A/N: So, heads up. This story is complete, all 36 chapters plus an epilogue of it. I am going to try to post every day from this point on if I get all the editing done. Otherwise, I'll just stick to every couple of days. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I appreciate all my readers and lurkers out there. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.

Chapter Nineteen (Michael POV)

Strangely enough, I can remember in vivid detail the indignity of my first arrest.

I was barely fifteen years old and my parents had just begun their long and painful journey on the road to divorce. The loss of control I experienced in my life felt enormous back then and the only thing I could think to do was to act out in protest. So, I often found myself in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble. By the time I was seventeen I had earned myself quite a string of prior arrests and had spent most of my late teen years in juvenile detention. Once it had reached that point where I was being incarcerated, I was hardened to the reality of jail but the first time…that very first time I was arrested, I had been scared shitless.

It had happened in the early evening while I was hanging out with friends at the local roller skating rink after yet another day of skipping school. The police came in and arrested me for truancy and vandalism right when I was in the middle of an arcade game. I remember that day as one of the few experiences in my life that truly terrified me. Never once in my history of destruction of property, petty crime and boosting cars had I ever been scared or even given a second thought to my actions until that night. Because that night was the first time I had ever faced real world consequences for my choices. But it wouldn't be the last.

When I'd had my final run in with the law just shy of my eighteenth birthday, and would have faced serious jail time if my brother hadn't taken the fall for me, I was determined that would the last time I would ever see the inside of any county lockup. I cleaned up my act. I finished school, I got a job and eventually I became a cop. I decided that I wanted to be a different person, a better person and I became one. That boy I had once been soon became a very distant memory and I was glad to be rid of him.

But now, more than a decade later, I'm right back in that same place, being fingerprinted and processed for arrest. The only difference is, this time, I don't know what the hell I did to get arrested in the first place. The police have given me the condensed version. Rafael and I got into a fight and I tried to kill him. The explanation sounds ridiculous on paper but when I contemplate my bruised knuckles, split lip and struggle to see through my swollen eye while enduring a massive headache on top of all of that, it's not too difficult to believe that something serious went down.

Beyond that, I know very little. The last clear memory I have is sitting on my bed with Lorena, trying to convince her that we would always be friends. Everything else after that is a complete blank until I found myself sitting in the back of a police cruiser with my hands cuffed behind my back. There is a tender bump on the crown of my head that indicates a recent head injury but I don't think the memory loss is related to that. I do have a fuzzy recollection of arguing with Rafael outside of my bedroom but that seems almost like a dream to me.

It feels as if I've had some kind of blackout but I haven't had a single drop of alcohol. As far as I know anyway. In any case, I don't feel drunk and I don't remember drinking. I've tried to tell this to the police again and again but I can understand why the claim would seem farfetched to them. They've heard the same type of story a million times. Hell, I've heard it so I know how lame I sound.

I haven't had an opportunity to talk to my family, Lorena or Jane since I've been arrested but I already know my situation is dire without their rundown. Rafael was transported to the hospital after our fight and he was in pretty bad condition. I feel guilty knowing that I hurt him so severely but, at the same time, I'm confused that I could even do such a thing. It doesn't feel real.

And far beyond my guilt, I face serious, life-altering consequences from this encounter. I know that if Rafael Solano dies I'm looking at much more than a charge of aggravated assault. I'm looking at manslaughter with a maximum sentence of 15 years in prison. It's a steep price to pay for a crime I don't even remember committing.

In the meantime, I'm trying not to go stir crazy. There's no need to insist on my right to a phone call because my parents and Lorena followed me to the police station. No doubt they are angling for my release and calling my representation at this very moment. For now the only thing I can do is wait for my bail to be set and posted.

But the longer I sit in this grimy cell, the more claustrophobic I become and, inevitably, the memories of another cell begins to invade my mind. The recollections come at me fast, dark and foreboding, in jagged flashes so intense I actually panic and break into a sweat. I can well remember the fear and the despair and the hopelessness almost like it's happening in real time. When I'm finally released on bail nearly four hours later, I'm a trembling, perspiring mess. I feel like I'm falling apart.

