Caged: Reclamation

Chapter 8

Téa managed to pull in the great hurricane of grief, leaving her wrecked and lying on the couch with her head on R.J.'s chest, resting in his arms. She was holding him by the neck, tightly. As if she needed him to survive. And she had. Survived. No more active tears now, no more of the storm.

It had been a long time since R.J. had held her this way. He was caressing her hair that had grown long, her silky locks, not speaking, knowing that she had been keeping in that sorrow for months. He knew this because Jedediah kept him in the loop. She never cries. She just rages, all the time, hating him. Despite her newfound state of being a warrior, she seemed light like a butterfly, delicate.

Oh so breakable.

The night had come, Gloria and the part-time attorney in the other office in her suite having gone home. Téa was in her power-suit, they all were power-suits, really, black linens, plum silks, some brand of sandal. Her toenails were painted black. Her fingernails were French-tipped. When she fell into herself at her desk, wracking sobs heartbreaking to hear, to see, R.J. had run to her, embracing her, saying sorry, sorry, over and over. No words could console her. She cried and cried, nearing a wail, cried until he lifted her up out of that desk chair and carried her to the couch, the two falling into it in a messy pile. He found himself crying with her, for her. This was nothing he could fix.

I'm so sorry, baby girl. I am so so sorry.

Her cell phone buzzed on the desk.

"Home callin' you for some time, girl. Wanna pick up?"

"If it was an emergency they'd call Rolon and he'd be here."

"Want me to order food?"

"No, not hungry. Unless you are?"

"Nah, I'm good."

She finally sat up, kicked her sandals off, and curled up on the other side of the couch from R.J. She wiped her face, breathed in deeply. The grief had been put back on the shelf inside of her, but the box was open, hurt still spread throughout her body. She felt heavy, broken, run-over. She was outta gas and abandoned on the road, damn it. She had to pull herself together. She'd be better tomorrow à la Gone with the Wind.

After all, tomorrow is another day!

"I'm sorry," she said. "Seeing you was like seeing… my grandmother." She laughed a little, "Not that you look anything like her."

He smiled and tilted his head, "I get it. I consider it an honor." After a minute he said, "I worry about you everyday, Téa."

"I know. I'm not... myself. I threw coffee mugs at Jed the other day. Please know, I fully intended to hit him."

"What happened?" His face had gotten serious. He cared for, even loved, that kid.

"Told me he was going to Havana. After all that happened… why? He gave me some story."

"Why IS he going there?"

"Does it matter? He's stabbing me in the back by wanting to set foot in that place. He was supposed to land this afternoon. He hasn't called yet to let me know he got there safe and sound. Little jerk is probably-"

"He'll call."

R.J. didn't push. That was a strange thing alright. And to do it without telling R.J. was even stranger. The two looked at each other for some moments. R.J. broke the silence.

"Jed says you never cry… for Manning."

She was studying the dark windows, the sounds of the evening traffic breaking through. "I'll fall into a hole if I do," she said quietly, "a pit I'll never come out of. Tonight was just a taste." She added in a soft voice. "You made me weak."

"It ain't weak. He was your world. More than that… crazy as you are for making him that."

She smiled sadly. "It doesn't make sense to people. I'm aware. I've heard it for years."

R.J. sighed, looking at her. Trying to imagine how Manning could ever fuck things up with her, how he could not see what he had or…

"I know what you're thinking," she said.

He rolled his eyes and offered a crooked, apologetic smile. "I couldn't abide him much."

"I know. I've heard it for years. From you." Her features gentled in a tender recollection.

"And you ain't someone to listen to objections."

She shook her head, looking at her hands, not really here.

"He and I loved each other outside of this world. I knew he and I were forever. Above, beyond...everything."

R.J. said nothing. Just listened.

She chuffed. "I can't explain it. No words for it."

"Try me"

He hated hearing it but he wanted her to talk. The tears had left her with reddish eyes, slightly swollen cheeks and nose. She looked terribly young, vulnerable.

She shrugged, thinking on it for a bit. Then, "He didn't share himself, his real whole self, with others. I was it. It didn't start out that way, but… it became that. We grew our love out of a broken foundation. His sickness, addiction, Brandy. I grew to know and love that man with all his wounds and the corrupted ways he tried to manage them. And there was something really…" She paused, smiled, lost a little. "There was something intoxicating in that. To know him, to know he could be drawn to such wrongness, to fall… even in bed with another woman or… people think that's the worst thing that can happen but it isn't… to know I still held more over him than anyone…than anything? He always came home to me." She sighed, sorry to have to say this to R.J. of all people who knew this truth better than anyone. "And I did the same. I always went home to him. It was addicting in and of itself to win in some ways, over and over. A roller coaster I didn't want to exit. He was my heroin."

