Eternity (38 page)

Oh my God, it all makes perfect sense, I am one of those women! It dawns on me like a slap in the face, how could I have been so stupid? Here is Carlos who from the beginning I knew was too sexy and young to ever be interested in me, but yet he seemingly falls in love with me in three short weeks, promising me the world, of course it's all too good to be true, how could I not have seen it!? Not to mention that I was the perfect candidate, on my own, just split up with my husband, vulnerable, no self esteem, I bet it was as easy as taking candy from a baby, getting me to fall for his plan.

I feel like such a fool, all we had planned, all I had dreamed of for our future, was all just part of the rouse. The tears start to well in my eyes and as I lift my arm to brush them away my tattoo catches my gaze, that's about right, not only am I the worlds biggest idiot, but now I'm branded one too. A stupid, gullible, idiot, for eternity.

It's all so unbelievable, in hindsight it makes perfect sense, but if this hadn't of happened now, I wouldn't of had a clue. It literally never crossed my mind to think something like this was happening to me, I guess you always assume it's the poorer people looking for money, or a way out of the country, their the ones you look out for; not rich, dual nationality resort owners sons, but then I guess he had a different agenda. But why would he even need to deal drugs when he has money? Maybe just the thrill, or maybe he's in some sort of trouble and this was the only way out?

No that can't be true, with all the talk of him never settling down, this is probably why. All those poor girls before me, he saw for a few weeks then sent them packing with false hope in their hearts and a bag of cocaine in their luggage!

And his siblings, I'd bet that they are in on it too, kick up a fuss, make it look like he is turning his back on them in favour of his girl of the month, really hammer home this undying love routine. I bet they've all been having a right laugh behind my back, 'stupid English woman, as if Carlos would ever be interested in her'.

I feel sick with all the emotions running through me, scared, angry, ashamed, embarrassed, empty, depressed, thankful that it happened now rather than in the airport where it would have been too late for him to do the right thing and come clean.

I guess for him it's out of sight, out of mind, he never expected it to happen in front of him and maybe seeing it actually prompted him to feel guilty and own up, but if it had happened at the airport he just had to have his phone off and he'd be none the wiser. He's a coward and a bastard, I despise him, but only because I loved him so much. The hurt I'm feeling outweighs any other emotion, his betrayal is too much to bare; he knew everything I had gone through recently, but he went ahead with it anyway. Any half decent human being would have backed out and let me be, but then I guess any half decent human being wouldn't be doing this to innocent women to begin with.

Betrayal, it reminds me of the Mariachi songs and more specifically the one Carlos chose to stand up and sing to me, was it some kind of cryptic hint, a hidden warning of what was to come?

"I loved her, yet she broke my heart,

I feel sorry for anyone who now,

Asks me for my love, I am truly hurt.

I will never give love another chance."

I hadn't thought about the words before, I was too busy enjoying the romance of being serenaded to pay attention, which says it all really; this whole holiday I have only seen and heard what I wanted to, the signs have all been there, clear as day, but I was blind to them, bloody rose tinted glasses!

My mind is still searching for answers and remembering blatant signs I was too stupid to see when we arrive at the police station. Opening the door they all but drag me out by my arm and into the white building.

It's cold inside, both in temperature and atmosphere, no one talks to me, instead just pointing at where I should stand and freeing my hands only to point at a piece of paper they want me to sign.

“I don't know what this says” I say to the man behind the desk, who simply rattles something off in Spanish and taps the box again.

“Please, can I have an interpreter, I don't understand.” I know what they want me to do, but I'm reluctant to sign anything without knowing what it is, for all I know it's a confession they've drafted up.

The man behind the desk raises his voice, glaring at me and shoves a pen into my hand, slamming it down roughly onto the piece of paper. I don't know why I can't just have an interpreter, there has got to be someone here that speaks English, most of the population know it at least to a certain degree; they could pretty much bring someone in off the street and they could give me a vague idea of what it says.

I can see I'm not going to get any help here and the longer I prolong it, the angrier he is getting, so I just sign the damn sheet and hope for the best.

Next I'm taken into an interview room, the walls are a muddy brown colour and there are no windows or two way mirrors like you see in the movies, just stone walls on each side. A metal table sits in the middle of the room with one chair on one side and two chairs on the other. That is it, no recording device, no other furniture, just a cold dank room. I'm plonked down in the single chair, then my guard retreats from the room, closing the door behind him. I wonder if Blair and John are here yet, and what they are doing to save me from this hell. I'd like to think that with Blair's savvy she will have haggled me out within the hour, but somehow I don't think even she has that kind of power here.

There is no way of telling the time as I don't have a watch on and there is no clock hanging from the empty walls, but it feels like about an hour before anyone comes back into the room, meaning it must be around 10pm by now.

A man and a woman enter, both suited and booted, with serious expressions. They both hold mugs of steaming coffee, what I wouldn't give for a cup of even the cheapest coffee right now.

As they sit down in front of me I hold me hands on my lap, tracing my finger round the hard scab of my tattoo.

“I am your interpreter and this is Detective Maurise” she states formally.

Maurise talks for a while in a gravelly voice, which makes me think he is a heavy smoker when he's not grilling suspects for information, then when he stops, the woman cuts in again, “We will need your finger prints to rule you out as a suspect, as you know Mr. Johnson has already confessed, but there were finger prints on the pack of cocaine, so we must be sure”.

“OK” I reply. They both stand and leave the room again, with no explanation, leaving me alone with nothing but my paranoid thoughts.

