Shadows Across America Page 17

  “What’s wrong, Beto? Don’t you want to play?”

  This was followed by several other jeers while the gang swarmed the house. Beto grabbed hold of the back fence and leaped over it in a single movement. In the neighboring patio he reached for the top of a wall and lifted one of his legs over, the momentum bringing the rest of his body with it. He’d made it onto the street in record time. And now he was running down a dirt alley. Not a sound crept out from the houses; the neighborhood he’d grown up in had become a desert with no hope of refuge. He looked all around him and eventually saw a patio he could turn into, wondering whether the people who lived there would try to stop him, help him, or stay locked inside. Deep down, he knew how this was going to go; he’d seen it many times before. No matter what happened, no one was going to come to his aid. He nimbly climbed the wall but stopped on top of it when a car he had noticed earlier pulled up by him, and from it emerged a kid with a graffiti-style tattoo on his eyebrows and a pair of strange drawings on his eyelids that made it look as though he’d gone blind.

  “Stop, Beto! Don’t be crazy!” he called.

  Beto jumped down to the patio and went straight for a screen door, but someone was holding it shut from the inside.

  “Let me in, please! Let me in!”

  Through the flimsy walls he heard tearful voices begging him to stop; they had children inside; he had to leave. He stepped back, preparing to force his way in, but before he could start, he was grabbed from behind. The driver and his passenger had followed after him. He turned around and desperately kneed the first before climbing up him, his foot on the attacker’s back and his hand on the other pursuer’s shoulder, trying to get back to the wall. Then the second kid grabbed hold of his pants. Beto kicked twice, forcing him to let go, and fell headfirst onto the ground on the other side. He cushioned his fall with his hands, hurting his wrists, but in his panic he barely felt the pain. In front of him was an open car door, and if he was lucky, the keys would still be in the ignition.

  Maria had stayed on the ground, watching her son climb the fence and then the next wall into the alley. He’d ducked out of sight before his pursuers could catch him. Half of the ones who had come into the house had gone back out in front. She was relieved and almost proud of how skillfully Beto had managed to get away. She could even ignore the pain in her hip. All she cared about was that the boy had escaped. It almost pleased her that the attackers had turned their attention to Leidy; as terrible as what they were about to do to her was, as much as it upset and shamed her, it would give her son more time.

  By staying in the bedroom, Leidy had unwittingly put herself into a trap. She couldn’t get out through the barred window, and the only other way out was through the living room, which was occupied by six excitable gang members. The strongest one broke the lock with a single shove, almost falling over with the momentum as well as the fact that he was being pushed from behind by the others. Leidy, crouched in a corner, screamed in fright, but the sound had the same effect as the call of prey did to a pack of hunters. She made to grab a weapon with which to defend herself, but all she could lay her hands on were clothes, a small table, and the bed, which she clumsily tried to use as a barricade. The goons piled on top of her. Then they grabbed her and dragged her out of the room. She struggled as best she could, but they carried her between them, holding each of her limbs as though they were planning to tear her apart. The last man greedily ripped open her blouse in search of her breasts, but she was wriggling too much for him to get them free. The struggle stirred up his friends still more.

  “What a whore!”

  “Oh, you’re going to get fucked!”

  “Beto was a piece of shit compared to me—you’ll see!”

  They threw her onto the kitchen table so they could keep her legs open more easily. She screamed for help, but it was useless: there was no one to hear, not even Maria, who preferred to keep to herself and put up with this barbarity for the sake of her baby boy. After all, Leidy was only paying for the sins of her family. Beto was innocent.

  Leidy begged for mercy in high-pitched screams, squirming as hands violated her, hurting her, tearing off her blouse, and pulling down her shorts. They yanked off her bra and scratched and dug at her breasts. One of them contorted his body so he could bite her while the others urged him on.

  “Hahahahahaha! Look at that ass!”

  “Shake that ass!”

  “Beto, what a guy!”

  “What was he like in bed? Don’t worry—we’ll be better.”

