It Never Rains in Colombia (20 page)

             
Sophia ran unevenly behind Harlow. Looking over her shoulder anxiously, she saw two large men in hot pursuit. She ran faster in a fresh burst of speed. The hard shoulder of the motorway was quickly coming to an end. A few metres ahead, the deserted lane merged back into the main road, releasing a flood of oncoming traffic. Sophia heard the fence rattle as she ran.

             
Someone leapt in front of them, like a giant spider come down from its web in the sky. She screamed, stopping in her tracks. Harlow grabbed her hand and veered off the hard shoulder, running into the main road. A car sped off, leaving them with a gap in the traffic. They ran through it to the next lane. Just as they got there, an old brown Volvo veered out of the way, trying to avoid them. It crashed into the oncoming traffic from the opposite lanes leading to a chorus of honks and beeps, angry shouts and cursing. It was pandemonium. They stood in between the two lanes. Cars rushed by in a dizzying whirl of metal, white lights, and loud honks, passing them on both sides. Finally they got their chance. The traffic thinned out and they raced across the first lane, watching an approaching black car that was still far in the distance. Harlow took her eyes off of the distant car. The roar of engines filling the air around them, they ran across the second lane and then heard an angry screech of tyres as they reached the last lane.

             
There was an awful crash. It made Sophia's bones vibrate. Her leg still halfway in the lane was just a few feet away from a white Mercedes that had been struck by another car, spinning it completely around. It was now completely blocking the flow of traffic, straddling the entire lane. The bumper of a baby blue Mini had dug into the back of the white Mercedes. The Mini's windscreen was smashed. The driver slumped forward in the seat. The woman in the Mercedes staggered out of the car.

             
Harlow and Sophia ran up the dirt path, clambering over a small green fence. When Sophia reached the other side of the fence, her legs were aching.

             
Sophia and Harlow found themselves in a field full of gold corn that reached chest height. The moon was out in its full glory, beaming down on the crops and the farmhouse ahead. Sophia hesitated, looking back and forwards between the field and the road.

             
“The driver?” Harlow asked, reading Sophia's eyes.

             
“We have bigger problems,” Sophia reminded herself, recalling the terror of the chase that had led them into the road and the Mini's smashed windscreen, the driver's head laying lifelessly upon it.

             
The Walkie Talkie crackled to life. The sounds of muffled conversation escaped from Harlow's blazer pocket as they waded through the wheat field. Stumbling over a rock, Harlow reached into her pocket to turn the Walkie Talkie down and then held it to her ear. She listened carefully, but couldn't make out a word. The rapid flow of voices bounced off her ears like a splash of water until one word sunk in.
They're speaking Spanish,
Harlow realised, her run reduced to a jog, then stopping in the middle of the field. Sophia slowed down and joined Harlow. Harlow felt she would almost keel over from exhaustion. Her breaths came out in short, haggard, desperate intakes as she struggled with the unfamiliar pain of exercise.

             
Looking around her wearily, she could only see tall stalks of corn all around swaying in the breeze, with the sound of cars in the distance. Harlow fought the urge to just collapse, sit on the ground, and rest. “What are they saying?” she asked Sophia, still listening to the faint chatter on the Walkie Talkie. She handed it over.

             
Sophia took it, pulling at Harlow's arm impatiently, “Come on!” she said before running off.

             
Harlow took her hands off of her knees and began to jog again, following Sophia. She saw a house with all its lights off except in one room. They rushed at it, flying through the thicket of corn stalks.

             
“They're spreading out,” Sophia said breathlessly, “Victor's here.” Sophia tripped on a rock and found herself face down in the dirt, arms struggling to get up. She pushed herself into a sitting position and winced at the searing pain of the lacerations that covered her upper thigh and stomach. A trickle of blood poured from a cut on her lip. Sophia swiped at the blood with her blazer sleeve, making her lower lip throb. When Sophia got up again she left the smashed Walkie Talkie on the ground, in the dirt, where it had fallen. After a brisk and painful walk, Sophia followed Harlow to the farmhouse and watched as Harlow knocked at the door. No one answered. Harlow hammered on the door again. Sophia moved around to the window, pressing her face against the window pane, cupping her hands to get a better look inside.

             
The room was bright. A lone sofa stood against the wall with a wide-screen TV opposite it. The room was empty. The front door clicked open.

             
“Hello,” came the irritated voice. Sophia whipped around in surprise.

             
“Please help us,” Harlow cried, trying to contain the panic and relief in her voice as Sophia moved toward the door.

             
The man winced at the sight of Sophia. “Are you okay?”

             
“Please, you have to help us,” Harlow begged.

             
“Herb, who is it?” A woman shouted from inside the house.

             
Sophia could see behind the man there was a well-lit kitchen and another door in the hallway. A tall woman emerged from the room.