"Even with… Rico?"

She laughed quietly. "Trying to be lawyerly with me?"

"I kinda got a sense of somethin' different with him, from what Jedediah said. Different beyond...the obvious..."

"Rico was a little different. Other than he was a lover with a—."

"He was not Leticia or Jovanna."

"No. Todd actually loved Rico. Deeply. Rico probably had the most of Todd than any of them. But it was… complicated? Probably wouldn't have happened if I hadn't shot him."

"You did do that."

"I didn't shoot Todd… I shot Blanco."

R.J. made a noise between a growl and sigh, an acknowledgement there. Blanco had well earned those bullets. But the man Téa loved, the "Todd" she described? Considering his torturous upbringing, the hard slog through addiction, the miraculous attainment of a family and children… with a woman he did love, R.J. never doubted that, for her to turn on him that night, after all the shit he'd ever done… yeah. He could imagine things might be different after that night.

"But what you don't know," Téa said, "what Jed may not know, is that we found each other again in Havana, in a new way, the most truthful way. With Rico! Las tres en la cama, desnudo, puro, con la lluvia cayendo afuera de nuestra ventana."

R.J. knew a little Spanish. His mouth dropped open a little. "You three… in bed?"

Téa smiled thoughtfully, dreamily. R.J. was very old fashioned. "Yes," she said quietly. "Todd was… incredible… we...were incredible…such profound understanding happened en la cama, such honesty, such plain… love—"

She had to stop. For a few minutes, in explaining who they were, where they'd been, in seeing Havana nights once again, she'd forgotten he'd died.

Oh god. Oh… god!

"We convinced him to abandon his plans! He was coming home, he was leaving Havana!"

Téa Delgado-Manning, I am going home to you and our children. I fucking promise you that.

The tears came again, hard and hot, and she heard his voice clear and strong, like he was here, no more ghostly silence, oh no, he was right in front of her just like that night in Sylvia's house, raw and luminous in the shadows of the room, admitting he loved Rico but that he loved her still, doesn't mean I don't love YOU, Delgado. God, I do. More than anything, more than everything. He told her that he felt loved by her, that she was always enough, that he felt her love since way back in Fayetteville, that he wanted her and the kids and their home and that he just didn't know where Rico would fit…

Purely himself. Full of hate, full of love, open to all the complexities of human existence and equally frustrated at them.

How could you do that then? How could you leave us to blow yourself up to pieces, to nothing but ashes? How could you, how could you?!

She covered her eyes. Then paced and breathed and R.J. could see how she slowly grew angry again, hate sliding in where sorrow has been. When she got to herself, she sat on the couch. She sat forward with her legs apart, elbows on her knees. Her features were hard, her expression serious, what she might look like if a judge ruled against her.

"Baby girl, are you… uh… getting—"

"Therapy?" She chuckled. "Yes, along with Lucía. Even Reese goes to one. Starr and Jed have had sessions too."

"Not helping?"

"It helps them. I, on the other hand, know it all, all the analyses, the psychological DNA of my grief. The only thing I need is time…and reclaiming control over my life. I lost control. I have to get it back. I feel like in time… I will. Get it back. Reclamation."

They were quiet a while. Téa moved back into the sofa, curling against the leather cushions and the arm. She'd pulled her feet up, folding her legs beneath her. There was something catlike in her pose.

R.J. said softly, "I know how hurt you are that Manning did what he did. I kinda agree with Jed though."

Sharp eyes fell on his.

"I think it's possible… he did that, followed through on the bombing, because… he thought you died." He saw she bit down on her teeth. She heard it before.

He marched on.

"The way Jed described that whole night, Manning never saw you recover, never saw that Espy came through. Nobody saw him again. No calls, no nothin'."

She started to object, but he put his hand up.

"Listen, just listen. My mama told me a story long time ago when I got to cryin' about my granddad who up and died after my grandma did. Weeks after. She said men and women were real different when it came to living' and not livin'. When mothers gotta choose between kids and the husband, moms will choose the kids. When men gotta choose, they choose the wife. Just the way of life, she said, nature, evolution. It's why old men die after their wives die, even when they got kids to take care of, grandkids. But women? They stick around long after they's been made into widows. Manning lost you… he lost everything. I kinda believe that. Jed has some insight there and, you know, I don't ever defend Manning. I think all options for him got lost… with you."

