Tortured Spirits (21 page)

In the late morning sunlight, she found the events of last night almost impossible to accept. Emotion lumped in her throat, and she felt tears running down her cheeks. She had to learn what had happened to Jake.

Ducks in a pond flapped their wings as she crossed a dirt driveway and passed a green pickup. She stepped onto a long wooden porch with a sagging roof and knocked on the wooden frame of a screen door.

A Hispanic girl no more than twelve opened the inside door and stared at Maria through the screen. She made no effort to hide her disgust at Maria's appearance.

“Do you speak English?” Maria said.

The girl didn't answer.

“Are your mommy and daddy home?” Maria said in French.

The girl withdrew from sight, and then a woman who looked just a few years older than Maria appeared. Her eyes widened, and to her credit she did not gasp.

“Please,” Maria said. “Please help me.”

When Jake opened his eye, he had no sense of his location. Ceiling tiles came into focus, where naked fluorescent bulbs hummed, and sunlight streamed through windows around him. His dry throat ached.

Where am I?

He tried to recall what had happened to him.

Pavot Island
…
Humphrey
…
Maria!

He attempted to sit up but found himself unable to move. Tipping his head forward, he saw wide leather restraints buckled across his chest, waist, and thighs, pinning his arms to the bed. Turning his head left and right, he took in a dozen empty beds around him.

A hospital ward.

An intravenous tube from an IV bag hanging on a stand beside him dispensed clear liquid into his left arm.

Russel
…

He remembered the soldier pinning his arm to the table in the interrogation room while Russel drew back the machete.

Oh no.

He had to turn his head so his right eye could see his bandaged left arm. Tears formed as he raised the stump where Russel had cut off his hand and wrist. The restraint across his waist could not hold down an arm missing a hand. Blood seeped through the dressing.

Oh, my fucking lord.

Muscles in his cheek and neck twitched, and a sound escaped through his nostrils before he tipped his head back and screamed. Hurried footsteps echoed at the far end of the ward, but he continued screaming.

A Hispanic woman in a nurse's uniform leaned over him. “Relax, mister. Screaming will do no good.”

“Fuck you! They cut off my fucking hand!” Spittle flew out of his mouth.

“If you think screaming will bring your hand back, then go ahead and scream. But you're setting yourself up for a major disappointment.”

Tears burned his eye. “That shit-fucking cocksucker …”

The nurse glanced at his chart. “Mr. Helman, you can call me Ramona. I'll probably be your nurse for the rest of your stay here.”

Jake didn't like the sound of that. “Where's here?”

“L'hôpital de la Pitié.”

Jake's heavy breathing continued. “Hospital of Pity?”

“Mercy Hospital.”

He snorted at the irony.

“We're just a clinic serving some of the farming communities and sometimes El Miedo.”

Jake pictured the map of Pavot Island. “Those communities are sparsely populated, and El Miedo has a single prisoner.”

“And we're a small staff.”

He swallowed. “You have to help me. I need to get word to an American—”

“There's no US embassy here.”

“But there are a bunch of US companies. You can get word to someone at—”

Ramona shook her head. “Listen to me very carefully. I'll do what I can to make you comfortable while you're here, but that's all I'll do.”

“I was traveling with a woman. We were separated in Pavot City, where I was apprehended. Do you know if she survived or escaped?”

He heard more footseps.

“I don't know anything,” Ramona said.

A man in a white lab coat joined them. He wore glasses and a stethoscope and appeared to be of mixed race descent, with light brown skin and frizzy black hair. Ramona handed him the clipboard, and he took Jake's pulse, then listened to his heartbeat.

“I'm Dr. Mathieu.” He gestured at Jake's face. “How did you get those scars?”

Jake grunted. “An amphibious monster swiped me with its claws in Brooklyn.”

Showing no expression, Mathieu removed a penlight and shined it in each of Jake's eyes, which caused him to frown. “And your eye?”

“A scarecrow strung out on Black Magic mistook it for an eight ball.”

Mathieu pocketed the penlight. “Your vital signs are strong. We'll probably keep you here for a day or two, then send you on your way.”

“Send me where? Home?”

The doctor's expression turned grave. “That's unlikely.”

“Wherever I go, I'll end up back here, won't I?”

“Probably.”

“Will I be missing my other hand? Or maybe a foot?”

Mathieu said nothing.

“You call yourself a doctor? You're a barbarian. What kind of Hippocratic oath do the doctors on Pavot Island take?”

“I realize you're upset. Nurse Faustin and I stopped your bleeding and cleaned your wound. We sutured it, disinfected it, and are providing you with painkillers. We saved your life. Pass judgment if you will, but we're doing all we can for you. We don't enjoy certain freedoms you do in the United States. Now if you need anything, tell Nurse Faustin.” The doctor walked away.

“I have to piss,” Jake said.

Ramona reached under the bed and brought up a plastic urine bottle, which she uncapped. Looking at Jake with dispassionate eyes, she unbuckled the belt of his shorts and unzipped his fly. Jake closed his eye as she pulled down his briefs and fumbled with his penis, inserting it into the
bottle. Sighing, he emptied his bladder.

