Chapter title taken from the U2 song.
"Let's go. Do what you do best."
Author's note: The massacre at El Mozote is a tragic event that occurred during El Salvador's civil war. On December 11th, 1981, a U.S. trained and funded battalion of the Salvadoran Army slaughtered more than 800 people-mainly indigenous, over half were children, and the majority were either women, elderly, or children. Although it is an absolutely dark moment in history, it is what inspired this chapter. For purposes of the timeline of this story it is set several years back.
December 11, 1997. El Salvador.
A tattered, blood-stained dress poked through the dirt, dust blowing fragments of bone into the wind. A small skull accompanied it, eroded with time, only leaving several jagged teeth and a partially intact skull. The former carcass wasn't alone; surrounding it were mounds of what appeared to be dirt, but upon closer look I saw deformed bodies with their torsos broken, arms raised in surrender before their death, the ghosts of their final moments hanging in limbo.
"Que paso aquí?" I asked. "What happened here?"
"A massacre." Ernesto's voice was unusually quiet. "Muggle helicopters flew in, ordered the villagers out of their homes and into the main square. They made them lie face down, searched them, questioned them about the guerrillas which they knew nothing about, then ordered them to lock themselves in their houses or they would get shot. The next day they had everyone in the square again, separated the men from the women and the children, locking them in the church. They interrogated and tortured the men, killing them out of frustration that they gave them no information. Once they finished with them they moved onto the women-gunning them down with Muggle machine guns after assaulting them. And these desgraciadios left the children for last." He took a jagged breath, wiping his eye in an attempt to stop a tear. "They slaughtered them by slitting their throats or hanging them from trees."
"What?" My breakfast lurched into my throat. "Why? Who would do something like this?"
"Your people," he said darkly.
"Other Salvadorans?"
"No." He shook his head with a dry laugh. "Gringos. Americans. In the name of capitalism to wipe out communism."
I stared at him in shock. "We've never-I've never heard of this."
"Of course you haven't. They wouldn't teach that in school. It's not just here either it's all over Central America-wars funded by American dollars."
"That's disgusting," I said, choking back my breakfast in shame.
"And don't even get me started on the massacre in 1932." He wiped his forehead with a bandana from his pocket, the blistering humidity drenching our clothes. "The campesinos and other peasants were devastated by the Great Depression and it was impossible for them to live off their wages. They sought help for a rebellion, but the president ordered them to be gunned down. But it didn't end there. Over 40,000 people died in total, almost entirely wiping out the indigenous population." He sighed, taking a hard look at me. "You'd be safe though."
"Why? Because I'm a mestiza? I'm indigenous too," I retorted.
"But you don't look it," he explained. "That curly hair and perfect English accent save you. We're the same skin color but our features are different."
My eyebrows furrowed, taking him in: his slightly darker complexion, jet black hair, flat nose, and wide eyes. Features I have always found beautiful, like my father's, yet I don't have.
"Oh," was all I managed to say. "I guess I've never really thought about it that way."
"Must be nice." His knuckles clenched, angry at what the villagers had suffered. "These people were guilty only of trying to better their lives. Yet they were murdered for the way they looked and for seeking help." He choked back a sob, wiping his face. "We're doing good work here. We're doing what we can."
I stared at him in sorrow. "We are." My heart ached in guilt and anger; guilt over feeling I could not do more to help, and anger that innocent lives had been lost in the first place.
Ernesto handed me a photograph of a glowering face, smile broadened into an evil grin, concealed slightly from the cigarette dangling from his mouth.
"Jose Figueroa," Ernesto answered. "He's a human trafficker and extortionist. When people don't pay up he kidnaps and tortures them, and his victims end up looking similar to our compadres here. He is one of the worst people that walk this earth." He grit his teeth as he turned to me. "We're heading to San Salvador to watch him for a few days. Learn his moves and what he likes." His palm faced up. I took hold as we whisked away to the country's capital.
Jose Figueroa was taller than I expected, with broad muscular shoulders, expensive boots, and perfectly coiffed hair. He didn't flaunt his money, instead subtly expressing it through his simple yet expensive clothing. He sat at the bar with two comrades, puffing cigars and ogling at the women passing by. Ernesto and I charmed the area so we could hear their conversations as if they were next to us, while still holding our own.
"Look at that nena," Jose puffed, whistling at a voluptuous woman with long dark hair. Her lips quivered into a smile: excited he had noticed her, yet afraid of who he was. He extended his hand to her and brushed his lips against the top of hers, pulling her closer. Their conversations are nothing important, just gossiping with friends and buying round after round for the young woman, his hands slowly sliding down her body.
"That's so creepy." I barely managed to keep a straight face. "And uncomfortable."
"She knows who he is," Ernesto stirred his drink with his finger. "But who is she to say no to the man who runs the city?"
I grimaced as I downed my drink and waved to the bartender for another. "That's the saddest part. Damned if you do, damned if you don't."
We observed the men flirt with her, Jose pulling her onto his lap, caressing her face. He wasn't terrible looking, he was actually quite handsome, a deadly combination that I loathed: attractive, wealthy, and powerful. Eventually he nodded to his friends as they left the bar and headed upstairs, the charms still intact so we could hear every word out of his mouth.
"Please don't make me listen to that."
Ernesto frowned, muttering the counter-charm so I could keep an eye out for his friends. Even he began to look uncomfortable the longer they were gone, twiddling with his glass. "Anything useful from the pendejos over there?"
I shook my head. "No. Just talking about going to bed soon."
Ernesto's ears perked up. "He's done. They're heading back down here." I was barely able to restrain myself from jerking my head in the direction of the rickety stairs, instead watching as the young woman headed to the exit alone, fresh marks on her throat and face as Jose greeted his friends like he never left.
I clenched my fist as Ernesto extended a brotherly arm. It was our fifth night tailing him and he kept the same routine: hit the bar at 8:00 p.m., have a few rounds with his friends, find the most attractive woman, flirt with her, and take her upstairs. He had a type of curvy, young, and beautiful.
"Vamonos." I almost leaped out of the barstool, walking in front of Ernesto before our short walk to our Apparition point, my fists still clenched in anger.
"Look at you," Ernesto almost laughed upon seeing my newly uncovered face and figure. One of our members had Transfigured me almost unrecognizable with fuller lips, straightened hair, and a generous amount of cleavage.
"Shut up," I rolled my eyes. "You know I hate the uncovering because you always laugh at me."
"I can't help it," he grabbed my shoulder in an attempt to stop himself. "I'm sorry." He nodded to another one of our members who was accompanying us. "Seriously. We'll be close by in that same bar acting like we don't know you. We'll intervene in case anything happens."
"I can handle him," I said with a furrowed brow.
Ernesto smiled. "I know. Let's go. Do what you do best."
Hello! I like slipping in flashbacks of Rosalind's past, although they are a tad short for now. She was a cop in El Salvador (kinda), which will become clear soon. As always, thank you for reading!
Next chapter: Love the Way You Lie.