She shook her head. She'd heard some story like that from her grandmother. She didn't want to hear it. No excuse, no excuse… she turned away and stared out the windows again.

The office had grown cold and she pulled the edges of her summer suit jacket tight. She didn't want to think about him. She just couldn't. She shut the grief box. Shut it tight. Felt the lingering sorrowful tide move out the rest of the way, the hateful fog move all the way back in.

No excuse. Fuck you, you fucking bastard.

When it was clear she wasn't going to talk about anything to do with Todd anymore, R.J. decided to get a move-on with his needed questions.

"I lost one of my men," R.J. said. "He was jus' a kid. 22. Ziggy."

Téa shook her head, turning and picking up a sandal off the floor. She was picking at it, cleaning something off it now. "How?"

"Killed in a shootout."

"I didn't hear about that."

"No?"

"No. Why would I?"

R.J. considered his words, his strategy. He didn't really have one because while he'd come here, meaning to get answers to straight questions, he hadn't expected the tears. She was better now. Back to what Jed called, her ice-queen state, a play on ice cream for the sake of the kids apparently.

I had to tell Rose that I said ice cream because she's like the moral police in our house, always correcting me!

"Buchanan thinks it's… Mexican cartel."

He searched her face for some reaction. She just shook her head again.

He added, "He thinks Cubans is responsible… Los Muertos."

She kept a goddamn good poker face. She sniffed, dropped the one sandal back on the floor and now picked up the other sandal.

R.J. chewed his lip. Stayed quiet. Then in a soft voice, he said, "You know about Los Muertos. Stop playing me. I ain't MK, I ain't Posse. I am your friend."

"I don't—"

"Nah...no bullshit. You shared you and your husband with me tonight. The part of him I don't know, the part that lives in your heart, that has kept you at his side long past his expiration date. I only knew him as an asshole. Least you can do… is stay honest. For him."

She sighed and dropped the sandal back on the floor, next to its mate. Dark eyes on his. "Have you seen Moreno lately?"

"Ain't my man to see."

"He's very unhappy. A balloon without air. Lying on the side of the road."

"Because you have his men."

"Yes. I wanted to bleed him, R.J. And I did. I created Method Makers for the sole purpose of taking MK away from Pedro."

"'Cause you blame him for Manning blowin' hisself up."

"Absolutely!"

"Woman, you ever think Todd brought that shit on all by his own damn self?" Téa started to get that pained sorrowful look and R.J. talked more, hoping to derail her with facts. "Hear me out, baby. Go way back. I know about the abuse from his father. It turned him-I get that. History happened...and he ended up back in Statesville. And there, he decided, nobody making him do it, to be some kinda savior. Well, lo and be-hold… he needed help. Enter Mambo Kings. It's dominos. I put the drop on that moment in prison… when he took on shit he didn't have to."

"They abused him."

"'Course they did. He invited vampires into his goddamn house! Gave up his throat to them."

She closed her eyes briefly, taking a moment. It was very hard to do post-mortems on Todd when he could no longer defend himself, to offer different takes on his own life. It made her sick. She then said, "He was forced into MK. Rolon told me."

"Yeah, but he made himself needed. And he really got going as a needed person in Statesville once he took on those kids."

"How do you know? You weren't there."

"Woman, please."

"Whatever. Prison Posse, fine. Doesn't change anything at this point. Pedro protected Manuel Caro who raped Todd, protected that trafficking operation, child trafficking. He helped build it. He deserves to be bled."

R.J. had heard this all from Jed. He nodded. Knew the ugly story, knew the story from the news, too. Ringleaders were killed in the Havana blast. Caro was also a ringleader but listed as missing. R.J. knew about the connection with Rico Macias. Again, ugly story.

"I ain't defending Moreno, that piece o' shit. Should be in prison… but…" He paused, thinking of how direct he wanted to be. Decided he needed to say what he thought. "Look, you are wanting to end him, get payback, and I understand that. And maybe Moreno was a big motivation for the bombing… but…"

"What?"

"Moreno is part of a system...like...an ecosystem where there is predators and prey and they operate together to make a whole. They operate best in a very particular balance. And if one eat up too much of a kinda prey or one predator disappear leaving other predators taking over… well… that system gonna get screwy."

