something to drink.
And my mind wouldn’t allow me to use my tongue.
Sometimes I think I’ve lost the ability to speak altogether. Logically, that’s ridiculous and I’ve berated myself over the idiotic notion, but it still resurfaces here and there.
Until Carina came back to me, I never wanted to talk to anyone. What would I say to my father that wouldn’t earn me a barrage of threats? What could I say to my mother that wouldn’t guarantee her treachery by siding with my father, claiming he’s just doing what’s best for the family? And what would I say to myself that wouldn’t make me want to leap from the nearest window in despair?
Words are powerful.
My refusal to speak, even more so.
I chose to be silent, which revealed my inner fortitude and gave me a way to rebel that wouldn’t result in my death. Carina experienced more punishment from the things she said in comparison to the outcomes of my silence. More importantly, when someone speaks, they give the person listening a glimpse into their mind, or even their soul.
No one has a right to that knowledge unless I decide to give it to them.
The stewardess makes an appearance once again and notifies us of the entertainment available in the way of movies and games located on the tablets she hands to us, along with a pair of earbuds. What I really want is food, not fun, but I’m still not willing to voice my needs. Especially to strangers. It looks as though I’ll have to find a way to force myself to speak soon or my stomach will do it for me.
Who would’ve thought my vow of silence would be conquered by something as basic as the desire for sustenance?
I could write down my requests, but that feels like defeat in a way. It was easy to stay quiet at my parents’ house since they fed me at regular intervals and my basic needs were met without me having to say anything. With Tristano and Benito, I’ll just have to wait for them to eat…