When they eventually return they bring with them an ink pad and a sheet of paper with ten boxes for each finger print.

Maurise takes my hand and proceeds to press each finger into the ink with unnecessary force, when he is satisfied, they again leave the room, taking the equipment with them. I know I'm still a potential suspect, but do they have to be so cold towards me?

They return shortly this time and my interpreter explains they have a few questions for me while my prints are being processed.

They cover everything, how do I know Carlos, what was our relationship, what did we do today, when did I pack my bag, was it ever left unattended. The questions go on and on, the interview dragging out as every question and answer has to be repeated twice through the interpreter. Hours pass and I'm left on my own again numerous times while they go, I can only assume, to collaborate information and compare what I am saying to what Carlos answers, until they can be convinced I am telling the truth.

Each time they return they give nothing away, instead remaining tight lipped and stoney faced. I got barely any sleep last night, assuming I would get a few hours tonight, then be able to sleep the whole journey back, so as they start to ask the same questions over and over, my irritation rises.

“I've already told you that, we went horse riding, then we went to lunch, then we sat on the beach, then we shopped, then we went home” I snap for the third time.

“You said you saw your friends when you were on the beach” the interpreter repeats the detectives pointless statement.

“Yes that is correct, you can ask them if you don't believe me” I say frustrated at having to repeat every last detail. I'm exhausted, the stress and lack of sleep are making me nausea’s and fractious and confused, I've had enough, I just want to go home now, literally home, back to rainy, boring, safe England, where there's no knight in shining armour, who turns out to be a drug peddling user.

But I get no such luck, instead it goes on and on in circles, 'but you said this before' and 'didn't you say it was actually like that' and the whole time in my head I'm screaming 'what does it matter anyway? You have a confession, you must know by now that my finger prints are not on the drugs, so just let it go!'

They're trying to catch me out, to put words in my mouth, to make me as guilty as Carlos, but I'm not and there's no way in hell I'm going to fall into that trap; even if they make me miss my flight and deprive me of sleep for the next week with these infernal questions I am not going to change my story.

They leave the room for the tenth time, but this time when they return they are all smiles and lighthearted, “You are free to go” my interpreter explains.

“Just like that?” I question her skeptically.

“Yes, your finger prints were not on the drugs, you maintain your innocence and Mr Johnson maintains his guilt and your stories match up, so he will be charged and you are free to go. We will wish to have details of how we can contact you at home however.”

I draw a blank, I've been sat here for so many hours I had started to believe they would never actually let me go and now they are, I don't know what to do, should I get up and just walk out? No, even to my sleep addled brain that seems like some sort of trap. I decide to just stay put and wait for further instructions. After staring at me for a minute my interpreter comes over and crouches next to me, “Kaitlin?” she speaks gently to me.

“Yes” I reply clearly.

“You can go now, do you understand that?” she sounds condescending as if she is speaking to a child, not a full grown woman, who an hour ago was being accused of drug trafficking.

“Just get up and walk out? Just like that?” I question, a bit sarcastically.

“Yes, come on” she takes hold of my arm softly and slowly pulls me to my feet. I must be looking at her in disbelief, because she gives me a warm smile and a nod to confirm it is in fact all over now.

I am guided through stark, cold corridors, past various other interrogation rooms, my mind wondering if Carlos is behind each door that we pass. My heart and soul are torn in two, half of them despise him and hope he rots in jail, while the other half can't let go of all the love I've had for him so easily, and so it is left worried and reluctant to leave him in a place like this.

With the two equally as strong halves waging war inside my head, it leaves little left for functioning consciously with the outside world; consequently as I'm handed over to Blair and John in the reception area I am in a daze. I keep looking over my shoulder, I don't even know what I'm expecting, or even hoping to see. Is it Detective gruffle-voice Maurise saying they need to ask me more questions? Or perhaps Carlos with some sort of explanation, it was all a big mix up, none of this was true! But as it turns out I get neither, just an empty space following in my wake as I'm led outside.

John and Blair have kept uncharacteristically quiet, Blair has her arm wrapped tightly round my shoulders and I see them exchange worried looks, but I'm too out of it to try and re-assure them that I'm fine this time.

It's not until they flag down a taxi that I see John load bags into the boot, my bags, he must have got them together before they came to the station, he's so thoughtful, I know if I was in his position I would have been too panicked to think of doing that.

“My flight” are the first feeble words to fall from my lips.

“Yes we are going to the airport now, we should get there with plenty of time” Blair explains in the same condescending voice the interpreter used, but from Blair I don't mind, because I know she cares about me.

I'm bundled into the back seat with Blair while John sits up front, it's all I can do to curl up with my head on her shoulder before I'm out like a light.

When we arrive they wake me gently, I've had almost a solid five hours sleep. The police station where they took me, had been a forty minute drive in the opposite direction of the airport. By the time we got out it was nearly five am, so I'm only left with an hour and a bit before my flight. Blair And John valiantly offer to stay with me for this time, but I refuse, they have been up all night and they still have another four hour drive back to the resort, I've ruined enough of their holiday and I'm not about to take up a second more of it.

With tearful hugs we say our goodbyes, there are no words or grand gestures that will get across what they have come to mean to me, or how much I still and probably always will, owe them for all they have done and continue to do for me.

I dig into my pocket and pull out my pink heart trinket, showing it to Blair and then holding it to my chest, “You will always be the reason for the love in my life” I say giving her one last squeeze before turning and walking away, disappearing into the crowds.