My parents and Lorena are waiting for me when I emerge from holding. The moment my mother sees me, her features crumple in an anguished wince. She rushes over to gingerly examines the cuts and bruises that mar my face. I don't know how much damage has been done but I do know how it feels and if the pain I feel is any indication then I'm pretty sure I look like shit.

"Oh my God, look at your poor face," Mom cries mournfully, "You're a mess. Can you even see right now? We need to get you to a hospital. I can't believe they didn't provide you with any medical attention!"

"They offered but I refused." I gently brush her hands aside. "I'm fine. How is Rafael?" Everyone drops their eyes and goes silent at the question and I know that must mean the news isn't good. "At least tell me he's still alive!"

"He's alive," Dad says, "But you really did a number on him, son."

"I don't even remember that," I mumble, "I don't know what the hell happened."

It's at that point that Lorena finally speaks and begins to fill in the blanks. She looks shaken and devastated. She's wringing her hands in a rather uncharacteristic way and I don't know if that's because she's uncomfortable around me now or if she's nervous about recapping me. She has a difficult time meeting my eyes so I suspect it's a mixture of both. I immediately feel terrible for distressing her, especially after she came all this way just to support me. I'm sure this isn't what she had in mind when she decided to visit.

"Just tell me," I urge her softly when she hesitates to begin.

"Jane overheard us talking earlier and she got the wrong idea about it," she recounts, "She was upset and Rafael blamed you. He attacked you and you defended yourself."

"So that's it? It was self-defense?" I ask, frowning in confusion, "Then why did I get arrested?"

Mom places her hand on my forearm, as if she's trying to prepare me for what she's about to say next. "Sweetheart, it was more than self-defense," she says softly, "You went after him like you wanted to kill him. You would have killed him if Xiomara Villanueva hadn't knocked you unconscious."

I blink at her in disbelief. "What? Jane's mom knocked me out?" So that's where the bump came from. I really am trying to process and accept everything they're telling me but each new revelation sounds even more ridiculous than the one prior to it. I can hardly believe they're talking about me.

"It was so awful," Mom weeps brokenly, "For a minute, I thought she had killed you."

The mention of Xo is actually what prompts me to look around for Jane. That is the first time I really process the fact that she is not present and her absence is conspicuous. I'm not entirely surprised to see she's not there with them but, at the same time, I feel disappointed and hurt. I'm also extremely apprehensive about what she must be thinking right now.

"Where is she?" I ask and I don't even need to refer to her by name because everyone knows what I'm asking, "Is she okay?" Another thought occurs to me, one almost too agonizing to even ask out loud but I have to do it. "I…I didn't hurt her too, did I?"

"No!" my mother vehemently reassures me, "Jane is fine."

"Is she with Rafael right now?"

Dad answers with a nod. "Yeah. She rode in the ambulance with him once he was transported. She was gone by the time you were arrested."

"Oh," I say in response because I don't know what else I can say. "Did she say anything before that?"

"No," Dad replies, "She was mostly worried about Rafael."

"Of course," I say woodenly, "That makes sense." And, truly, I know that it does but it still feels like rejection on some level, even if I won't admit that out loud.

"And you really don't remember any of it?" Dad presses worriedly, "Not a single moment? You were half crazy, Mikey. I think if Jane's mother hadn't knocked you out, I would have."

"It was that bad?"

"It was terrifying," Mom says, shuddering with the recollection, "You were like someone possessed. The look on your face…"

"I don't remember any of that. It's all one, big blank."

"That's not normal, Michael. Maybe we should call Dr. Beavers," Mom suggests fretfully, "I'm sure we could schedule an emergency session with him."

Two hours later, after a visit to an urgent care to provide Mom with peace of mind that I haven't suffered a facial fracture, I find myself seated in Dr. Beavers office describing to him the account that had been described to me while my family and Lorena wait for me out in the empty lobby. He listens in his usual, non-judgmental way, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that I had apparently almost killed a man today or that I look like I've been worked over by an expert pugilist. It makes me wonder about what sort of things this man has seen and heard in his lifetime that nothing at all fazes him. He's so serene that I even reveal to him the splintered details I remember about my captivity. When I'm done speaking, he studies me in pensive silence for several moments with his fingers steepled against his lips.

Finally, he says, "I think we should do another hypnosis session."