Ramona woke Jake again in the afternoon. She cranked the bed into an upright position and spoon-fed him rice and beans.

“Do you have a family?” Jake said.

“I have family all over the island.”

“Do any of them oppose Malvado?”

“I'm not discussing politics with you. Stop talking and eat.” She lowered her voice. “I can see you're a fighter. You'll need your strength.”

“You
need strength—all of you. My country and the United Nations obviously don't give a damn about this island, so you need to take care of yourselves.”

“I've lived here my entire life. Most of us have. Foreigners don't move to Pavot Island to live, just to advance their careers by running factories. That's all we are to Americans: a cheap resource easily exploited. The corporations that run your country don't want that to change.”

“That's why you have to take charge of your own destiny.”

Setting down the spoon, Ramona looked at him. “That's easier said than done. It's hard to revolt when you have children, elderly parents, bills …”

“You have to be willing to make sacrifices to improve life
for
your children.”

“Really? Is your country so perfect? Freedom there is just an illusion to keep the masses happy. At least here we
know
we're slaves to a corrupt system.”

“No, my country isn't perfect.” He gestured with his stump. “But we don't maim our prisoners.”

“How do you know? Your government detains suspects indefinitely, with no hope of trial. They send prisoners to black sites where no one knows what happens to them. You don't even know who your real leaders are. We know Malvado.”

“That's why you can overthrow him if you'd all just pull together.”

She offered him a patronizing smile. “Okay, you're right. It's that simple. I'll start the revolution on my next day off.”

“That's a start.”

Male voices echoed at the far end of the ward.

Ramona's expression turned serious, and she carried Jake's lunch away.

“Was it something I said?”

Two soldiers wearing camouflage fatigues and red berets jogged around Ramona, who kept walking. Jake tensed up as they approached his bed, but they passed him and stood at the opposite end of the ward with their machine guns aimed at the floor.

Four more figures emerged from the hallway. Registering a large man in a royal-blue uniform and Russel's bald head, Jake swallowed the last of his food.

Ramona nodded to these men as she passed them, and Jake realized none other than Malvado himself walked beside Russel. He had to admit the dictator's shoulders were as broad as they had appeared in the billboards, and the
man stood six inches taller than Russel.

Two tall and muscular dark-skinned men dressed in civilian clothes followed them. Jake's testicles crawled deep inside his scrotum for protection. As the men stopped at the bed, two more red berets took position at the ward's entrance.

“This is Helman.” Russel motioned to Jake, who felt his blood simmer at the sight of the man who had maimed him.

Malvado looked Jake over.

A man that size could break me in two even if I wasn't helpless in a hospital bed,
Jake thought.

Malvado leaned closer, allowing Jake to discern gray stubble on his shaved head. The man who had ruled his country with an iron fist for three decades looked into Jake's one good eye and spoke with a deep voice and a heavy accent. “You're a private investigator, eh? Like Tom Selleck.” His white teeth gleamed.

Jake tried not to show fear. “Yeah, Magnum, PI, without the mustache.”

Malvado made a wiping gesture over his face. “Maybe you should grow one and a beard, too.”

Meaning I should try to cover up my ugly face?
Jake remained impassive.

Malvado scowled and made a dismissive gesture. “William, this man is nothing. Put him to work in the fields.”

“I was hoping to interrogate him some more.”

Try it.
Jake didn't know what he would do to Russel, but he relished the opportunity.

“How will he help harvest my drugs if you cut off his
other limbs?” Malvado's accent became more pronounced as his voice grew louder. “Do as I say.”

Russel bowed his head. “Of course, Mr. President.”

Malvado turned and marched away, and Russel followed like an obedient dog. The other two men in the party stood glaring at Jake. They looked almost identical, like younger versions of Malvado, with tight black hair.

Brothers,
Jake thought.
His sons. The Uday and Qusay of Pavot Island.

The two men followed their father.

Jake stared at the nearest ceiling fan. With no air-conditioning, the fans and windows provided the only relief from the blistering heat.

Ramona returned with a pan of water and some rags.

“Your fearless leader is charming,” Jake said.

Ramona unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a dozen purple bruises where he had been shot with the rubber bullets. She dipped a rag into the water and washed his chest and underarms.

“You're afraid to say anything about him, aren't you?”

The look in her eyes confirmed his suspicion.

The light outside turned orange as Ramona finished feeding Jake his dinner: chicken, carrots, and rice.

“It's been a long day for you, hasn't it?” Jake said.

Ramona wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I work long days when we have patients, shorter ones when
we don't. I'm sure it's been much longer for you.”

“Malvado wants to put me to work in the fields. What does that mean?”

Ramona's eyes showed sympathy, but she said nothing.

“Yesterday right before he was shot dead, a man told me zonbies harvest Malvado's heroin and cocaine for him.”

“Do you believe in zonbies?”

Jake nodded. “We had an epidemic of Black Magic in New York City last year. It did some crazy things to people.”

“I don't know anything about that.”

A door slammed, and two soldiers wearing red berets marched along the ward to Jake.