  After her shorts, they pulled off her panties, which proved to be further motive for enthusiastic celebration. The one at the bottom of the hierarchy climbed up onto the table, driven by lust and his friends’ encouragement. One of the table legs broke under the weight, tipping everyone onto the floor amid much hilarity. The fall hurt Leidy’s back, and she lay in pain beneath a pile of bodies and gales of laughter.

  Beto tried to stand up; his wrists were like jelly and burning. He thought they might be dislocated, but still he scurried quickly along the ground. He’d just managed to get upright when he was hit in the back by something pointy. It sank into him, causing fiery pain. The gang members who’d climbed up onto the roof had caught up with him. The first had leaped on top of him without much skill but plenty of accuracy, digging his knees into the boy’s back. Beto fell facedown into the earth, and his mouth filled with dust. The hunter rolled away with the momentum of the jump and fell back, out of control. Beto was acting out of pure instinct, fighting to get back up, able to ignore the searing pain. He lifted his right knee to lever himself to his feet, but it was too late: another Mara fell onto his kneecap, shattering it to pieces. He collapsed and was soon surrounded by a forest of kicking legs. The first caught him in the neck, leaving him coughing and gasping for air. He curled up into the fetal position, and the blows rained down all over his body. Soon most of his nerve endings were senseless with pain. But then, the attack came to a sudden halt. He lay still. A few seconds passed before someone pressed down on his chest and pulled up his head by the hair so he could see. It was the assassin with the empty eye sockets, the one he’d kneed, crouching over Beto, thirsty for revenge. He asked his companions to pin down the boy’s legs, not that he was putting up much resistance now; then he grabbed a nearby stone and smashed it against the boy’s mouth.

  “Look at me, you bastard! You don’t want to look at me, you son of a bitch? Fucking hell, now I’m pissed!”

  He brought the stone down again and again. Beto’s nose was broken, his eyes were smashed in, and soon his entire face was reduced to a bloody pulp.

  The group raping Leidy was pushing her onto Michelle’s bed when footsteps on the roof distracted them. The guy who’d tracked down Beto appeared upside down on the other side of the barred window.

  “Come outside—the kid’s back!”

  The younger gang members ran hurriedly, like kids at a birthday party, while the two oldest ones stayed behind, holding Leidy. The first pulled her hair, making her look up at the ceiling, while the other twisted her arm against her back until she screamed. They made her walk outside bloodied, bruised, and naked. They were met by Beto being driven along the street with improvised whips made out of branches and sticks. They beat him like an animal until he couldn’t walk any farther. He was covered in blood from head to toe. Leidy saw him, but he was completely unrecognizable. His face had been utterly disfigured. The goons holding up each of their victims laughed uproariously.

  “Hahahahaha! Look at your little boyfriend! Hahaha!”

  “Hey, Beto, look at your girl! We’re all going to fuck her! Hahaha!”

  “And she’ll enjoy it. I hear you’re a little light.”

  “She’ll never want to be with you again!”

  One of the older Mara told the youngest of them to bring out the old lady. The kid went inside and dragged her out without even giving her a chance to get up, much to the amusement of the others.

  “Look at your mommy
, Beto. Look at her!”

  Beto didn’t react; his eyelids flickered, but it didn’t look as though he could see anything.

  “Whore lady, look at your son. He didn’t tell you about Jonathan, whore. They both worked for people who pay us. It was terrible what they did to Jonathan, whore. If Jonathan dies, then that little fucker Beto is going to have to learn that you don’t fuck with us . . . fuck, Charly, the doña isn’t looking.”

  Charly pulled Maria’s hair, pulling some of it out. Then he used a knife to lift her eyelids.

  “Look! Look, old woman, or I’ll cut your eyes so you’ll never be able to close them again!”

  Maria opened her eyes, and she couldn’t take them off her son, who was as defenseless in the hands of these savages as an orphaned baby. His kneecaps were bent at unnatural angles, and he spurted out blood with every breath. He was an unmoving, unrecognizable mass sobbing silently.