Immediately, I'm shaking my head in refusal. In the past, every hypnosis session we've had has ended in mental and emotional anguish for me. I always feel wrecked and out of control when they're over and I have nightmares for days following. It's not something I'm eager to do again and I tell him that.

"This is the biggest breakthrough we've had since you started with me, Michael," he says, "I think we need to do this but, of course, it's your choice."

"I really hate doing it," I groan in consternation, "I don't like the loss of control."

"It sounds to me like you lost control tonight."

I drop my head forward in shame. "I know that already."

"We can try to figure out why."

"I already know why," I stress, "It's because I hate his guts! I guess all of that finally came spilling out."

"Do you really believe that's all it is?"

"Maybe."

Unconvinced, Dr. Beavers leans forward in his chair. "Allow me to rephrase the question. Do you want to take the chance that something like today happens again?" he asks in a mildly reprimanding tone, "This time it was Mr. Solano. What if the next time it's your parents or Jane or Mateo?"

"I don't want that," I reply without hesitation.

"Then I think we should try hypnosis again. From what you've explained, it sounds very much to me as if you could have been conditioned in some way after you were taken. We won't know that for sure unless we explore the places in your subconscious that you can't access."

"What are you saying? You think I've been brainwashed or something?"

"You have entire chunks of your memory that are missing," Dr. Beavers considers, "There must be a reason for that."

I clench my teeth, reluctantly considering his proposal. "And you think you can help me find the reason?"

"I do."

"Fine," I say with flat resolve, "Let's do it then."

The session starts out as it usually does with me stretched out on the red leather sofa in his office while I slowly count back from 100. At first, I'm too tense and I can't get out of my own head. So, Dr. Beavers suggest we try some relaxation exercises first and I agree. I listen to his soft, methodical tone as he tells me to relax, to breathe, to think back to the day when my life changed, the day that I supposedly died. Remember the details of that day, Michael. What did you eat? What did you wear? Where did you go? What did you feel? The questions keep coming, echoing in my ears but they gradually begin to come from further and further away as I drift and drift and drift…

She is wearing a blue dress. Her dark hair is long and loose and framing her beautiful face. I love her the way she looks in blue and I don't think I've ever told her. But now isn't the time. She's nervous and I'm nervous and neither of us have time for distraction. There will be plenty of time tonight to relax with her, to tell her how beautiful she is and show her how much I love her. She gives me a vintage lunchbox that she found on Ebay and I don't think I can possibly adore her more than I do right then.

The image of Jane and I standing in the foyer of our home is so clear to me that I can remember all the details of that day. The faint hum of the air conditioning unit. The fragrant scent of her body lotion. The butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Everything rolls over me in striking color. I feel like I'm floating above the world, watching below as my life plays out before me in vivid snapshots of time. The scenes twist and turn, blending together to tell a story that has always been there, a story that I had forgotten until now.

I feel odd as I stand in line to collect my belongings, like my heart is skipping in my chest. I feel breathless. I stumble and then I'm falling and falling… My entire body jolts when I make impact with the ground. In my mind, I groan but no sound comes out. People are surrounding me. I can hear them shouting but I can't move. I can't speak.

"Oh God, he's not breathing!"

"Call 911!"

"Does anybody know CPR?"

"Get an AED! Right now! Right now!"

Their shouts gradually fall away and then everything in my world goes dark. When I wake up again I'm no longer on the cold floor but somewhere else entirely. It's dark but there are flashing lights, red and blue, red and blue, like the blinking strobe light of a police siren. And I still can't move because I'm strapped down and they won't let me. The two big, dangerous looking men who lean over me make it very clear that if I give them trouble they won't hesitate to give me the same.

"The boss said not to kill you but that doesn't mean we can't rough you up a little."

As I hover above the world, the scene quickly changes again and I'm somewhere new. The walls are white-washed, concrete and there is no natural light, no visible means of escape. And if I try, they've made the attempt harder because I'm chained to a bed. It feels like eons before my captors return again and, when they do come, they bring insults and injury. Food and water becomes a luxury. They don't have to treat me well. They just have to keep me alive.

"What did you do to make the boss hate you so much? I figured with you being a cop that you had to have something on her. But turns out…this is personal."

