The curtains of our bedroom must have been made of paper. They barely filtered the bright orange glow of the streetlight outside our window. I could even make out the dancing swarms of moths and mosquitos gathered at the top of the lamppost.

The mattress was hard, it was like sleeping on a plank, and I swore I could feel the head of a nail digging into my right butt cheek. My pillow was just a ball of rags stuffed into a sowed-up case, with a weird stain in the middle. The blanket was itchy, a faded, snot-green color, and it was way too thin.

Once my heart stopped racing, I felt too cold again, and I huddled against Juan, searching for a little comfort amidst this stiff bed.

It was hard to sleep, and honestly, I was too uneasy to close my eyes. But I knew we had a long day ahead of us, and I should try to rest while I still could.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of voices outside the room. I was cold and shivering, the bed was empty and Juan was gone.

At first, all I could hear were whispers, growing into a conversation with words I couldn’t understand. Then it turned into a shout, a long war cry of a dozen men running up the corridor, shaking the ground, my whole body, and making the room’s flimsy window rattle.

Black smoke, like a thick fog, spilled into the room, crawling under the gap beneath the door. It swirled at the seams around the window, poured in through the cracks in the ceiling and walls. The heavy gas hissed like a snake, and turned into a hundred slimy hands that pinned me down onto the bed.

The door crept open, and from the fog emerged a tall silhouette. I knew who it was, even though I couldn’t make out his face. It was too broad to be Juan’s. Too threatening to be a stranger. Too familiar to be anyone else than Pablo.

His heavy boots stomped over to me, slamming against the creaky wooden floors. Dry air escaped my lungs as he leaned over to kiss me. I lay frozen as he grabbed my hand where my ring would have been, and his finger traced a line across the light indent the tight band had left on my skin.

Without a word, he pulled out a knife, its blade stained with another’s blood, and slowly rose it above my head.

I woke up, panting and sweating, jolting upright in my bed.

“What happened?” asked Juan.

“Nightmare,” I breathed as I fell back onto my pillow, holding Juan’s hand to make sure he was there. “I had a nightmare.”

He gave me a faint smile that looked more like a pitiful pout, and stroked back a few soggy strands of hair that had stuck to my forehead.

“Hey, Sarah, did you know that you sleep with your eyes open?” he asked. “It’s cute.”

“How is that cute? That’s horrible,” I muttered. “Were you staring at me all night?”

Juan nodded and grimaced. “I couldn’t sleep. This bed is super uncomfortable. It’s probably full of bed bugs, too.”

“Yeah. It’s not the best.”

“It’s the worst, actually. The worst bed I’ve ever slept in,” he started to rant. “You know, when I was a kid, I had a waterbed. It was pretty cool, back then. And then one day I got into my dad’s office and spilled some coffee onto his computer and it broke down. So he shot my waterbed, to teach me a lesson, and I had to sleep on this wet, deflated sheet of plastic for a couple of nights. And even that was more comfortable than whatever this shit is.”

I let out a snort. “Oh, you’ve never stayed at a Motel 6.”

“Not yet, I guess,” he replied, and his voice sounded defeated. “Ugh, I’m going to miss my bed.”

I watched as he kept on playing with my hair, the little twitches of his fingers slowing down as his face seemed to decompose, until he finally let go, and sighed.

If he was already regretting his old lifestyle, there was no way our plan would end well. There’d be many more things he’d miss. It wasn’t just the luxury hotels and comfortable beds. Running away with me meant no more lavish parties, no more expensive food and drinks, and of course, no more prostitutes and cheating.

And as long as Pablo was a few steps behind us, trying to track us down, it meant no rest. No stopping. No more sleep at night. No time to look back at the good times and wonder how things would be if he’d stayed. No room for regrets, his bliss and innocence were lost forever.

“Anyways,” he mumbled, “we’re leaving today. I was thinking we could go in the early-to-mid afternoon, just as the town’s market is wrapping up, so there are enough people in the streets that we can sneak back to the car, but not too much traffic that we’d get stuck if they found us.”

“And what do we do in the meantime?”

Juan shrugged. “We just chill. I’ll try to nap before we hit the road again. It’ll be a few hours of driving until we hit the border, and some of it will be off-road.”

“Oh,” I whispered. “Are we crossing the border today?”

