The darkness accentuated the humid dampness and overall gloom and emphasized how few lights functioned in the facility. Prisoners with working light bulbs squatted in their cells making crafts or preparing food. Others sat in complete blackness.
It was fucking depressing.
Despite the obscurity, men and women of all ages milled around the walkways between cellblocks. The guards were grossly outnumbered, and some didn’t even wear uniforms. She struggled to distinguish them from the inmates.
Her escort stopped at a cell, where three men huddled together, whispering. A fourth man rushed out and gripped the guard’s arm.
“I’m afraid.” His lips pulled back, revealing broken teeth. “My cellmates are gang members. Put me somewhere else. Anywhere.”
“Back in your cell.” The guard shoved the frail man into the dark cage and continued walking.
She jogged to catch up, craning her neck to check on the man as she passed. The distraction cost her.
The guard propelled her into the next cell, and her weakened, tortured body collided with the grimy wall.
A stained, threadbare blanket lay wadded in the corner. Rodent shit and dead bugs littered the concrete floor.
There was no bed. No sink or toilet. No other inmates. Nothing in the cell except a blanket she wouldn’t touch if her life depended on it.
At some point, she would need to empty her bladder and wash the puke from her hair.
“Where’s the bathroom?” She glanced back at the guard.
He gestured down the corridor, slammed the barred door, and strolled away.
The door rattled in the frame and bounced open.
A terrible feeling crept into her gut as she rushed forward and tried to bolt the gate.
No lock. No latch. Nothing to keep the door from hanging ajar.
How was she supposed to sleep? She needed the security of a locked cell. She needed to let her guard down and close her eyes, just for a little while.
Two shady middle-aged men sat in the corridor across from her, watching her hold the door closed.
Averting her gaze, she glanced at her sneakers. Desperation moved her into action.
Five minutes later, she backed away from the door and hugged her waist.
Her shoestrings wrapped around the bars, tied in complicated knots, and cinched tight enough to hold the door closed.
The men in the hall had smirked at her while she did it as if she believed a shoestring could protect her. Of course, it wouldn’t stop someone from entering, but it would slow them down.
The task had also kept her mind busy. But now that it was finished, she couldn’t escape the fear that seeped in with the clamor of shouting and grunting outside her cell.
The deep, rumbling voices of Mexico’s worst criminals echoed off the walls and drove her into the corner of her cell.
Reality enclosed her on all sides, weakening her legs and chopping her breaths. Hands clenching with white knuckles, heart pounding, and muscles painfully rigid, she was helpless against the surge of emotions.
She was in the most ruthless prison in Mexico.
Alone.
Unarmed.
Terrified.
If she didn’t survive, would anyone know what happened to her? Her sister, her colleagues at the school, her students… Would they learn she’d been wrongfully arrested and left to die in Jaulaso? Or would she become a missing person, never to be found?
Summer break had just begun in the States. She wouldn’t be expected back to work for two months.
No one would look for her until school resumed.
No one would be coming to her rescue.
A horrible choking sound rose from her chest and burst past her lips, heaving the air in a series of sobbing gasps.
Her knees gave out, and she slid down the wall, crumpling into a fetal position. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Horror, sadness, panic, and terrible, uncontrollable fear exploded from her in a rain of tears.
She clapped her hands over her mouth and tried to stifle the sounds that would draw attention.
If only she were invisible. Or a time traveler. God help her, she’d give anything to rewind the clock to yesterday morning and ignore her sister’s phone call.
But what if Vera was in trouble? Like life-threatening, abducted-by-cartel trouble? Why else would she have not answered her phone?
What if she was dead?
More tears fell, harder now. Louder. Vicious pain wheezed past the fingers she clamped against her mouth.
Her stomach joined in, growling its reminder she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.
She usually ate at the deli down the street. They made the best grilled cheese sandwich with fontina and mozzarella. The tantalizing scent of fresh baked cookies always greeted her when she walked in.
She wished she could smell that now instead of the putrid stench of vomit and misery.
Nausea rose, chasing away her hunger and replacing it with the crippling weight of exhaustion.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she sat up, fighting sleep as it forced itself upon her.
She won the battle for an hour, maybe two, hugging her knees to her chest, feeling forsaken and panicked in her war against fatigue.