It takes me some time but I begin to recognize my circumstances. This isn't some twisted hospital dream that I'm having. I'm not hallucinating at all. This is real. This has happened. I've been kidnapped, stolen from my life and my family. I don't know who's behind it but I have my suspicions and I don't know what they want. But I do know that they've arranged it so that everyone I love thinks that I am dead and that's more painful than the daily beatings.

"Dude, don't look so glum! You should be thanking us! How often do you get to watch a live play by play of your own funeral?"

"Your wife is hot. Kind of a downer right now but still hot."

I haven't seen the sun in God knows how long. They keep me locked in the cell day in and day out. By now, I know that we must be somewhere underground because there's no natural light to be found anywhere. There is no one to hear me scream. I quickly lose track of time. The minutes become hours, the hours become days and the days become weeks. But I can't gauge any of that because my days blend together, only made significant by whether I've eaten, whether they come to rough me up, whether I can remember that I still have a life out there and people who love me. Little by little, day by day, my spirit breaks down more and more.

"What the hell does she want us to do with this guy? Two years and nothing is happening."

"She's biding her time. She says she wants him broken, so that's what we do in the meantime. We break him. Simple."

"Then what happens after that?"

"Then we turn him loose…and watch the fireworks."

I get the feeling they're grooming me for something sinister, molding me into a weapon to hurt the ones I love the most. They does this through cajolery and threats and manipulation. They interrogate me for hours it seems but I'm not really sure what they want to know. I suspect they're trying to discern which of my weaknesses they can exploit and when they find one, they use it again and again and again.

"Time's moving on and so is your wife…"

"Do you know that she's dating some other guy now?"

"Yeah dude, she moved on from you quick."

"But that's her m.o., isn't it?"

I refuse to let them get into my head, to make me hate what I love so dearly. I can't allow them to twist what I know is good and pure and decent, the best part of me. So, I have to get free. I have to protect Mateo and Jane. I can't let my family becomes pawns in this twisted game. And that's all it is. That's the reason my life has been destroyed. All for a game.

"I don't even know why you care. This is all about Rafael Solano. He took everything from you. This is your chance to get even. Don't you want to do it?"

"Nah, he's still a cop at heart. Aren't you? Still think the good guys win in the end?"

"You're only doing this to yourself."

"You could end this any time you want."

They tell me again and again, just submit…submit and you can go home. Give in and you can be free. Don't you want to be free? Sometimes I think that would be the easiest thing to do because I'm starting to forget what the hell I'm fighting for in the first place. I'm starting to lose hope. All I really want is to go home. I miss my parents. I miss my life. I miss my freedom. Is there a price too big to pay for that?

"Why do you care if Rafael Solano is dead? He screwed you over."

"Hell, it's a bonus because you get to do it. I heard back in the day you weren't such a boy scout. I've seen your records, man. You were a hellion. So off that pretty boy. You know you want to."

"Don't you want to make him suffered like you suffered? I know I would."

It is only when those insidious taunts actually start to make sense to me and I start to think that killing Rafael Solano will solve my problems that I'm renewed with determination to get the hell out of there. I won't allow them to turn me into something I'm not. I have to get free and I try to get free and I stubbornly take the punishment that comes with each attempt. It doesn't matter because I won't let them break me. I will keep fighting them, again and again because that's who I am. I am Michael Cordero, Jr. and I am a fighter.

"He really is a glutton for punishment, isn't he?"

"I don't know, man, he's in bad shape this time. We can't let him die. She won't be happy."

"This is so stupid! It's been four years already! I don't get why she doesn't just off him! It would be less work."

"It's not our decision. Keep him alive. That's the job."

The first time someone comes to tend to my wounds I almost think I'm dreaming. She's diligent at her job but I don't think I need her help. By this point, I'm numb. I've become desensitized to their constant beatings, my nerve endings don't even register the pain. My mind is immune to their psychological torture because now that I know the game, I refuse to play. And I won't give up on getting back home. I can't. I have to keep going for Jane and for Mateo and my parents too. I have to protect my family. I have to protect myself. I have to stay me.

"Are you trying to kill him? You can't keep beating him like this! He won't survive."

"Sin Rostro wants us to break him. This is how we do it."