“Yeah,” he answered, glancing over at the door. “I’m pretty sure Pablo will have men waiting for us at every border post, which is why I found this guy who’ll meet us further out and take us there through the jungle.”

“Through the jungle,” I echoed, raising my eyebrows as I spoke. “Is he trustworthy?”

Juan’s teeth discreetly scraped across his bottom lip. “I sure hope so. I paid him a lot of money.”

I felt my hair rise on end, and it wasn’t a good feeling. It wasn’t the thrill of adventure, just pure fear and the adrenalin it brought with it.

It wasn’t the weather, either. Now the sun was up, it was starting to get warm, hot, even, and the air was filled with sweltering humidity. My skin was sweaty, sticking to the sheets beneath me, and even the bedroom walls seemed bloated, as their crumbling corners dripped with mold.

“If the bathroom isn’t as gross as the bedroom, you should try to shower,” said Juan. “We probably won’t be able to do that in a while. Oh, and, Sarah, are you hungry?”

“A little,” I told him. “I could do with some coffee.”

He smiled. “I’ll go grab you some.”

By the time he’d put on some clothes–carefully pulling them out of his backpack and wincing every time they came in contact with one of the bedroom’s grimy surfaces–his grin had faded.

He stared at the gun on the bedside table, and swallowed the lump in his throat. Neither of us wanted to part with the weapon, much less with each other.

“You should take it,” I said. “Just to be safe.”

“No, keep it,” he replied. “You’re the one they’re after, Sarah.”

We glanced at each other, and then back at the gun. Juan nervously scratched the side of his neck.

“They’re after the both of us,” I said. “Take it.”

“Worst case scenario, I can run away,” he answered. “But you’re stuck in a room.”

I wished we could part on more reassuring words, but we were just being pragmatic. With a shaky nod and a bitter kiss, I bid him farewell, and locked the door behind him.

I stared at the door, with the gun on my lap, counting the seconds until he came back. I lost track before I hit five hundred. It shouldn’t take ten minutes for a guy to grab two cups of coffee and a piece of bread we could split, so I started to worry.

And it wasn’t just the nerves that made my stomach ache and my knees bounce. I needed to pee, too. Desperately. The bathroom was on the other end of the corridor, and it wasn’t safe for me to go unless Juan was there to watch over me.

I paced around the room, hoping that would help with the urge, but it didn’t. I counted a hundred seconds more until I figured I was about to burst, and I’d rather die of a bullet to the head than of a kidney infection.

I carefully opened the door, and listened to every voice, footstep, and noise that could reach my ear, calculating in which direction they came from, how far they were, and whether they sounded at least somewhat familiar.

The lime-green-walled hallway was dark and empty, but behind every closed door, there was a bustling circus of life. I could hear couples arguing, and others having loud sex. A television blaring, somebody coughing up their lungs, a phone ringing, a lost laugh, traffic in the streets below.

I jumped as a door swung open. A young woman took one step out of her room. She was short, pretty, and wearing nothing but some slightly worn-out underwear. I stared at her for a little too long, while she glared back at my gun. She might have been half-naked, but between the two of us, she was the normal one.

The bathroom was dirty. The light didn’t work, there was no paper, and a suspicious puddle on the floor. It probably smelled awful, too, but I was already holding my breath. I didn’t come this whole way, risking a heart attack every time I walked past a door, just to act all prissy and go back to my room with my bladder still full.

It was the worst piss I’d ever taken. My butt hovered two inches above the seat, with one finger on the handle and the other on my gun’s trigger. I could have peed about two gallons, and still felt no relief. I shook off the last drops with an angry waddle, pulled up my sweatpants and walked out of the bathroom with a grossed-out grunt.

Since the staircase to the cafeteria was just a few feet away from the bathroom, I leaned around the corner, hiding the gun in my back, to check why Juan was taking so long.

The restaurant was neither busy nor empty. People were sitting at the tables, and there was nobody but the receptionist at the bar. I couldn’t spot Juan among the sparse crowd. If he was talking nearby, I would have recognized his voice over the toned-down chatter of voices and clinking cutlery. I prayed he’d gotten back to the room while I was in the toilet, else this meant he was gone.

I recoiled into the corridor at the sight of a few shirts with colorful patterns, like the ones Pablo used to wear, walking across the street outside the hotel. My fingers tightened around the gun’s grip, and I double-checked to see if I’d removed the safety.