Téa got to her feet and walked to the window. Looked down into the boulevard. Her suite was on the third floor of a six floor building built in the 1920s. One of a few in this section of Llanview. She could see the decorative moldings, the sculpted white terra cotta, little monsters sticking out tongues.

"What you're saying is that Moreno should be left alone to thrive, flourish?"

"What I'm saying is...you upset the balance… by draining MK. Moreno ain't so much needed as his soldiers in place are. He a general without an army, a king without subjects. He'll go under without people. But so will the ecosystem."

She knew this could be true, the upset she might have caused. She thought Los Muertos could move in but in the end, thought it was a risk worth taking. Thought it was low-risk. She knew MK had dwindled and lost footing in gambling, drugs, weapons, and whatever other garbage they were involved in. However…

"Pedro wanted legitimacy for himself," she argued, "for his soldiers. I made it happen. It was Todd's goal… to legitimize MK. This upset was inevitable."

"Not in a single cold blast. Legitimacy was a long term goal. Coulda moved more reliable organizations in place, slowly, as they were doing. Your man… he shifted a lot of that illegal shit to Posse, the reservations, others. Without the dramatic change to the system."

She turned, facing him. "Are Los Muertos really here?"

"Only time will tell."

She went to her desk and pulled out the ledger Leya Moreno had stolen from her father. She brought it to R.J., dropped it on his lap. She crossed her arms and stood, looking thoughtful. He eyed her then started flipping pages.

"Lookie here," he drawled.

"I know where everything is with MK… or was. I figured things were going according to Pedro's layout of the territories. MK lost control over activities but who took their place was appropriate, balanced."

"I see it - he's saying the north is Posse and their usual allies, East is the Irish and their allies, south is the Latin and Italians, west is Asian… some res… he ain't that off."

"I did worry about Muertos but thought maybe...the others were taking up the slack. I did calculations. I thought it would be okay."

"Your plan was dependent on the strength of allies. Without proper leadership, they fall to a stronger force."

Téa sighed. "Los Muertos."

R.J. huffed angrily like a bull, and closed the book. "Yeah. We need verification though before we lose our heads. Maybe Ziggy was a one-off. My suggestion?"

"Tell me."

"Get active MK soldiers to report to you on what's happening. They will report… through your workers that you already got under you. I'm talking to Posse captains tonight. I can get a fix on some of that… but you need more information than Posse alone." He sat back. "You also need better security."

"What's wrong-"

"I strolled right on in here. Nobody stop me. You feel safe in the building but…you got nobody around you."

"They know you. If it was a stranger—"

"You should lease this whole floor so you can monitor who come and go. Get someone here in your suite, right here. You should never be alone. At least, have someone right outside the door."

"I just-"

"No… with your name getting out there, among soldiers… with you doing that drain… that might make you a target. Not just a possible one, a serious one."

"I have protection."

"Not enough."

She groaned softly. Jedediah already thought it was overkill, the five shifting guards at the house, and Tony Valencia as her more personal guard. He sat at the elevator; he hovered when she was out. Rolon hovered, too, as her driver. He mostly stayed in an office next door, helping Gloria with operations, overseeing all the facilities under the Method Makers umbrella. So he was sometimes occupied.

"I'll talk to Rolon," she said. "See about getting others…"

"Lemme take you home."

She didn't object, getting her sandals on. Grabbed her purse. They walked out of the office. Rolon popped his head out of his office. He had an eye on Téa always and so knew whenever she left the office when he was on duty with her. Tony stood at the elevator, pressing the call button. Téa grabbed R.J.'s arm, holding him affectionately, and they all headed down. The men talked, R.J. saying he was driving her, Rolon saying he'd follow them. Tony was going to head home then.

Téa knew she'd been careless in her plan to eviscerate Pedro. Understood that. She worried she might have had a hand in the death of that young man who worked for R.J., Ziggy. Just a kid. She'd have to be smarter from now on. More precise in her pursuit.

She then looked at her phone. Jedediah had called after all, a Cuban international code among the missed calls. He left a message and she clicked on it, listening as they walked to R.J.'s car.