"There's a fine line between 'breaking' someone and just getting your rocks off, asshole."

"Well, that's why you're here, nursey nurse. Don't worry about our job. You do yours and put Humpty Dumpty back together. Now patch him up or I can tell Sin Rostro you've had a change of heart about keeping up your end of the deal."

"Don't threaten me, Ralph. I can just as easily tell her that you've been using her secret weapon for a chew toy."

"Damn girl! Why you gotta be so rude?"

"Just go easy on him from now on, okay? God, you and Tim are like animals!"

"Can you really blame us? We've been housesitting this idiot for almost five years and it sucks! Personally, I need something to entertain me if I'm going to be watching this guy indefinitely. Besides, how often do you get to kick a cop's ass?"

Sometimes, my muscles are so badly battered that I can't even move. I don't even have the fortitude to lift my head and she is there to take care of me every time. She soothes to my bruises. She washes and stiches my cuts and she provides medication for my pain. In the beginning, she's brusque and efficient, merely completing a job and she doesn't talk to me. She barely even looks at me. Over time, I think her inherent kindness is her undoing and she begins to lower her guard.

"Will you please stop antagonizing them? One day they're going to kill you and I can't fix that."

Strangely, she becomes the one, bright spot in my miserable existence. Most days I am chained like an animal but she reminds me that I'm still a human being. She is the only person in my life right now to treat me with any sort of compassion. The only one who talks to me. And she is the first person, in God knows how long, to ask me my name.

"Michael, huh? Like the archangel? I remember him from the bible. He was a badass. I like that. It's a good name for you."

The more she comes, the more compassionate she becomes, until her touch is gentle rather than clinical and her words are comforting rather than curt. I eventually come to view of her as a friend. I hope that she might be willing to help me escape. I don't want to put her in an awkward position but she may be my only chance at freedom.

"No, I can't do that. Please, don't ask me again, Michael. You'll get us both killed."

No amount of pleading will change her mind. She's afraid of what will happen to her if she helps me. But I'm afraid of what will happen to me if she doesn't. I look up at her, pleading with her to help me and it's in that moment that her face comes into full focus for me, that everything comes into focus for me. I know this woman. I recognize her kind, dimpled smile with dawned realization and finally I understand the truth about what's happened to me. The enormity of it all settles down on my life a crushing weight and it is devastating.

"Michael! MICHAEL! Come back! I need you to come back now!"

I bolt upright with a sharp start, rudely yanked back into the present by that sharp command. My heart feels like it's pumping in my throat. I'm panting, gulping down air and yet it feels like I'm starving for oxygen. For a moment, I feel disoriented and I'm not even sure where I am until I look over at Dr. Beavers' anxious face. I become increasingly aware of my surroundings as well as my worried family and Lorena standing just beyond Dr. Beavers' shoulder. I can't even remember when they came into the room. When I swing around on the sofa to face them all, my head is still spinning.

"You were becoming very agitated," Dr. Beavers explains when I look to him for answers, "I had to bring you out of it."

"Are you okay?" Mom asks fretfully, "You look upset."

"We heard you yelling and we came running in here," Dad tells, "What happened? Did you remember something?"

But I barely hear his words because I've now become completely focused on Lorena. There is a quiet rage that is gathering in my belly right now, clarifying my thoughts and invigorating me in a way I haven't felt in five years. Our eyes meet in a weighty stare and I can tell that the second she meets my eyes, she knows what's about to come. The betrayal I feel must be easy to read in my expression. Tears fill her eyes almost immediately but I indifferent when I see them. I'm too infuriated and too hurt and all I want are answers.

"You were there," I whisper with surprising calm, "You knew the whole time."

My parents and Dr. Beavers bounce confused glances between me and Lorena but, for the moment, I can't provide them with an explanation for what's happening. I'm still processing it all myself. There is too much unfinished business between me and Lorena and I have too many questions. Questions that only Lorena can answer.

"How much do you remember?" she asks in a shaky tone.

"All of it," I spit, "Enough to know you've been working for Sin Rostro this entire time."

"Not by choice, Michael! No one works for Sin Rostro by choice!"

"What did you say?" my mother exclaims in infuriated disbelief, "You work for who?"