I tip-toed back to the bedroom, looking over my shoulder every two steps, hoping the sound of my pounding heart wouldn’t muffle that of someone creeping up on me. I was just five feet away from the door when I heard the floorboards creek behind me. I spun around, both of my hands clutching the gun as I aimed it up. The hallway was empty.

I opened the door. There was nobody in the bedroom, either.

“Juan?” I called out, hoping he was hiding in the closet or under the bed, pulling some bad joke on me.

No answer. My gaze scanned the room along with the barrel of my gun. A minute went by. Still, no one.

He fucking left, I thought. Juan left me. I’m alone.

One pearl of sweat rolled down my temple, another down my spine. I could feel a lump of tears swelling up in my throat. Had someone found him, or had he gone home?

I pressed my back against the closed door, and my eyes followed every noise–the groans in the wooden walls, the constant raps in the ceiling, the whispers of the wind slipping through the window. My hands held the gun so tight, my knuckles were burning.

Whatever had happened, I had to leave. If Juan was dead, then the others were close. If he’d left on his own will, he might tell them where I was hiding so they’d let him go back home. Maybe this whole thing was some kind of ambush, a fucked-up plan to lead me far away and get rid of me without the others ever finding out about what happened. It made no sense, but when dealing with Pablo, anything was possible.

I started to pack. I was breathing so fast, all that came out were pants and wheezes, painfully dragging air in and out past the growing void in my chest. I picked up the same T-shirt three times, as it kept falling out of my trembling hands, before I stuffed it into the overfilled backpack, and started battling with the zipper.

The door burst open. “Hey, Sarah. Look at this.”

I threw myself on the gun, but before I could grab it, I caught the sight of Juan, holding two steaming styrofoam cups and a plastic bag he’d hung around his wrist.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Juan,” I heaved, laying on the bed with a hand on my sore chest. “You really fucking scared me.”

“Well, I would have knocked on the door, but my hands were full,” he shrugged. “But check out these burritos, Sarah. They’re so full of cheese, it’s like a plug at the bottom. Isn’t that awesome?”

Sarah. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. I hadn’t heard that name for a while, and now he used it so often, it sounded uncanny. It was as if he was trying to convince himself, or maybe just me, that we’d left Emilia behind, and erased every trace of her existence.

Yet, I noticed he never corrected me when I called him Juan. He wasn’t as detached from his past as he was from mine. Maybe he didn’t want to be John Glade. Maybe he didn’t want to forget about his old life. Or maybe I’m just overthinking again, I told myself, putting an end to the dark, downward spiral whirling in my mind.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“Well, the food at the hotel smelled kind of rank,” he mumbled, as he handed me one of the cups. “And I assumed their kitchen is even dirtier than their rooms, so I got us breakfast from some other place. Do you like lattes?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Thanks.”

Juan grinned at me as I took a sip of coffee. “I thought you would. You’re a white chick, after all. You guys love lattes. They didn’t have pumpkin spice, though, because it’s june, so I got you a regular one.”

“So you left the hotel,” I said. “Did anybody follow you?”

He scrunched one eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

“How sure are you?” I asked, as I stood up to go lock the door.

“Only, like, ninety-nine percent,” he groaned as he settled down on the bed and took a bite out of his burrito. “Ninety-nine, point nine, nine, nine–”

“That’s not enough,” I hissed.

Juan rolled his eyes. “Geez, Sarah, will you chill? I mean, I know it’s stressful and all that, but you’re gonna have to get used to it. If you freak out every time I leave you alone for two minutes, you’ll end up killing one of us before Pablo can.”

It wasn’t two minutes. It was at least fifteen, and it felt like hours, anyway. I sighed, and didn’t speak another word, because I didn’t want to start another argument. At least the burritos were good.

Juan sat slouched in the bed, silent and barely throwing a glance in my direction. He seemed absorbed by some video playing on his phone.

“What are you watching?” I asked.

“Highlights from Amber Heard and Johnny Depp’s trial,” he answered, his mouth full with the last bite of his burrito.

“Why are they on trial?”

“Allegedly, she shat on his bed,” he answered, loudly chewing on his food. “And then her dog stepped on a bee.”

I frowned. “What, and they’re suing each other for that?”

“No, haven’t you followed?”

“I haven’t followed anything for the past six months,” I sighed.