Hey moms, I'm here. It's the same as before. Muggy and like no time has passed. I feel him here, I gotta say. Hurts like hell. He's in the rain. He's in the smell of the ocean. In the bars. Sucks. Don't worry. I'm not doing anything dangerous. Give the kids a kiss from me. Hope you're home. My hotel address is in my room. Um… it's not the same as where you or I stayed. I'm not that much of a masochist. Love you. Talk tomorrow. Hope you're not still mad at me.

That boy, she thought, something else. His heart was huge, along with his capacity for forgiveness, understanding, compassion. Better than her. She shut the car door, tucked inside his silver Audi, and looked at R.J. Another good person. Better than her. The car moved and they were flying.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?" His voice was gentle and still had a bit of sadness in it.

"For being there today, for helping me. For being my friend."

"Anytime," he said, smiling sadly, lights passing them through the car's windows. He squeezed her hand, a familiar warmth. "You know that."

"My head is clearer," she said. "Guess I needed a good cry. As they say."

"Good. You gonna need to be real clear in the months ahead."

"Yeah."

She lifted her cell phone and texted Rolon.

First, what the hell is Jed doing in Havana? Second, are Los Muertos here? Do you think they killed that Posse boy? If they're here, we have a problem.

It didn't take long. He answered even though he was driving right behind her. Texting and driving.

Got nothing on Jed

A minute later.

Mamita

We got a problem


Todd remembered being in similar immovable states before, lying in a bed, on a floor, on a couch, high or depressed or just checked out. It was a strangely comfortable place like mud to a pig, trash to a rat. He could not see the point of anything beyond the tower room, no matter how hard he thought about it.

He tried to check out today, earlier, tried to bring on the white blankness he remembered from before but it wasn't the kind of thing that could happen on command. A joke by God. Since he couldn't get high, he jumped into the depression boat. He slept, sorta, and then just lay in bed, thinking maybe he could just stop breathing. But that never seemed to happen either. Another joke by God.

From the bed, he considered getting to the bathroom. A shower would be good and he needed to piss. He still wore his day clothes. He was lying on top of the bedsheets. But walking required help and he declined. He did see someone in the cot who would help. He always had someone in the room with him. Fucking hated that.

Made him feel less than a man. Not that it mattered. He was simply going to die in this room. Eventually.

There was… no… point.

The despondency brought pictures though. Mainly of a friend. He could see kind blue eyes, curly sandy hair, that husky chest and thick shoulders, endless patience at the crazy, and his heart ached for home at that memory. If he were there, home, he would hide out with that friend, his doctor… with… with…

Names still evaded him. He rubbed his lips, his mouth.

"Fuck," he growled.

"You are awake. I am too."

"Go away."

It was Raquel who had been lying on the cot, waiting for him to show some life again. He supposed she was better than Maria or Theresa. At least he knew her. He was grateful Beatrice only assigned sisters who could totally carry his weight which meant no young, fragile women. He could not deal if that were the case. All this was humiliating enough.

It was near midnight. The tabby cat, Daisy, and Abram, his loving devoted pit bull terrier, all sixty pounds of him, lay on his bed with him. Todd could hardly move which was perfectly okay with him.

"Tonight is my night," Raquel said. "You still need assistance."

"I need...nothing."

"You need sustenance."

"For...what?"

"To go home."

""Nothing...there."

Raquel got up. She sat at the foot of the bed. He adjusted his gaze, landing on her. "What do you know of home? Tell me."

He didn't want to. "Why?"

"Medical reasons. I have been easy on you. No longer. I want to know how serious your amnesia is."

"I do not have…" He paused. The word disappearing even though she just said it. It came. "...Amnesia."

"What is your name then?"

"Okay. Selective… amnesia. Maybe."

"Do you remember your childhood?"

"Yes," he said softly. "Everything. All of it. Even more than I knew… before."

"More?"

"I had blank… g-gaps. Not anymore. I remember all the things… my entire… history." He turned onto his back, eyes on the songbird. The cat leapt off at that and Abram rolled over. "I see faces. Places. Events. But…like in a dream. Nothing… feels...up close anymore."

"What about the man from today?"

Todd could see him crystal clear, the silver hair. His body tensed. He grunted and tightened his fists. "Not so… dreamy."

"Why?"

"I do not know."

"What did he do to you?"

"Many things. Connected… to the…" He was breathing thickly. "He killed her."

"Who?"

They had this conversation before. He didn't want to see any more of the silver-haired man or her or any of it.

"What do you know of your crime? The one that put you in a coma?"