             
“Come in,” Herb ushered them in.

             
The lady was in her late fifties. She surveyed them with bewilderment, “Oh dear! What happened?”

             
“We need to call the police,” Sophia said. Her lip ached as she spoke and she held it protectively to quell the pain. 

             
“There are some people after us,” Harlow explained. “I don't know why.” It all came out in a jumbled rush of words. The woman's hands were already on the grey cordless phone before she'd finished. She followed them into the sitting room. Instead of sitting down as the others had done, Sophia said, “Turn off the lights. They'll know.”

             
Herb didn't seem to understand and, ignoring Sophia, he said, “Don't worry, dear, you're okay now. Sit down.” Herb gestured for Sophia to sit and she crumpled into the sofa as if all her bones had been removed. The woman rapidly gave their address to the emergency services operator over the telephone. Suddenly a great tide of weariness rushed over Sophia, a tide that she had fought all the way through the field.

             
A faint cry of sirens rung somewhere in the distance, floating to Sophia's ears. The woman, Angela, was holding one of Harlow's hands in hers, saying intermittently, “It's okay. You're all right now,” and talking in whispers to her husband about something Sophia couldn't hear. Sophia looked around, nervously tapping her foot in time to the mysterious rhythm in her head. She watched Herb jump up all of a sudden, as if somebody had bitten him. He gave his wife a meaningful look and then left the room. Sophia felt that something was not right, feeling ill at ease. The phone rang. It had been placed face down on the coffee table. Angela looked at it from the corners of her eyes, then looked back at Harlow again. It rang and she didn't answer. Suddenly, there was silence. Sophia's back stiffened in suspicion. The phone began to ring again she watched wearily as Angela picked it up quickly.

             
“Hello, yes, yes. That's right. It's here anyway.”

             
The conversation seemed stunted to Harlow and she wondered who it could be. “Yes,” Angela laughed, “Quite a bit of luck isn't it? Ok, will do.” Herb walked in with a tray loaded with three mugs of tea and three small plates laden with biscuits. He set it down just as Angela placed the phone back on the coffee table. There was a horrendous bang at the doors, which made Harlow shiver with fear. Sophia jumped up and followed Herb to the door, her heart thundering in her chest.

             
Herb opened the door without hesitation, as all good men do in times of peace. The door creaked open slowly and Sophia realised it was the police.

             
The door was kicked back with such force that Herb was shoved violently into the wall. Sophia realised her mistake and ran back toward the sitting room. A piercing scream ripped through the air. The man who had grabbed onto her foot at the fence flew into the house like an angry bird of prey clutching a pole; his two associates flocked in behind him, forming a V-shape as they entered.

             
“What's going on?” Angela asked, rushing into the hallway with Harlow behind her, blocking Sophia's escape route. The vulture-like man pointed his gun at Herb. There was loud bang and the old farmer crumpled to the floor like an emptied sack. Sophia struggled to break free, held fast by the overbearing strength of her assailant.

             
“No!” his wife shouted hysterically, rushing toward his stricken body and kneeling over him. The man swung the pole down on her unsuspecting head. There was a thud. She fell to the floor with such swiftness that Harlow knew she was dead. Harlow rushed forward, throwing the heavy grey cordless phone at the man's head. It flashed past his ear, hitting the door behind him with an almighty crash as it fell to pieces. When he moved his head in surprise, he momentarily loosened his grip on Sophia and she broke free, running past Harlow, grabbing her wrist as she ran to the back of the house.               The vulture-like man grabbed the back of Harlow's blazer. Her fingers slipped out of Sophia’s as she was pulled backwards. Harlow swung at the man, pulling the gun from him. He tried to wrench it back from her and they struggled. Another tried to pull Harlow away. A single shot rung out. Harlow gasped in pain, looking down in shock. She sank to the floor trying to hold her stomach. Her head lay on the ground. She blinked in confusion. Heavy feet trampled past her in a rush toward the back of the house. Her hands were a bloody mess; her stomach searing in pain, as the room darkened.

Chapter 14 – Good Girls and Ghosts

             
Two hours later.

             
Christian moved away from the hospital room door. He had been leaning with his back against it, surreptitiously studying a magazine he'd found on a counter. From time to time, he would turn his ear to the door, and in that way would catch floating blobs of the conversation. When he saw the policemen turning to leave the room, he moved away stealthily and sat down in a chair a few feet away. He read until they passed. His phone rang as he rose to check on her. “Number unknown.”

             
“Hello,” he answered casually.

             
“Ola,” came the reply, then in rapid Spanish, “Christian, it's me. I need to see you.”

             
“Alejandro?” Christian shouted, then looked around the hallway suspiciously as the surprised nurses and doctors turned around. A nurse headed toward him. He whispered conspiratorially, ¿Qué pasa? (What’s up?) Where are you?”