Juan sat upright in bed, and a string of melted cheese dangled from his wide grin.

“Dude, that’s crazy,” he said in awe. “So you don’t know about the war in Ukraine?”

I shook my head.

“Or Will Smith slapping Kevin Hart at the Oscars?” he asked.

“Nope.”

His eyes opened as wide as his mouth. “Did you know Kim K is dating Pete Davidson?”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” I snorted.

“Wait, holy shit, Sarah, this is amazing,” he gasped, jumping up and down like a sugared-up child. “You’re like Captain America, coming out of hibernation. Have you heard about Covid?”

“Oh, fuck,” I moaned. “Is it back?”

“No, it was like, this huge pandemic that–”

“Oh, yeah. I was around for that,” I muttered.

“When were you kidnapped, again?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.

The date was etched in my mind like in the marble of a tombstone. “November 9th, 2021. Well, a day before that, actually, but that’s when I knew I wasn’t coming home. Kind of lost track of time after that.”

“So, a little over seven months, then,” he murmured. “Damn, so much stuff has happened since.”

“Right,” I mumbled. “Feels like it’s been years.”

We finished our breakfast, snuggling under the itchy blanket, while he showed me all the trailers of the new movies he wanted us to watch together. We read a few headlines about what was going on in the world, none of which really seemed to make sense.

We checked the news from my home in Goose Creek, too, and aside a few crimes and a gator roaming the streets, nothing noteworthy had happened. Not even a note about how I was still missing, either, which was only half-surprising.

“You do know we can’t go there, right?” he asked me, a slight tone of concern in his voice.

I nodded, quietly, feeling the words knotting in my throat.

“I was thinking we could fly to Paris, and stay there for a while, before we head to Budapest,” he explained. “I have a friend or two there who can lend us a spare room while we find our own place. Hopefully somewhere cheap, but nice.”

I smiled, and nodded, but my mind lingered elsewhere. It was stuck in my hometown, with Ana, my mother, and everything else I’d forever be leaving behind.

I wondered if I could send them a letter, a year or two from now, or if that would be too painful. Knowing I was out there, that I was alive, but that I’d never come home. They might think it was because I didn’t love them, that I didn’t care, and they’d have to grieve all over again.

I wouldn’t even be able to give them a return address. I would never know if they got the letter, if they opened and read it, if they read it or threw it in the trash. I’d never know if they were okay. And if the cartel was able to come search for me in Goose Creek, then I hoped to God they wouldn’t hurt them instead.

“I’m going to shower,” I whispered, squinting my eyes to keep the tears from falling just yet.

Juan’s face turned serious in the span of a second. “Right. I’ll watch over you.”

He carefully locked the room as we left it, and followed me down the corridor. I still checked over my shoulder every now and then, just not as often.

We walked past the same girl I’d seen before. She was wearing the same underwear and not a piece of fabric more, and now she was busy with a video call. She lifted her eyes as we shuffled past her bedroom door, and seemed even more concerned now that the gun was in the hands of the man walking behind me.

“I’ll wait here,” whispered Juan as I walked into the bathroom.

The tiny room with the shower was a little less disgusting than the one with the toilet. It had a glazed window that let in a little light, but hardly any ventilation. It smelled strongly of sewage and mold.

The walls were speckled with black dots. They were covered with salmon tiles that seemed like they used to be bright pink once I took a closer look, stained by time just like the brown shower curtain that once was white.

There was a puddle of grey froth at the bottom of the shower, and the drain was clogged by months worth of hairs, pubes, and other types of unidentified muck. I turned the tap in every direction, and couldn’t get the water to be anything else than cryogenic cold. No wonder Juan seemed to miss his home.

I felt I’d be cleaner if I didn’t use the soap bar someone had forgotten in the corner of a shower, and I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to wash my hair either. You know, lest Pablo’s men attack us while I was naked, shivering, and had shampoo in my eyes.

The best I could do was splash my armpits and other nooks with freezing cold water, so I wouldn’t smell too bad on the next leg of our adventure. I couldn’t hear much over the loud sputtering of running water, but I swore I heard the sound of the door creaking open.

I felt a shiver run down my spine, or perhaps it was just a drop of icy water. I stared at the translucent curtain, and held my breath. At first, I thought it was a waking nightmare, but I saw a shadow moving outside. The silhouette of a hand, stretching away from a broad pair of shoulders, slowly moving in my direction.