  “Look. This is our gift to you so you don’t forget us.” He raised his voice to address the whole neighborhood. “Did you hear me, whore? Don’t fuck with us!”

  They threw Beto around like a rag doll, pistol-whipping him in the mouth, leaving him spitting out shards of his teeth. Then they shoved the barrel right down to his tonsils until he started to gag with what little strength he had left. The gunman fired. The sound, slightly muffled by the boy’s mouth, echoed around the streets that had gone silent with shame. For a second, the boy’s cheeks glowed white and orange, making his flesh look like plastic while the rear of his head exploded into a shower of hairy crimson splatters that spread several feet around. Leidy screamed in horror, her anguish so keen that even some of the murderers were startled. Maria felt as though something had blocked her airways, preventing her from making even a whimper. At a sign from the leader, they let go of mother and son, and both fell limply to the ground. Maria tried feebly to go to him, but she felt as lifeless as him.

  Ignoring Leidy, the leader got into the second car and made one last announcement to the unseen onlookers. “Don’t you forget us, you sons of bitches! And you, old woman, remember that you have more children.”

  The teenagers guarding Leidy, who seemed to have screamed herself out and could barely stand, took advantage of her weak state to shove her into the first car while the others dispersed. Suddenly she seemed to realize what was going to happen to her, and she started to kick out without saying a word, just emitting a desperate moan. They found her struggles an annoying hindrance, and one of them responded with a powerful kick to the stomach that doubled her over. In that position, they shoved her onto the floor of the car as though she were a heavy package.

  “Stop it, whore! You’re going to go the same way soon enough, but first you’re going to have some fun.”

  They disappeared, leaving behind only a tense silence, which settled all along the street together with the dust kicked up by the cars. Maria crawled over to her son’s body and pulled him onto her chest. A spine-chilling howl began to emerge from her lips.

  Neither Ethan nor Michelle knew what to do after their long kiss. Michelle was in too much pain and had to lie down, giving Ethan the perfect excuse to go out in search of a nurse. They left the clinic without mentioning what had happened and focused on the logistics of the investigation. However, the seed had been planted, and the shy, playful tension between the two of them increased with every accidental touch or inadvertent meeting of the eyes. But when they got to Michelle’s neighborhood, she immediately saw that something was wrong. She pointed it out to Ethan, who was oblivious to the telltale signs. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, no movement on the streets at all. The neighborhood appeared to have been seized by an invisible force.

  “See?”

  “I think so. It wasn’t like this a few days ago.”

  “This isn’t right. Oh God, I’m scared. Protect us, God Almighty, Blessed Virgin.”

  They didn’t speak again. As they drove on through the unnatural silence, their apprehension grew. When the house came into view, they could tell it was open and deserted. And then they saw the devastating sight of a mother hugging the body of her son, sitting in a pool of his blood. Nobody had dared to come outside yet; no one had called the police or an ambulance. If they possibly could, they preferred to pretend that it hadn’t happened at all. Maria was all alone, still holding Beto’s bloody body and rocking him back and forth as though she were trying to lull him to sleep. A heartbreaking whimper could be heard filling the space around her. Ethan reached out for Michelle, who waved to him to stop without saying a word, guiding his hand to the gear shift. He did; he was stunned by the scene but was also trying to assess the situation. He turned to her, trying to decide what to do next, but the look of desperation and acceptance that met him left him with no doubt. Michelle looked back at him from deep within a strange void and kissed him in gratitude before opening the door. She walked toward her mother until Maria became aware of her presence.

  “Don’t come any closer! Concubine of Satan! This is all your fault! You had that fatherless child. How many daddies has she had? More than she can remember!”

  Michelle didn’t react to the insults. It was as though she was used to it, as though she’d heard them since she was a little girl. “Mommy, let me help you.”

  But the woman responded like a lioness protecting her cub. Her face was so full of rage that Michelle didn’t move.

