And it’s being stuck into my ass cheek.
“N-no… wait,” I try to speak as darkness steals me. “You d-don’t… understand. I’m…”
Angel.
But the words don’t make it.
I’m Angel Alvarez.
Rotten.
Rotting…
Dead.
Dying…
Let it be said that I recognize my faults, okay? I know I’ve FUBAR-ed many aspects of this mission, from my failure at Club Edge, to getting swept up in investigating this island, allowing this world that The Ivory has created to hypnotize me, when I should have just been fuckingkilling him.
But instead, here I am. Locked in a hole, withering away.
I don’t know how long I’ve actually been in here; it feels like years. In reality, it’s probably only been a few weeks. I lost count after a while because I’ve been fading more and more as time goes on. At this point, I’m almost positive this is where I’m going to die.
I will give up my last breath in this concrete tomb. My flesh will rot in my own personal mausoleum of consumed existence. Just like the others.
Thisis what he wanted, I’m sure. To capture me and lock me away in a stone box no bigger than a broom closet. No windows, no light, other than what shines through the half-inchof space between the door and the floor. Not even one of those little plexiglass squares to peek through. Just a rusty metal door keeping me fully secluded. A couple of buckets to relieve myself in, though let’s be real, after a while, there’s really no need. I’m barely eating or drinking anything to expel, anyway.
That was the part I lost sight of…again. That despite his words of manipulation, El Diabloispure evil. The lies of a silver-tongued serpent mean nothing when his intentions were always for me to die slowly of starvation and dehydration and humiliation in this fucking shithole prison.
Soy idiota.
At first, I pounded on the door like a simpleton. I couldn’t stop remembering what I’d overheard that day in the library…
“Come hell or high water… mi pajarito volverá a mí. He will come back to me.”
Some diluted part of my brain still thought that he wanted to get me back to him. So that we could have one last showdown, wherein he would try to capture me again, and I would slice him open.
As it turns out, he was saying it all along, I just wasn’t listening.
He knew he would get me back, and he did.
And now he’s letting me die.
The only reason my body is still alive is because, despite the potential repercussions, people are looking out for me. That might be the most confusing part of all this.
Someone has been bringing me food, water, basic toiletries. There’s a slot at the bottom of the door that’ll slide open every few days, and when it does,someoneslides in stuff.
StuffI know for a fact isn’t coming from The Ivory, or his evil robot army.
The first bottle of water and granola bar came with a hushed, “I’m sorry…” Before they scurried away.
The voice sounded male, young. Too soft to be any of the guards. At first I thought maybe it was Yari. But I feel like I’d recognize his voice.
Shame I’ll never know who it is, since I’m going to die. Whether I inevitably starve, or I take matters into my own hands, I can’t take much more of this.
Running my thumb over the handle of my knife, I whisper, “Lo siento, Papa… te fallé.”
I’m so sorry I failed you and Mama.