Fear bubbled in my chest, like boiling water simmering in my veins. My muscles cramped up, and my heart skipped so many beats, I wondered if I was about to drop dead.

With a loud yell, I burst through the moldy shower curtain, and pinned the man against the bathroom wall, aiming my hands at his wretched throat.

“Holy fuck, woman,” cried Juan. “I was just going to brush my teeth.”

I glared at him, and didn’t let go of his neck. “Weren’t you supposed to guard the door?”

“I’m not a fucking guard dog,” he muttered, brushing my hand off like a chip on his shoulder. “I just wanted to save some time.”

“You said you’d watch over me,” I seethed.

Juan shrugged. “I am watching over you. I’m here. The door’s locked.”

I stared at him, my eyes pointed at his skull like darts to a target. I was dripping with water, quivering with rage and terror, while he happily squeezed toothpaste on a brush and stuck it in his cheek. I wondered if I’d be safer on my own.

“Moop, moop,” chirped Juan, as he squeezed my right tit like a clown honking an air horn.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” I hissed, and ripped my towel off its hook.

Fucking idiot, I muttered under my breath. Just a few hours ago, he was scoffing at me for not taking things seriously enough, and now he was running around, acting like a fucking bozo while I was my most vulnerable. I wondered what was on his mind that made him so cheerful, if there even was anything in that thick head of his.

Maybe he had a backup plan I didn’t know of. God, I’m stupid, I thought. I never should have trusted him. I should have run to an embassy the first chance I got, whether that was weeks or months ago.

I could have told them I’d escaped a cartel. Maybe they would have questioned me, but I probably would have eagerly answered anything they asked. In this moment, I wanted nothing more than to bring each and every one of these men down.

If only I’d done that, I’d be home by now, not hiding under yet another identity I couldn’t pronounce.

Juan spat a mouthful of toothpaste in the sink, and turned around to leave a minty kiss on my lips, bringing my train of thoughts to a screeching halt.

“Sarah,” he whispered, wrapping his warm hand around my fingers. “You’re going to be alright.”

I took a good look at his dark eyes, as they stared right into mine. Then I remembered why I came here in the first place. Why I followed Ana on a trip I didn’t want to go on, with her friends I never liked, why I’d spent years dreaming I could run away from home.

I remembered why life with Pablo had seemed enticing, at some point. It was the same reason why I’d grown to love Juan, and why I had waited for him to come back to try and run. It was also why I had been ready to end my own life when I thought he was gone. My number one fear, the thing I abhorred most in this world–it wasn’t getting caught, it wasn’t Pablo, it wasn’t even Death.

I just didn’t want to be alone.

“As long as you’re with me,” I murmured.

He held my hand a little tighter, and softly rubbed his thumb across my palm.

“I’m not going to leave you, Sarah,” he said. “I’m never going to leave you.”

I rested my chin on his shoulder, and took a deep breath, ridding my chest from the pain and weight left by a thousand missed heartbeats. I had to give Juan a chance, even though the game was five times more dangerous than a Russian roulette.

I’d live happy with Juan, or I’d die trying. And if my fall came from his betrayal, I hoped I’d die before I noticed.

“We should go soon,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll go get dressed.”

We headed back to the room. This time, Juan led the way, and held my hand until we reached the end of the hallway.

I wondered where we’d be going, when, and at what time. Would it be cold at night, would we have to walk far? Should I wear something warm, something light, or just the most comfortable clothes I could find?

I picked a thin sweater, yoga pants, and a pair of sneakers from the bag Juan had packed for me. For an outfit made on the fly, it didn’t look half bad. It made my butt look nice, but that wasn’t very important.

“Hey, Juan, is this–”

“Wait a minute, Sarah,” he cut me off before I could even get my voice up. “I’m going to call my Dad. He still thinks I’m in the capital, so try not to make too much noise.”

I nodded, and turned to look at the mirror while he dialed his father’s number.

“Morning,” said Juan.

“It’s two o’clock, you lazy moron,” groaned Hernan’s voice through the phone. “How’s the business going?”

Juan lay down on the bed, and yawned. “They’ve made some pretty good offers, but I think I can negotiate something better. I’ll need a few more days.”

“Don’t overestimate yourself, Juan. Let me know when you want me to step in.”

