Jeanne Stein - Haunted

An angry reply leaps to my lips, but I stifle it, aware that there are others here who don’t know who or what I am. I turn my bitterness inward, projecting it to Culebra through my thoughts.

Don’t do it, Culebra. Don’t play the guilt card. You of all people know what I’ve done since accepting responsibility as the Chosen One. I sent my family half a world away. I hold my few human friends at arm’s distance. I’ve given up a lot. I won’t be coerced into helping a stranger who’s in trouble because of his own stupid choices.

Max is unaware of what I’ve said to Culebra, but he interjects himself into the tense silence. “Maybe you should at least hear him out, Anna. If not for Ramon, then because this may be an opportunity to take a major player out of the game. Santiago is a big fish. Landing him would be a coup.” He looks at Culebra. “For both our governments.”

Resistance to getting involved still churns my stomach. “But he didn’t kill Santiago’s son,” I remind Max. “How do you think going after this bank official will get you close to Santiago?”

“Because it’s Santiago who is gunning for Ramon now,” Culebra says. “Just as the boss came after me thirty years ago. Ramon inconvenienced Santiago. He doesn’t care about the kid Ramon killed. The kid doesn’t matter. He’ll wipe out Ramon’s entire family to send a message. Unless we can stop it.”

Everyone in the room is looking at me. The pilot and Ramon with overt hostility, Culebra and Max with patience. As if they already know I’ll give in.

I kick one of the chairs away from the table and sit, arms crossed over my chest.

“Okay, I’ll listen. But this better be one motherfucker of a compelling story.”

CULEBRA CALLS RAMON TO JOIN US. “ DÍGALE.”

Ramon looks at me, frowning. “¿Por qué? Ella no los ayuda.”

“ Confíeen me. Tell her what you told me,” Culebra insists. “Tell her your story.”

Ramon shakes his head. His expression is stony, unconvinced by Culebra’s urging.

“Anna can help us,” Culebra says, more forcefully this time. “I want her to help us. You need to make her understand.”

Ramon locks eyes with Culebra. He says something in Spanish that I translate as asking how I, a woman, could help. It is said with the condescending air of a man who is not used to asking help from a woman. Who is downright adverse to the idea.

I look from Max to Culebra. Both are looking at me as if they expect me to try to convince him. By doing what? I’m not about to share my true nature, but I was a bounty hunter long before I was made vampire. Maybe if I show Ramon I can handle myself as well as any man, that I’m more than a pretty face, it would appease his macho sensibilities.

I stalk over to the pilot, hold out my hand for the rifle. Predictably, he straightens and pulls back, swinging the butt of the rifle toward me. Before he completes the arc, I’ve got both hands on the gun and with a twist of my hands, I’ve wrested it from his. He lunges toward me. I sidestep and he lands on the floor. With one foot on the small of his back, I toss the rifle onto the table.

For a moment, I think Ramon is still going to refuse. He’s glaring at the pilot, at Culebra, at me.

“Fine,” I snap, getting tired of the game. “If Ramon wants me to leave, I will.”

Culebra holds up a hand to stop me. “Ramon?”

The pilot is climbing to his feet, red-faced and angry, when Ramon finally gives in with a rush of breath. He tosses the rifle back to the pilot and tells him to go outside.

The pilot does, with a parting glare to me that makes it clear I haven’t made a new friend. Great. One more enemy to add to the list. I shoot Culebra a look that says this better be worth it.

When the door closes, Ramon parks his butt on the corner of the table and closes his eyes. For a moment. When he opens them again, they no longer focus on me but have that intent look of someone gazing inward to a place of shadow and pain.

He speaks, slowly, as if translating from his native language into English as he goes. “I had a son. Antonio. Only fifteen.”

I think he’s also speaking slowly because he’s choosing his words carefully, so I will understand. With an effort, I push away my suspicions, clear my mind to listen.

“He was a quiet boy. A good student. He attended the same school as many of the sons of government officials. One of these boys, Rójan, was a . . .” He pauses, looks to Culebra. “Matón.”

“Bully,” Culebra says.

I nod.

“One day he and several others found my son alone in the schoolyard. They told him he was to be their ‘bitch’ and knocked him to the ground. They opened their pants, urinated on him.” Ramon rubs a hand over his face. Refocuses to continue. “He tried to fight back, punching and kicking. But there were five of them. They said he needed to learn respect for his betters.”

Another quick intake of breath. “The other boys held my son, pulled his pants down while Rójan, the poquenõ bastardo , raped him.”

Ramon’s voice catches, then turns cold. “My son was humiliated, his self-esteem destroyed. He didn’t come to me. He knew Rójan was protected by his powerful family and would not suffer for his actions. So he withdrew. The shame built up inside him until he could no longer endure the pain. Within a month, he took his own life.”

Ramon draws a deep breath, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “He left a note. Apologizing to us, his family, for what had been done to him. As if it had been his fault. As if he had shamed us. He apologized .” He spits the word, his face hardening with rage. “I knew I had to avenge my son. At first, I wanted to kill Rójan’s father. But then sino —” He looks to Culebra again.

“Fate,” Culebra replies.

“ Sí. Fate intervened. A few weeks after we buried Antonio, I was walking in the woods near our home. I heard a young woman crying. I found a couple lying in the shade. The boy was on top, but they were not making love. The girl was fighting and sobbing and begging him to stop. Her blouse was torn, her skirt pushed up around her waist. She was being raped. When I realized who the boy was, I was consumed by a fury that turned my blood to fire. It was Rójan.”

Again he stops, composing himself, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, drawing deep breaths.

In spite of my suspicions, I am spellbound by his anguish. I understand it. I’ve lived it twice. Once, when I was made vampire through an act of rape. Again, when I found out my niece Trish was being abused by men who paid her mother to make videos of their sick acts, robbing a young girl of her innocence. All I could think about was exacting vengeance. I see the same hatred in Ramon’s eyes now.

Culebra reads the emotions running through my mind. His eyes catch and hold mine. This is what he wanted me to hear—to understand.

I glance away to Max. His face betrays no emotion. He has heard Ramon’s story or one like it many times before. I know in spite of the indifference he projects, his gut is churning the same as mine, the same as Culebra’s. I also know he will do everything he can to exact justice for Ramon and his son. I know it because in spite of how I feel about him personally, Max is a good man.

Culebra touches Ramon’s arm, nods at him to go on.

Ramon unfolds his arms, his shoulders relax a little, his back straightens. “I grabbed Rójan off the girl, held him while the girl got away. All the while, Rójan cursed me, threatening what his father could do to me, to my family. Threats I knew he could make good.

“It didn’t matter. I punched him until he had no fight left. I took his belt, and used mine to bind his hands and feet to a tree. Then I slapped his face to arouse him. I showed him my knife. I told him what he had done to my son cost Antonio his life. I told him he would never rape anyone again. He merely laughed.”