“You want to know what I did to MaMaLu?” Warren’s eyes flashed with indignation. “IsavedMaMaLu. That’s right. Isavedher. El Charro and his men would have killed her. Prison was the safest place for her. Out of sight, out of mind. I paid Victor a small fortune to make sure Esteban was looked after and that MaMaLu got everything she needed in Valdemoros. I don’t know if any of that money made it to her. I suspect Victor used that money to start up his private security business, but that’s irrelevant now. As soon as we were settled in our new home, I was going to send for MaMaLu and Esteban, get them new identities, and sponsor them over. I owed it to her. A new life, a fresh start. But it didn’t work out that way. She died before I could get them out. I went looking for Esteban, but his uncle was gone and he had disappeared. There was no trace of him. No one knew where he went or what happened to him. I closed that chapter of our lives with a heavy heart, Skye. I burned the letters you wrote. It broke my heart, but I wanted to protect you. You were so young, I was sure you’d forget. I thought it would be easier if you assumed they’d moved on.” Warren sighed and sank down onto the chair. “If there’s one thing I regret, apart from not leaving Mexico while your mother was alive, it’s MaMaLu. And if Damian wants to come after me for that, fine. But I’m not letting him get away withthis.” He gestured to Skye’s bed and all the machines beeping around them.
Skye closed her eyes. So many misunderstandings, so much time wasted, each man standing stubbornly in his corner.
“Damian needs to know what happened, Dad, what your intentions were.”
“He never gave me the chance to explain, did he? He just made his assumptions. Judge, jury and vigilante justice. He kidnapped you, hurt you, and he permanently injured a man. Victor will never have use of that arm. The doctors have reattached it, but the nerves are severed. That’s irreversible.”
“It was self-defense!” said Skye. She was sick of the endless tug of war. “Victor was under contract with you. He knew what he was getting into. The risks go hand in hand with his job. Damian didn’t have a weapon. He was hurt. It was Victor who threatened him with a gun.”
“Why?” Her father looked exhausted. “Why do you have to fight me at every turn? Let me handle this, Skye. One day you’ll look back and you’ll see. You’re not yourself right now. You don’t know—”
“Enough!” Skye cut her father off. “Enough.”
That was when the old Skye switched off and a new Skye took her place.
“I’m done,” she said. “I’m done with you. And I’m done with Damian. I won’t let either of you use me to get to each other.”
Nick urged her to turn down the plea bargain that Damian’s lawyer offered, but Skye knew that if the case went to trial, they would paint Damian as a monster and have her testimony negated. Everything they had shared would be sullied and violated. And so, she came to an agreement with Nick and her father. They wouldn’t subject Skye to a psychiatrist if she didn’t force their hand, if she kept her mouth shut about Damian letting her go.
And so she sat there, in the court room, staring into her lap, even as her face burned where Damian’s eyes skimmed over her. Her love had not been enough. He had retired one gun, only to pick up another. When push came to shove, her love had not been enough.
The judge sentenced Damian to eight years, because he had shown remorse by pleading guilty, and had spared the court the time and expense of a lengthy trial.
Nick and Warren didn’t look too happy, but it was a time frame they had anticipated and come to terms with.
Rafael gave Damian a curt nod as they handcuffed him.
Damian turned to look at Skye one last time before they led him out, still hungry, still desperate for one glance. What he felt, he couldn’t put into words—sadness, loss, a feeling of having disappointed her, and of being let down himself.
Skye kept her eyes trained on her lap.
Damian had loved two women in his life. He had been unable to save one and he’d made things impossible for the other one. In the darkness, when the weight of his isolation sat on his chest like a stony gargoyle, MaMaLu came to him. He felt her presence settle around him. When he closed his eyes, he could hear her singing. He was a little boy again, sitting in church with her, his hand clasped firmly in hers, as angels and saints looked down on them.
Damian realized that MaMaLu had not been alone, that even in her last days in Valdemoros, he had been with her, just as she was with him now. Because when we love, we carry it on the inside, and we can turn on its light even in our darkest moments. The deeper we love, the brighter it shines. And even though MaMaLu was long gone, she was still there with him, in his darkest, loneliest moments.
It’s true,he thought.
Love don’t die.
It gave Damian reason to hold on to his sanity, because without focusing on something, a man can go crazy in solitary confinement. Damian tore off a button from his boxers, turned around in a circle, and flung it in the air. Then he got on his hands and knees and searched for it in the darkness. When he found it, he repeated the process again and again until he was exhausted. After a while, he used his game to figure out the time between meals, and day from night. Sometimes he ran on the spot, sometimes he balanced on his head. He kept busy and he kept fit, and when they opened up the door to let him back into his cell, he surprised everyone with his resilience.
Monique had served no more than a few days in the hole, because Monique was important. He played a key role in keeping the peace. The first day Damian was back in the chow hall, a nervous energy surrounded the whole place. The guards were extra vigilant and the prisoners fidgeted as Damian took the same seat across from Monique. The menu was spaghetti with meatballs, a side of peas, and the ubiquitous Jell-O. Damian forked a meatball from Monique’s tray and put it into his mouth. Monique stopped chewing. His nose had healed, but it was now slightly crooked. The tension between the two men was palpable. Then Monique reached across and picked a forkful of Damian’s peas. He held the fork between them, the peas hovering in a slippery stack of machismo, before shoveling them in his mouth. They stared at each other, taking their time, chomping down each other’s food. Damian swallowed and turned his attention back to his tray. Monique continued eating silently from his. Everyone returned to what they were doing.
“Nice scarf,” mumbled Damian.
Monique was wearing a bright floral scarf around his head and sporting a pair of dainty pearl earrings.
“Bitch please,” replied Monique without lifting his eyes from his spaghetti. “You ain’t ever getting a piece of this action.”
“DAMIAN, YOU HAVE A VISITOR.” A correctional officer stopped by the Release and Receiving area where Damian and Monique were painting a mural.
“Praise the lord.” Monique raised his palms to the ceiling. “Take this useless piece of shit away. He’s been messing with my field of corn.”
“It’s corn,” said Damian, putting his brush away. “Not some phallic representation of corn.”
He followed the guard through heavy steel doors with plexiglass windows. Each door buzzed a warning, opened with a puff of compressed air, and slid shut behind them with a definitivefffphut.
Damian walked into the visiting room and looked for Rafael. In the year that he had been there, Rafael had been his only visitor. Damian monitored his business from behind bars, and Rafael followed through with his directives. Sometimes they sat out in the adjoining patio, which had patches of green grass, and caught up on their lives. Damian was going nowhere, but Rafael’s visits gave him glimpses of the outside world.