But I acknowledge my mother's indignation only peripherally because I'm just beginning to grasp the full enormity of Lorena's betrayal. "The whole time you knew who I was and where I belonged! You were playing me and like an idiot I believed you!" It's not the first time I've been suckered by one of Sin Rostro's flunkies and I'm beginning to see a disturbing pattern there. The realization makes me doubt myself, leaves me sick inside.

"No. No," she protests with a wild shake of her head, "It is not what you're thinking. I saved you, Michael! They would have killed you otherwise. If you can remember everything, then you know what it was like for you!"

I'm up on my feet then, stalking her across the expanse of Dr. Beavers' office as she backs up several nervous steps. "Where are they?" I demand, "Where are the men she hired? You're going to tell me where to find them and they're going to confess to what they did to me…and to my brother!"

"You can't. Tim and Ralph can't confess to anything. They're dead."

For some reason that news breaks me down like nothing else has and I actually start to sob. I hate that. I want to keep it together but it seriously feels like my world is falling apart all around me. I glare at her in pure hatred. "You lying bitch! I can't believe I trusted you!"

"I saved you, Michael. I protected you. I've done everything to protect you."

"Stop lying to me!"

"I'm not lying," she cries, "I do love you! I didn't want you to find out this way!"

"You didn't want me to find out at all."

"She'll kill me! Do you not get that? She'll kill everyone I love! I had to do it!"

I cover my ears to block out her words, pacing mindlessly as I do. "Shut up! Shut up! I don't want to hear anymore! Just stop talking!"

"Sin Rostro didn't want you dead," she rushes to explain, "She had this whole elaborate plan…I didn't even understand it but…when she found out what they did… You were in such bad shape! I thought you were going to die! God, you didn't even remember what happened when you finally opened your eyes! She entrusted you to me, okay! I didn't ask! And I didn't want to care about you! I tried not to care but I did. I do."

That last part has me whipping to face her again with an embittered snort. "So, are you even a nurse? Did you really find me in a ditch? What's the real reason that you were so gung-ho to have me come back here? Was that on her order? Was anything that you said to me true at all?"

"Yes! I wasn't pretending to be your friend, Michael!" When I respond to that with another scornful scoff she says, "I am a nurse. My father worked for Sin Rostro and…and he had a lot of debts with her. She's not a patient woman. I wanted to keep my family safe."

"Your family. You mean Marcel? Is he really your brother or was that a lie too?"

"He's my brother. He's the only family I have left. I didn't lie to you about that."

"Why?" I sob brokenly, "Why did you do this to me?"

"I didn't want Marcel to fall into our father's old life. I was trying to protect him. If someone had to work for her then it was going to be me."

"Aren't you the noble one?"

"All she told me that she wanted was for me to keep you healthy. I was supposed to keep you inoculated and treat you if you got a cold or the flu. That was my job. I wasn't supposed to be setting broken bones. I had no idea the kind of shape you were in."

"Right. I'm so sure that Sin Rostro was concerned with my well-being!"

"She was! Because if you were dead, you couldn't be a part of her master plan!"

"And what plan was that?" I ask but before she can answer I'm already waving my hand in refusal to listen, "No, forget I asked. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie anyway! It's not like I'd believe you."

"I'm still the same person I was before, Michael. All I've tried to do this whole time was help you."

"You're a liar. Your brother's a liar. You both manipulated me. You helped to keep me from my family."

"No, that wasn't me. I had nothing to do with your kidnapping! They were keeping you long before I came into the picture."

"But you knew the truth!" I explode, "You've known for six months who I was, Lorena, and where I came from and you watched me stumble around in the dark that entire time! God! I can't even look at you!"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What can I do to make this right? Tell me. Please, Michael."

"You can't. You can't do anything." At that point, I can't listen to her anymore. I'm devoid of anger and hurt now. I just feel numb. Lorena might very well feel guilty for her actions but it's also clear that she feels justified and that's not something I can handle right now. "I'm calling the police," I tell her flatly, "You're going to jail."

"No!" she cries hysterically, "No, please! You can't do that, Michael! She'll kill me! She'll kill Marcel!"

"Do you expect me to care? Because I don't," I reply and, right at that moment, I absolutely mean it. I don't care about anything at all.