Left for Dead

23

2:00 P.M., Sunday, April 11

Tucson, Arizona

Breeze Domingo stirred in the bed. She had no idea where she was or how she had come to be there. She seemed to be in a hospital. It looked like a hospital, but the last thing she remembered was being in a house, a big house and … No, she didn’t want to remember that or the man who was there, the one who had burned her and cut her. She could remember that, but she didn’t want to. What she really wanted to know was where Chico was. Why didn’t he come for her? Why had he abandoned her?

In the background, someone was talking—a woman. It was a voice rather than a presence. Breeze could hear the woman speaking, but she couldn’t see her. She seemed to remember having heard the voice before, although she wasn’t sure exactly when or why or who the woman was. Is she someone I know?

For a while—when was that?—the woman had spoken in both English and Spanish. That seemed weird. Why would she do that? Did she think Breeze didn’t understand English? Now she had dropped the Spanish and settled into English, telling a long complicated story.

At first Breeze thought the woman was speaking about someone else. Finally, though, she realized she was talking about Breeze—about what had happened to her; about her being found in the desert; about her being raped and beaten. She tried to stop listening. It hurt too much to think about it. Now the woman was talking about what had happened in the hospital. There were surgeries and something to do with blood poisoning and wiring her jaw shut. Breeze didn’t care about what the doctors had done or would do. It was too complicated. Too much information. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

But then the woman said something shocking—her name! Her real name. Not Breeze Domingo but Rose Ventana!

How did the unseen woman know that? How could she possibly?

Now she was talking about Breeze’s family, offering to be in touch with them if that was what Rose wanted, to have them come to the hospital to visit her.

Her family? Her family was so long ago that they might well have lived in another universe. They would be so disappointed in who she was now; in what she had become; in how she had lived all this time. She didn’t want to see them. She was too ashamed. She didn’t want them to know anything at all about her. No. No. No. Especially not her stepfather. Especially not him.

She tried to say the word aloud: NO! But nothing came out of her mouth. So she shook her head instead.

“All right,” the woman said comfortingly. “As you wish. I won’t make any effort to contact them until and unless you say so.”

Breeze wanted to say, Thank you. And who are you? And any number of other things. But that didn’t work, either. With her jaw wired shut, it seemed impossible to speak. She felt the wetness of a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Rest now,” the woman murmured gently, wiping the tear away. “We’ve talked quite enough.”