He quirked at her inquiry. Admittedly, he had less of a grasp on this. The crime. He knew Raquel had promised to kill him if innocents died but… he wasn't very sure of that day to be truthful. Something terrible had happened. And he had done it.

"Angel?"

"Not… my… name."

He could see the hospital, could see… him… the doctor shaking his head and everyone there growing upset. She...had died and it was a sure thing. Then he was walking Havana streets, walking all night, hours, and then… he was in that house, that terrible house, and he was stalking the hallways and rooms and searching, checking… and….

"There was a baby," he said, "… she was crying… in the… down the stairs…"

Raquel had reached for him and she held his hand and he was squeezing hard. He was shaking. What baby, she wondered?

He looked at her, focused… "I had to save her from the…" What was the word he wanted. He thought and thought and then there it was. "Monsters in the house. Thirteen… monsters."

He gasped. He remembered. Oh fuck. He looked away now.

"I went down the stairs before… when…"

It was peaceful, really. He had closed his eyes, held the baby, his baby, his child, and everything went black. Raquel had tears in her eyes and he looked at her hand in his. He had to do what he did. Had to kill the monsters but the baby shouldn't have been there. He had to save her. Innocents could not die. He had promised that one thing. He looked at Raquel once again.

"I went downstairs… before… bombs went off. I wanted... thirteen monsters... to die. Did they?"

Mother Superior Beatrice spoke from the door. She had been in the chapel across the hall and had heard her sister, heard the needed conversation.

"Yes," she said as she moved towards him. "Thirteen child traffickers, child pornographers, distributors of child pornaphy, from Canada, Europe, America, and Cuba… died in the blast, a bombing that you most likely orchestrated according to the Havana Chief of Police."

She joined her sister at the foot of the bed. "Do you remember arranging for that?"

"A conversation… yes. Some."

"Do you know why you did that."

"I had to. Police were not good enough."

"Did you know you were found in the basement of the house?

"I had to save my child..,"

"There was no child."

He was confused. He could so clearly hear those cries, could feel her in his arms.

Beatrice turned to the songbird who began singing her usual night music. "Did you mean to die in that bombing?"

"Yes. But I had to save—"

"Yourself. There was no baby, Angel. At the last minute, you ran to save yourself. Do you know why?"

"No, no, no… that makes no... sense…I had to save-"

"Yourself. Because you did not deserve to die in that house with those evil people, because I believe you heard a call from God. You heeded that call. I, in turn, heeded His call too, to make sure you survived your injuries. So here we are."

He could not turn away from Beatrice. He remembered the child. She was clear in his head and beautiful and… talking. Impossible. She had spoken to him and she was offering...

Hope.

"Look at me, Angel. Listen carefully. You have a purpose for being here. I do not know what it might be. But I know you have a home you need to return to. You have—"

"Esperanza." He was breathing fast, an immovable gaze on Beatrice's. Her name. It had come from nowhere, from everywhere. The name of his beautiful girl who hadn't gotten a chance to see the light of day, the sun...

"Yes, Esperanza needs you."

"That's my daughter's name… she's dead, along with…"

"Who?"

"I can't… I can't…"

"You have to. You need to go home to them."

And all of a sudden, with no warning, like thunder, her name came barreling out of the sky down to him, too, crashing through him, tearing right through him.

"Téa," he cried, "she's gone…"

"Angel…look at me."

He did, childlike, a hold on her because seconds more and he was going to be sunk into the deepest sorrow again, the kind that drove him into the mud, sobs were at his throat, his chest, his heart breaking all over again.

"Téa is alive and at home with your children. She did not die in hospital in Havana. God knew this and put Esperanza where she needed to be to save your life."

"You are… confused," he rasped.

In her limited English, English she did know, Raquel repeated Beatrice's pronouncement, "Téa went home with your child. They both... live."

"I saw her… die! I felt her…die… in my arms!" The fury morphed fast though because he didn't have the physical strength to express that much hate, and he began to cry, hard breaths, "She went right... through me!"

Raquel moved in and wrapped her arms around him, "The doctor made a mistake." In Spanish, she then said, "Téa survived! She lived! She had your daughter early and she survived, too. They are home, chiquito, with your other children. Your family now grieves YOU."