  “Back! Look at my little boy . . . look what they did to him because of you! Because you can’t take care of your own daughter. You do all this to us just because they took her from you!” She broke down and went back to rocking the boy, covering herself in his blood. “Look . . . look at my son . . .”

  Ethan had stayed in the car so as not to intrude, but now he got out and called Andrés.

  “Don Ethan, forgive me for not coming to pick you up. I can’t talk right now, but—”

  “Andrés, call the police. Beto has been killed at your mother’s house. Come as soon as you can.”

  He hung up and tried to get Maria to stand up. “Get up—we’re going inside.”

  Michelle, working on autopilot, picked up Beto’s wallet, which had fallen a few feet away, and a sneaker that was lying in the middle of the road. She brought them over, ignoring her mother’s insults. Maria pushed Ethan away.

  “Go away! This isn’t your home! Get out! I never want to see you again. She isn’t my daughter! She isn’t my daughter! Go back to your rich man’s house! Go back to your boyfriend, the one who didn’t want your daughter!”

  Ethan couldn’t understand her stream of invectives. It sounded like nonsense to him until Maria saw his confused expression and started to scream directly at him, spattering him with blood.

  “She didn’t tell you, did she? She lied to you like she does with everyone else. She didn’t tell you that she lives with an engineer. A rich one! And she came to my house to fool you both. She told the other one that you were coming to help look for the girl, not so she could slobber all over you. And the moment you walked out the door, she went back to him! That’s why she didn’t want you to come to the hospital—so you wouldn’t meet! Ask her. Let’s see what lies she’ll come up with next. She didn’t tell you to make sure you’d come, and she told the boyfriend that you’re a gringo detective, not her other boyfriend. Ask her where the money the other guy gave her is! She’s a slut!”

  Maria hocked up some saliva and spat at Michelle, who didn’t react. She had bent down next to her brother in a daze and was carefully picking up the pieces of his skull, trying to keep them all together, then cleaning the blood from his face. She didn’t seem to notice that she was getting blood all over her. Ethan put his hands on Michelle’s shoulders, but she shook them off to stay with Beto while her mother reveled in the hatred that was the only thing keeping her going.

  “That’s my daughter! You never knew her! All she knows is evil! I’ve known that ever since she was a child. I told you. I always knew. Remember! Tell me if I’m lying! I always said it! I’ve always
known—wrecking things is all she’s good at. Just like she’s done to us, her own family . . .”

  Ethan grew sick of the tirade. He shook Michelle’s good arm and pulled her up hard. She had broken down. Her good eye was teary, and she mumbled without looking at him.

  “Leave me alone, please. I have to help her . . .”

  Ignoring her, he pushed her toward the car, and she obeyed. He put her in the passenger seat, and she sat there vacantly, staring at the unmoving shape of her brother. She fastened her seat belt, still acting like an automaton. Ethan pulled out, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She stared straight ahead, letting the tears run down her face. The only thing Ethan could think to do was take her back to his apartment and let her shower so she could at least wash off the blood, but as he turned the first corner, she gently put her fingers on his hand.

  “No, to the right,” she murmured.

  Michelle started to give him directions with light touches in one direction or the other. Ethan drove on robotically, and neither one of them said a word. Finally, they got to the financial district and then residential districts stalked by the paparazzi, where police vans with water cannons kept the peace on behalf of the upper class. They drove up to a brick wall with grooved columns and a twelve-foot-high triple-reinforced gate monitored by a security camera. She told him to stop, and Michelle poked her head out so they could identify her. Her skin was still spattered with blood, and a metallic voice spoke through the intercom.

  “Do you need help? Would you like us to call an ambulance? Or the police?”

  She demurely shook her head, and the main gate opened. The community was made up of detached houses placed in the middle of landscaped gardens. A hundred feet farther on, they stopped in front of a mansion built in a slightly garish neoclassical style. Two security guards came out of a lavish guard post and walked toward them with their hands on their weapons. A window opened from within the mansion, and a chubby older maid came running out, shocked by Michelle’s appearance.