Ruthy Garcia - The Inducer

-Good. He withdraws from the bars and sits on the floor at the back of the cell. You only see the smoke and the little light of the almost finished cigarette.

- I have to tell you, this is very strange. I know this case very well, I have interacted with the child's family, I have seen their suffering, but I must admit that their mystery has me totally captivated. It's a little hope.

- Hope? So, do you think I'm innocent? It would be a miracle. Everyone in this state and in this nation thinks I'm guilty. I don't recommend that you be any different from them. Well, at least for the duration of our talk.

- What's the point of me listening to her without hope?

- Well, do it for your children, think of them now. Close your eyes, think about what would happen if someone touched a single hair of theirs.

Fatima clearly understood that this woman could be more guilty than innocent.

- Then I will listen to her without hope, that's what I must do.

All right, that's the way I like it. The elements of surprise are indispensable in this conversation.

-Let's start again. Time is running out.

- I told you I was in that hospital for months, three and a half. At first there was hope that he would come back, but no. His case was very strange: he went into a deep coma that ate away his young body. It looked like a corpse connected to a machine. I hope it didn't hurt. Well, the doctors say Ismat didn't suffer at all. Maybe they're saying it so that I as a mother can feel resigned to it. I had an argument with his father the day I arrived, and with his mother, who was responsible for my husband's waiting with this country and deciding to leave everything to come and live here. At the time, the idea of leaving my life in Kenya was not attractive to me. We were happy, we had a home. He worked as a motorcycle mechanic downtown and I did fabric work. I'm a seamstress, although when I got here I gave up sewing, but it's what I do best.

He reproached me for the fact that I never wanted to come to live in this country. He was a fool, he thought I didn't realize that his mother had for him a wife he would marry when he got here, even though it was to get papers, but he did it, hidden from me. That's why he's asking me to get a divorce before he leaves Kenya. I didn't listen to any of it. His stupid argument only filled me with courage to realize that my son deserved to fight for it. To have come to the United States on my own was a feat. He was shocked to see me, never thought I'd make it on my own. Yaro fell into chaos at the sight of days passing by and Ismat did not awaken. He started drinking, took refuge in alcohol, suffered from severe depression. After spending three months living in poor conditions in a hospital, I had lost a lot of weight. Do you know what? I was a sturdy woman. In my country, the thinner the woman, and the fatter you are the more hopeful the husband is, the more on the contrary, on this side of the world. When I noticed the clothes were hanging down, my shoulder bones looked like deep basins and the lack of sun had cleared up my dark complexion a bit. That's when I started to go to sea, it was the only thing that calmed me down.

On the fateful morning when my old mother-in-law was visiting the hospital, my angel died. I only remember his smiley face at the airport when he was on retreat with his father. And to think I signed his permission to bring him here, thinking he'd have a better life here! And you see.

After several days, something unexpected happens: my old husband hangs himself after three weeks locked in his room with a terrible depression.

I had no more tears left. My mother-in-law almost went into shock, but I gave her support to keep her from collapsing.

I went to live with her for a while, in California, so I left the hospital and all the things in New York to go take care of Munga. Even though what bound us had disappeared and my heart at one point made her responsible for my divorce, I decided to follow her. Knowing she loved Ismat so much protected him while she could. That made me get close to her. In time I can say she's like the mother I never had. My parents abandoned me in a church, raised me there. As time went by, studying sewing, I met Yaro. The rest you know. My mother's heart needed a visit to the home of my son and former husband in New York. Munga wouldn't give me the keys, but I insisted so much he did. When I got there, my heart almost exploded: seeing her things, her photos, it was a traumatic memory. But I've got the courage. That's when I found what I probably shouldn't have found.

- Drugs? Officer Fatima's eyes were like two fried eggs. I was fascinated by that debutante confession.

- No, it wasn't drugs. It was his personal tablet.

-I see.

- Yes, a discovery that marked an ante and an aftermath in the life of this woman who is here. She gets up by throwing her cigarette butt on the floor. The officer looks at her with this bad habit, but her enchantment only allows her to ask for more information with her huge black eyes.

- I found a series of normal files for a kid his age: games, music and... chat. In that chat room I had a very pleasant and strange conversation with a person. I looked for old messages and found it. That guy was inducing Ismat to use cocaine. He even deliberately wrote to him that he would give him free to try, that it was nothing, to do it together. Yaro told me when I arrived that Ismat had had a sudden change in behaviour in the last six months before he died. He became uncontrollable.

He would go out at night, arriving late, in fact, as a result of addiction.

- And what does all this have to do with the missing boy?

- A lot. Both are lost now, one confirmed, the other we don't know yet.

The officer gets angry. She hates that sadistic way of talking about the kid. He was practically her son, she was her stepmother for a while.

- It's cruel. I hope all this will lead to something good.

- You'll understand, you'll see.

- It is time for me to know step by step the truth, my reasons and motives, my feelings. To detest, hate, punish loses meaning in some abysses of revenge. There is something beyond it, but you have to live that to understand it. I used to judge people when they commit crimes, I used to question them, but now that has taken a back seat, it is not relevant, because it is my skin that is experiencing the harassment and accusation of an entire nation, and why not also say, of the whole world.

Revenge, personal satisfaction

Batman

IN TO

Entering Ismat's life as an unknown teenager was traumatic. The data I had to know as his mother left me with a huge empty taste. Knowing that I was incompetent, cowardly and most of all stupid for letting my family go to an unknown place that killed me. I should never have taken the key and gone in there, although as the days went by I was plunged into discoveries about my Ismat's life with Yaro, his father, I was brought to immense strength for bringing down the man responsible for this event. It should be noted that Yaro was also a victim; had Ismat not died after the overdose, he might have been alive.

It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Fatima. My real name is Yeri Mariga and this is my story.

A TIME AGO

YARO AND ISMAT DEPARTMENT IN NEW YORK

Yeri was trying to repair her heart from the pain she felt when she put Ismat's clothes in the drawers. Though she had been crying for hours, her thirst for tears was not quenched.

That's when she finds the kid's tablet and tries to turn it on, but it's dead. She grabs the charger and puts it on a charge.