Mercy
I’M NUMB.
Seeing Señora again brought me back to a time when I relied on her for everything. Back to a time when I loved her.
Philomena confirmed what I already feared. Señora was in on this with Papa. She was his partner.
Whatever love I felt for her shriveled instantly, and along with it went a piece of my heart.
“Are you sure about this?” Milo says and squeezes my hand that I have looped around his elbow as we follow Chief Bastilla down a hallway to a more secure room. “I’m sure you can get the answers you need without having to sit in the same room with her.”
“I’ll be okay.”
Bastilla stops at a door where a guard waits. He says something to the man, then turns toward me. “You won’t be alone. This is patrolman Mike Hughey, and he’ll stay with you at all times.”
I nod. When Bastilla opens the door, I spot Señora immediately. She’s sitting on a plastic chair the size of the ones in the room we were in, but hers somehow seems bigger. Or maybe it’s her who seems smaller.
The patrolman motions for me to go inside, and when I take my first step, Milo releases my hand. My heart kicks behind my ribs, and my fingers clench his forearm. His gaze finds mine and softens as if he knows without me having to ask. He steps in ahead of me, making sure to keep our hands clasped tightly.
I thought I could do this on my own, but being in her presence again, in this tiny room together, I feel like a defenseless child. Milo’s firm hold grounds me, and when I take my seat on shaky legs, Milo rests a supportive hand on my shoulder.
Señora’s eyes rise to meet mine. Other than a flicker of recognition, no emotion crosses her face. I remember that much about her. She was good at holding back any real feelings when it came to me. Up until the last few times I saw her, she gave me nothing beyond her stiff lip and detached interaction.
“It’s over now,” I hear myself say and sit up a little taller while maintaining eye contact like Milo taught me back in high school. “You will never be able to hurt children again.”
“I never hurt a child.” Her voice and her accent bring a warm feeling of familiarity to my chest that I try to ignore. “I cared for them.”
I shake my head. “You’re not on trial with me. I don’t care about your weak defenses and justifications.”
She looks tired, as if she was dragged out of bed and forced to walk here in the deep sand.
“I just want to know where I came from?”
Milo’s hand convulses on my shoulder, and his nervous energy fills the room.
“I don’t know—”
“I was a baby when I came to stay with you, so young I have no memory of it, and the only memories I have all have you in them. Please, tell me where I came from.”
She seems to contemplate that. “It’s not a fairytale. Are you sure you want to know?”
I can tell she wants me to say no. She wants me to cower like I used to, to submit to her power over me, but she can’t control me anymore. The weight of Milo’s hand on my shoulder gives me strength. “Nothing you say can be worse than what I’ve lived through under your generous care.”
Her tired eyes narrow as a fire sparks in her glare. “You have no idea the sacrifices I made for you.”
“I was a baby! Those children out there don’t even remember a life before living at Papa’s. They don’t have an identity outside of the lies you raised them on.”
She doesn’t say a word, just stares directly ahead as if to keep my words from sinking in.
“Where did I come from?” I ask again.
Milo runs his hand up to cup the back of my neck possessively as if he’s preparing me for incoming pain. His firm grip reassures me that no matter where I came from, I will always have a home with him.
She looks at the guard in such a haughty way as if her tattered rag of a dress was made of fine silk. “You were bought.”
I blink, registering her words. Bought? Like food or clothes? “From who?”
“Your parents, I assume. There’s no way to know these things. And your papa invested every dollar he had on you.”
“My parents sold me?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re lucky your papa got to you when he did, or you’d have been sold to one of those barbarians we bought Demonio from.”
“Mi alma,” Milo’s voice comes as a soft whisper against my ear, “fuck this bitch. Let me get you out of here.”
“No.” I take his free hand and pull it close, laying his palm flat on my heart and holding it there. “I’m okay. I need this.”
“Odio esto,” Milo murmurs, and I understand he’s saying I hate this. His use of Spanish gets Señora’s attention.
“Debes ser quien lo mató,” she says to Milo.
She’s saying something about who killed him. I’m assuming she’s talking about Papa.
Milo’s hand flexes at the back of my neck, and I tilt to see his face. The corner of his lips pulls up in an evil grin. “I wish.” Another squeeze at my neck. “That honor was taken by someone who deserved to deliver it more than me.”
Her expression crumbles, and her watery eyes come to mine. “Fuieste tu?”
She’s asking if it was me. I shake my head. “No hablo español.”
A soft chuckle comes from Milo, and his fingers interweave with mine at my chest.
Her face drains of color.
I turn to the patrolman. “I’m done here.”
He nods and crosses to the door to escort us out. When I stand, Milo pulls me in for a hug, wrapping me up so tightly it’s hard to take a full breath, but I don’t care. Breathing comes second to my need to be comforted by Milo.
Here I thought I was taken from loving parents who wanted me, when in reality, my fate was sealed the second my biological parents set eyes on my skin color. My genetic abnormalities put a price on my head, and I was sold like a possession. Sure, things could’ve been much worse, and if it weren’t for everything I went through, I might be dead. Or worse, I’d never have met Milo.
I squeeze his waist, and he buries his nose in my hair. As wrong as it may be, I actually feel grateful for how my life has played out. I can’t find it in me to regret the circumstances that led me to this moment with Milo, which reminds me . . .
“One more thing.” I turn to Señora.
Milo glues himself to my back, one hand splayed across my stomach and the other gripping my arm. I don’t know if he’s trying to hold me back in case I decide to attack or if he’s holding me up in case I fall.
“Who dumped me? I was found on the other side of the border. Was it you who saved me?”
She sniffs back her emotions. “You were going to be sold. I knew the things you’d be used for were . . . impure. I had to get you out of there.”
“But you left me alone with him months before that. He told me you were sick.”
“I begged him not to sell you to that man. He punished me by refusing to let me see you. I knew you’d never leave on your own, so I drugged his drink and then drugged you. I had help carrying you to a car, but I couldn’t take you across the border by myself. I knew a coyote. He took you across and dumped you. I wasn’t sure he would do it, so I told him if he didn’t do as I asked, your spirit would curse him in this life and the next. I’m surprised he didn’t kill you or sell you, but that says a lot about the power people believed you had. Death would’ve been a gift compared to what that awful man had in store for you.”
“Mikkel,” I whisper.
“So now you know. I know you want to hate me, but you can’t. Because the only reason you’re standing here now is because of me!”
“That’s enough.” Milo turns me around and guides me to the door.
My mind wars with new information. The good, the evil, and the space in between where bad things are done out of love and nothing makes sense. I stumble into the hallway and lean against the wall.
“Mercy . . .” Milo holds me, my cheek pressed to his chest, and he whispers in my ear, “Don’t listen to her. These people are sick. All that matters is that everyone is safe. They can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”
“I want to go home.”
“All right, mi alma.” He presses his lips to my head. When I look up at him, his expression radiates tension. “I’ll get you home. There’s just one thing I need to do first.”