“I can handle it, Dad. They like it low-key. I’ll just wine and dine them some more and they’ll give in,” Juan mumbled. “By the way, could you wire me like, ten grand?”

Hernan let out a sigh. “Better fucking be worth it.”

I stared at Juan, and the smirk on his lips. He seemed relaxed, with the way he crossed his ankles and rested one arm under his head. He was a good liar, and he knew it. It wondered how many times he had, or would lie to me, too.

“Are you still at the finca?” Juan asked through the phone, as he chewed on the nail of his thumb.

“We’re leaving in about an hour,” answered his father. “Pablo’s already gone, he left early this morning to drop Emilia off at the airport.”

I frowned. “What–”

Juan quickly shushed me, by pressing a finger to his lips.

“What happened?” he asked, his high-pitch flawlessly faking innocence.

“Some kind of family emergency,” Hernan muttered.

“Did she say how long she’d be gone?”

“I don’t know,” replied his father. “The longer the better.”

“Right?” Juan snickered. “I keep telling you all that girl is shady.”

“She asks a lot of fucking questions,” grumbled Hernan.

“She sure does,” sighed Juan. “Anyways, I gotta run. Tell Manée I said hello.”

“Will do,” Hernan answered curtly, before he quickly hung up.

“What does he mean, Pablo dropped me off at the airport?” I asked.

“And you call me dumb?” Juan scoffed. “Why would he tell them you’ve run away, Sarah? He’s already got enough on his plate, he’s not going to let my Dad find out about the whole kidnapping thing.”

“I haven’t called you dumb in ages,” I muttered. Not to your face, at least.

“Right, sorry,” he answered softly. “But like, still, duh.”

“Then why are you still lying to your Dad?”

“Well, first of all, I have an extra ten grand in my bank account now, and also, it’s best if he doesn’t find out I’m gone just yet,” Juan explained. “If he does, he’ll figure out Pablo is coming after me, and although he doesn’t like me, he also doesn’t want me killed. Not until I have a son, at least. So he probably won’t be happy, and then he’ll start a fucking war or something. And trust me, the last thing we need right now is a narco war.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t know. It could play in our favor, you know. Keep Pablo busy.”

“War doesn’t play in favor of anybody, Sarah,” he replied solemnly, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, that was deep. But yeah, that’s the plan, ultimately. Once we’ve both been gone for a while, my Dad will figure out what happened. He’s a smart guy, you know. And as you said, he’ll find a way to keep Pablo busy.”

“Right,” I mumbled. “And you’ll be far away by the time that happens.”

"We will be far away, Sarah,” he corrected me. “Unless you’re planning on staying here. Speaking of which, we should get going.”

We headed out of the hotel, with our bags on our backs and necks wrung deep inside of our hoodies. We crossed the main road where it was most crowded, and Juan led me down a maze of narrow backstreets.

We stepped on old planks to cross murky puddles, pushed past small packs of mangy stray dogs, hopped over spilled-over trashbags, and zig-zagged between hanging clothes and drying linens.

Sometimes, the streets closed to passages so thin we had to take our backpacks off to sneak through. Other times, we stumbled onto people’s patios, which seemed more like open-air dining rooms, and disturbed a family of strangers’ peaceful lunch. At one point, somehow, we even ended up on a house’s flimsy roof.

There were fewer chances we’d be spotted by someone in these backstreets, but it didn’t make our journey any less nerve-racking. I never let go of Juan’s hand, and spent more time looking over my shoulder than at the path ahead. Every time he heard footsteps coming our way, he’d push me down a dark alley and I’d hold my breath, standing still with my back against a wall until the streets seemed clear again.

“It’s here,” Juan said, pointing down the grimy lane between two ramshackle houses. “The parking lot is right over there.”

I let out a sigh of relief as I saw his car, sitting in the same spot where we’d left it the other night. The tarp we’d put on the night before had slipped off, and crumpled up on top of the car’s hood.

“Was it windy last night?” I asked.

Juan didn’t answer, he stood idle by the car, looking around the parking lot. He craned his neck a little to check between a row of cars, and then stared at me.

My voice trembled a little. “Juan?”

He took a step towards the car, and traced his finger around a handprint on the dusty, passenger-side window. He shook his head and gulped.

“Help me take everything that’s inside the car,” he told me. “We’ll have to go by foot.”

Don't Look Back

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