I sit in the dark behind my eyelids, and I begin to plan. It feels like the board has been reset. New pieces are in play, and the stakes are higher. I can feel a smile, cold and sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, spreading across my face.
Let them have their night.
Let them burn the tapestries, and smash the family heirlooms.
I have the things that truly matter. I have my life, my mind, my will. I have my precious pet, shivering in cashmere beside me. And I have the one thing they lack: the patience to wait for the perfect moment to strike back.
The game is far from over. In fact, it has just become delicious.
Istare out, watching the changing landscape beneath me as we fly over the mountainside. I’m half convinced that at any moment someone is going to point at us with one of those missile things and blast us out of the sky.
Would I welcome that? Would I welcome death so easily?
No, despite wanting it, despite yearning for an escape, I realise now that I’m faced with my own mortality; I’m not ready to die yet. I’ve barely begun living.
I don’t say anything as we land at a private airstrip. I’m ushered out after the boy and escorted onto the waiting jet. It’s bigger than one we used before. Sleeker too.
Inside, a smiling lady in a prim dress tells Antonio that everything is as requested.
He grunts back, his hand over the boy’s shoulders as he tells him to go sit at the back.
I watch them again, wondering if he might be Antonio’s child but the way they interact, the way Antonio manages him, it doesn’t feel particularly fatherly. But who the hell is he? And why would Antonio be taking care of him?
“Come.”
His voice makes me jump as he turns back for me. I allow him to walk me down the aisle, to where there’s a space partitioned off. There’s a bed made up, and a part of me would love to crawl into it and just hide.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he quietly shuts the door, giving us some privacy.
His jaw clenches, and for the first time I realise he looks exhausted. Utterly exhausted.
“America.” He says after a pause.
I don’t need to follow that up with anything. I know where we’re headed,whowe’re headed to. There’s only one reason we’d be going to America. My stomach twists with the knowledge of what could be waiting for me, but then, I’m with Antonio. As long as I keep my mouth shut and play along, he’ll keep me safe – won’t he?
“How long is the flight?” I reply.
“Eight hours give or take.” He states.
I nod, and before I can think not to I lift my hand, cupping his cheek. Feeling the prickle of stubble in my palm, feeling the way his skin feels so different where it’s mangled and raised. His body tenses, his breathing seems to stop. Does he think this is some trick? If it is, I don’t know the details of it.
“Can we sleep?” I ask.
He grunts back but he lets me lead him the few steps to the bed, lets me pull him down till he’s lying on it and I slide his shoes off, slide his jacket off, making him as comfortable as I can before I rest beside him.
Neither of us shuts our eyes, we just lie there staring at one another.
“I’m sorry about your home.” I whisper, feeling like I need to do something, anything to break the tension.
“Homes can be rebuilt. Some things are more precious than simple bricks.” He replies, brushing my hair back from my face, and I wonder for a moment if I can kid myself into believing those words are about me.
That I’m the precious one. I’m the thing he can’t bear to be without.
The dull,deafening roar of the jet engines fades to a high-pitched whine, then to silence. The sudden quiet is somehow more unnerving than the noise.
My heart is thumping so loudly I’m surprised no one can hear it, it’s a sensation that has become as constant as my own breath. I press my forehead against the cool, double-paned oval of the window, my breath fogging a small circle on the glass.
We have landed in America, but the America spreading out before me isn’t the one from movies or tourist brochures. It’s not a landscape of liberty, but one of imminent confinement.