             
“Excuse me, sir. Sir,” the nurse interrupted, “No mobile phones in the hospital, please,” she said expectantly.

Christian frowned at his phone, thinking of what to do. His cousin was speaking so quickly that he couldn't keep up. He smiled apologetically at the nurse. “Sorry,” he said, heading toward the exit. In the fresh air, he felt first elation, then confusion at what he heard.

              “Hey,” Christian said as he collected Alejandro from the foyer, gripping his cousin in a bear hug, tears burned his eyes. “What happened? How did you do it?” Christian asked in Spanish.

             
“This isn't the time,” Alex replied, releasing his little cousin with a pat on the back. At Christian's hurt look, he said, “It's a long story. I need your help.”

             
Christian felt that familiar tension around his neck. “Sophia,” he guessed.

             
Alejandro laughed, “Am I that predictable?”

             
“I know you love her,” Christian replied sadly.

             
Alejandro shrugged, “It's not that.”

             
Christian winced in surprise.

             
“How is she?”

             
“Okay,” Christian replied, “She had some cuts on her leg and stomach, but she's okay. She's on bed rest.”

             
“I need to see her,” Alejandro explained. “She has something of mine.”

             
“So?” Christian was confused. “Now?”

             
“Yes, now,” Alejandro replied.

             
“Can it wait?  Harlow is still missing. Sophia has been in with the police since she was admitted. She's the only one who might be able to find Harlow. Let her rest.”

             
“ Harlow?” Alejandro repeated.

             
“Sophia's friend,” Christian replied. “She's important.”

             
“Come on,” Alejandro pressed, “It's just a girl.”

             
“You don't understand,” Christian said, following Alejandro down the hallway.

             
“Yes I do,” Alejandro replied, “All too well.” He opened the door and found the hospital bed empty, “Where is she?” he asked accusingly, with fear in his voice.

             
Christian pushed past him, looking around the room in bewilderment. The bed covers had been thrown aside, trailing on the cold mint-coloured floor as if Sophia had been dragged out. Christian shouted for the nurse.

The nurse rushed over. She was as surprised as they were. “I don't know. She hasn't been discharged.”

              Christian and Alejandro left the hospital, running, heading for the car park, breaking out into the weak winter sunshine. The sky was a cold frosty blue as Alejandro slid into the old green car.

             
Alejandro was always like this, calm, unruffled, quick to judge a situation, and irritatingly honest. They found Sophia's house vacant, drawers full of clothes untouched, the lights off. Servants, personal assistants, all the entourage gone, as if Sophia had never been there but it felt like the house was still waiting for her return. Christian watched as his cousin used his mysterious lock-picking skills to enter the house, then, finding Sophia gone, he watched Alejandro's passive face and knew somehow that inside his heart was sinking.

             
“Where would she go?” Alejandro muttered to himself as he paced across Sophia's luxuriously decorated bedroom, then sank down onto the bed. His forehead furrowed; the dark shadows of fear, suspicion, and longing flitting across his face. “I have no idea where she is,” Alejandro admitted, finally, defeated, “maybe her friends will know.” He looked at Christian hopefully, then continued, “She could be out of the country by now,” he said sorrowfully.

             
“So let her go,” Christian insisted.

             
Alejandro fell back onto the bed, muttering, “I can't.” His fall onto the pillows released a cloud of her perfume and for a moment he seemed transfixed, his eyes blank, considering some precious moment of time that his cousin could not see, a memory as vivid and real to him as the present. The pillow that had been dislodged from its usual spot revealed the glint of an intricate silver bracelet that lay like sunken treasure, waiting underneath, unearthed by chance. Alejandro turned his head, nestling his cheek on the white silk pillow. Christian eyed him with disbelief, his role model, the brave little boy who had become a man. Someone he had known his whole life seemed to have become a completely different person in the space of only a few months.

             
“You've really changed, man,” Christian said.

             
Alejandro grunted, getting back up.

             
“Hey, what's that?” Christian asked.

             
“What?” Alejandro asked, turning around anxiously.

             
As Christian came over, Alex saw the bracelet, so familiar to him, and lifted it gently, sliding it out, from beneath the pillow. He twirled it around, examining it. “Her mother gave it to her,” he explained.

             
There was a click as though a door was unlocking and Alejandro became silent. His ears pricked up. Christian moved toward the door cautiously, treading silently. A floorboard squeaked underneath his heavy feet and he froze in fear. Alejandro looked straight ahead, still moving out of Sophia's room. The sound of rapid heavy footsteps bombarded the stairs. “Hey,” an angry voice shouted as Alex and Christian rushed out of the room ready for a fight.

             
Roberto stopped when he saw them. “What the hell?” he said, his face red with anger. “I should have known you were involved,” he looked accusingly at Alejandro. “She's not coming back, so don't bother waiting.” At his look of surprise, Roberto smirked, “Oh, you didn't know. After what you guys did to my sister, are you surprised that she wants nothing to do with you?”