He looked all over the room, madness flooding him. This is madness! The night crashed into him, the basement, him across the darkness, eating the heart, blood everywhere. The way he then washed himself, carefully, his lithe body bending and shifting to remove the blood off his skin, another kind of dance, and she was looking up into his own light eyes with such love, and he was holding her to not let her see… Look at me, just at me. Only me. And she did, and then something was wrong. Wetness. Blood. And then he was running, up the stairs, past the boats and warehouses and falling into a taxi…

She'd touched him with just a look and loved him one more time with just a look and then she took a last breath and then she was gone. He felt it! He felt her leave!

"I know the truth," he groaned, his head in his hands. He did know, he felt her go, saw her fly into the forever night sky. "Oh god, she's gone, you're tricking me, that's what you're doing… Raquel…"

"No, no, no, the doctor made a mistake. I went into the room because I have seen this before and the sheet covered her but I heard sounds and I moved the sheet and she was breathing, pushing, the baby was coming. The nurse declared both dead but they were not! She had been at death's door, that sheet was still and unmoving and then it was not. Your daughter brought your wife back. She was not going to die…" Raquel laughed, "Your daughter must have been so very angry and she must have decided… what do you in America say back in the war… Hell no, I won't go!"

He stared dumbly at Raquel and pushed her away. She sat at the end of the bed again. He was trying to process her words, and he could see her desperation for him to understand. Her Spanish had been quick and rolling and he had a hard time untangling long narratives. She was tearful with her fight. She said again, shorter, mistake, alive, both alive, nurse, doctor, angry, more, again.

Beatrice in her usual calm, said again, "They both live, Angel, it is true."

Téa… Téa…. Delgado, Lucia, Reese, Starr, Jedediah… the rest of the names, all the names, the squirrels racing down leaf-heavy trees, racing towards him, tails in the air. They came forth at a hundred miles an hour, all of them bunching together, packing in, becoming more like a boulder, rolling, rolling over him, catching him, flattening him.

"Oh god," he huffed, hunching over, the air sucked out of him. He could see each one of them, their faces, their smiles, he could feel their kisses.

Téa...Lucía… Reese… Starr, Jedediah… and even the littlest one who he never met, never saw… Esperanza.

"I don't understand… I felt her die!"

"But she did not die," Raquel said in a desperate voice, "She came back for Esperanza, for you."

He was holding on to Raquel's wrist, his arm stretched to her, hers to him…his eyes on hers, hardly able to breathe for the truth rolling over him, crashing, crashing into him.

Téa… Téa…

...and himself.

"I know my name," he said. "It's… Thomas… Todd… Manning. I hate it. But I hate Angel more."

Raquel chuckled, a certain nervousness in it. "Yes! Me too! It is really not you!"

A strange calm fell over Todd. He lay back on the pillows behind him. Téa survived. Esperanza survived. The relief was too large to hold, too great to take any kind of shape at all. He breathed deeply and light eyes full of darkness searched the shadows and the black of the night sky beyond the windows. Long minutes passed. Something inside of him knew this was absolutely… true.

These sisters before him would not lie, they would not trick him. He sat up again, not even needing the rail to do so. He once again reached for and grabbed Raquel's wrist in his hand, pulling her towards him.

And in that hold of Raquel, la doctora, the one who helped so many, who cared for Rico Macias… his Rico, Téa's Rico, he began to enter a state of full comprehension…

...of a new reality.

And in that, a small fire began to form in the center of him, deep in his core. Real heat blossomed, flames gaining from a whole life that passed him by, flames fueled by dreamy details, ugly, violent, bloody, truths that made for the greatest hate he had ever felt. Enough to kill. Enough to take on a crown…

… in hell.

The bombing.

He raised his eyes above and felt rain on his cheeks, rain desperately battling the growing fire below, a forever fight, such love, soul-soothing love, great suffocating love that lived in that rain… rain that wasn't enough to put out the fire, not now, not from here.

Across the bed, he landed an icy gaze on Beatrice. All the names had rolled in. All of them. In a low growl, he then asked…

"Well, if they're alive, then what the fuck…am I doing… here… and why is… Pedro…Moreno… stalking the convent's forest?"

Raquel closed her eyes and tried to pull away from the increasingly strong grip on her. To no avail. Beatrice got to her feet. Abram jumped off the bed.

Then in seconds, strong hands dragged Raquel by her arms, yanking her up close, and she found herself looking at raging, hazel-colored eyes that she knew very, very well.

"Welcome back," she huffed. "Blanco."

"You better answer me," he spat, "… or I swear to fucking God... I will throw you… right out that... goddamn... WINDOW!"

To be continued...