             
Alejandro's brow furrowed, “I think you've misunderstood the situation.”

             
“He's an idiot. That's the problem,” Christian said under his breath. “Where's Sophia?” he demanded, shocked by his cousin's diffidence. “We can help her.”

             
“I bet you can,” Roberto said disbelievingly. “She told me about the money,” he said matter of factly. “I bet that's why you want to help so badly. Well, save your breath. She's gone. It's not here. Go home.”             

             
Alejandro grabbed Roberto's collar and shoved him against the wall, holding him by the scruff of the neck. “Tell me where she is,” he demanded viciously.

             
Roberto laughed maniacally, betraying all of his fear and hatred of the two cousins. No matter how Alejandro shook him he wouldn't stop laughing.

             
There was something unique about Alejandro. He had a gentle touch; he could charm you without you noticing. “Come on, we are brothers,” Alex said, loosening his grip on Roberto.

             
“The hell we are,” Roberto spat back angrily.

             
“We want the same things, you just don't realise it. I've been on Sophia's side all along.”

             
“Right,” Roberto muttered, pushing past him. “Get out,” he shouted. Christian moved reluctantly forward, his back leg waiting for Alejandro to follow. To his and Roberto's surprise, Alejandro rushed past Christian, running to the door as if it were his only salvation.

             
Outside, in the chilling spring air, Alejandro's face was tense with a dangerous cocktail of anger, embarrassment, and frustration.

             
“What's gotten into you?” Christian asked.

             
“This isn't a game,” Alex repeated sharply, “that guy aggravates me. Sophia's life is at stake. His sister is in real danger and he's swanning about like ... Aaargh!” He growled in frustration as they reached the car and kicked the back tyre. Alex got in and slammed the driver's door shut, gunning the engine. The car was way down the road before Christian had even reached for his seatbelt. They rounded the corner. Alex brought the car to an abrupt stop and parked the car. “Wait here,” Alex barked, getting out and heading back the way they'd come.

             
“What are you doing?” Christian protested, watching him walk away.              

              They followed Roberto's car until it reached Victoria station. Alejandro drove in silence as if he were contemplating a matter of grave importance, like the inevitable destruction of the world.

             
In the crowded station, Alejandro followed Roberto at a distance, watching him weave in and out of the crowd of commuters, worrying when he lost sight of his wavy black hair. He expected at any moment to see Sophia waiting at the platform, to hold her, to apologise for all the lies, but that moment never came. Instead, Alejandro dodged angry travellers, tripped over a suitcase, jostled past a group of tourists, and exhausted his large supply of patience when he found Roberto sitting in a deserted restaurant on the second floor of the station reading a menu, like he was going to lunch with the Queen. Alejandro hid in the café adjacent, watching Roberto through the plate glass windows, and felt his pulse quicken when he saw a woman walk up to Roberto. Alejandro almost rose from his seat but remained still, trying to get a closer look at her. It was an older woman—large, petite, with greying hair. He sat back down. Again he felt the urge to go over and shake Roberto until he got an answer, then he remembered Sophia's kind eyes and imagined her dismay at what he'd done. The old woman handed Roberto a duffel bag and he secreted it under his chair, looking around uneasily. She handed him an envelope and then left anxiously, as if someone were watching her. He ripped the envelope open and sat for some time, studying a piece of A5 paper. He pushed the paper back into the envelope, then crumpled them both up into a ball, making his hand into a fist, but rather than drop it, he shoved the paper ball into his jeans pocket. Alejandro watched him walk away, suddenly remembering that he'd left Christian in the car. He raked a nervous hand through his hair.

             
In some ways, it was the worst kind of day. Alejandro had gone from hope, in the hospital, to love, in her room, plagued by the remembered touch of her lips. Now he felt the icy lick of despair. He despaired because he knew something bad would happen and this time he wouldn't be there to prevent it.

             
I can't find her
, he thought, talking to God, pleading, walking morosely back to the car where he'd left his cousin.

              “How long shall we wait for her?” Christian asked. Alejandro looked around helplessly. The hotel suite was empty. “I don't think she'll come back,” Christian continued, “maybe she doesn't want to be found.”

             
“Don't be silly,” Alejandro said wandering around the hotel room looking for clues. “She's just checked out. She'll probably come back.”

             
“Oh, ok,” Christian said dumbfounded by his cousin's blind optimism. “Look, we have to go. If anyone sees us here, Jose will be in trouble. He's not supposed to give out keys to the rooms.”

             
“Just a minute,” Alejandro insisted, irritably disappearing down the hallway into the bedroom.

             
“I thought maybe she would leave me something, a clue, a way to find her,” he pronounced sadly on his return. “I don't understand,” he complained.