Chapter 85 – Freaked out

Over the next few days, many things changed on that little pueblo de Los Angeles. The fame of the brave sergeant who almost single-handedly found the stolen horses, rescued Don Alejandro de la Vega, and saved his son and the rest of the hostages from a certain death at their hacienda, spread like wildfire, and soon, every person in the territory knew about it. Mendoza continued to arrest bandits, not tolerating nonsense from anyone anymore, commanding his troops efficiently to fight back crime, and as fast as that wave of low-lives had arrived at the pueblo, they all left again, leaving its citizens in peace. Much to Diego's relief, it looked like Zorro was finally obsolete, and he would be able to retire for good.

Everybody felt sorry for Victoria and the awful ordeal she had suffered, but thanks to the shocking events, nobody questioned any possible hidden reasons for Diego and Victoria getting married in a rush. People admired Diego's integrity and honour, feeling responsible for what happened to his guest in his presence, saving his friend from the stigma she would suffer otherwise, and not rejecting her for it, even assuming the responsibility of taking care of a bastard child if she got pregnant as a result of the horrific assault. In addition to that, the fact that he was marrying someone so clearly below his class as a matter of honour, gained him the respect and sympathy of most people. Not a single soul made a connection between Diego and Zorro because of this wedding.

The trauma of the sexual assault had left Victoria too damaged and vulnerable to carry on with her former life. She had become afraid of her own shadow, and she didn't tolerate the presence of unknown men near her, even less the drunken, aggressive type, like the kind of men she would inevitably find in a tavern. Four days after the attack, Felipe took her there to collect some clothes and personal items, and she hated it. Now she hated the place she used to love, feeling threaten even by the regular patrons, who only looked at her with pity when she walked upstairs. Not keen to go back to the tavern to serve clients in the near future, nor to prepare food on that kitchen table, with the memory of that near miss also too fresh in her mind, she left Pilar and Alicia in charge of everything and returned to the De la Vega's.

At the hacienda, Victoria spent most of her time locked in her room, waiting for the swelling on her eye to go down, because she didn't want to face a church full of people while she looked so bad, with a black eye. In the meantime, Diego used most of his time to rest as well, gradually getting better, with less dizzy spells, as the doctor had predicted. After a few days, most of his vestibular symptoms had improve, except the deafness, and he no longer felt so unbalanced.

In the following days after the attack, if Victoria ventured out of her bedroom, she avoided the library, unable to step into that room. It was the same for Diego. Despite his love for books, he avoided the library now, because sitting on his favourite armchair, the one he occupied when that nightmare took place, was too upsetting and disturbing for him. The library became an off-limits, no-go zone for both of them. Don Alejandro and Felipe noticed that, but they didn't say anything, understanding.

ZZZ

A week after he was shot in the stomach and then stabbed through the chest with a sword, Pedro was still alive, dragging the agony for much longer that anybody had anticipated, including Doctor Hernández. For days he drifted in and out of consciousness, and he didn't show clear signs to go either way, not dying but not really improving, simply holding onto life, but barely. But, as long as he was alive, there was hope, and now he looked slightly better when he was awake. Diego reasoned that, if Pedro was going to die, he should have done so over the first couple of days, rather than agonizing for a whole week for nothing. During that time, Diego checked on him regularly, administering a new medicine based on the coca leaves to act as a painkiller and stimulant. Maybe it was the coca extract what had kept Pedro's heart pumping; or maybe not, he had no way of knowing, but with the lack of anything better to use, Diego kept giving him large doses of the drug. If he survived, they would deal with the inevitable cravings later on.

Pedro's daughter was visiting when Diego came into his room that morning.

"Hello, Don Diego," the six-year-old girl saluted. "My dad is feeling a bit better today. Look, he is smiling."

Pedro looked at his daughter with a painful grimace that resembled a smile, making a big effort to look cheerful for her.

"Come on, Carmelita, let's go. Let's leave your papá alone for a moment, so he can talk to Don Diego." María took her hand and nodded to Diego as they walked by.

"How are you feeling today?" Diego asked after they left, taking a seat.

The man on the bed looked awful. He had lost a lot of weight, hardly eating anything since he got injured, other than taking the medicines, and his eyes looked sunken now, surrounded by dark circles that contrasted with his unhealthy looking, extremely pale face. He looked half-dead, kind of a miracle that he was still in the land of the living. There was a distinctive smell in that room that vindicated that impression, a strong odour that all the dry sage and lavender bundles, and all the other fresh flowers strategically placed around the sick man, could not mask completely: the scent of death.

"Shitty… you know… Hecho una mierda," Pedro managed to say. His throat was as dry as his parched lips, so Diego offered him some water, but he only took a couple of sips. He was still febrile, and he moved very slowly, making a big effort to breathe and talk, but his speech was now lucid. He was weak, but he could not have held the glass up on his own easily even if he had the strength to do it, because his right hand was covered with a dressing. The deep cut he got at the back of his hand when the sword glided over the pistol had damaged some of the tendons badly, and the doctor didn't know if he would ever recover full function of that hand.

"How's the pain?"

"Killing me… but not fast enough." Pedro grimaced again, no longer pretending to smile. He was constantly in dreadful pain, suffering with the peritonitis while his stomach healed. The stab wound in the chest, in comparison, wasn't so bad, despite hurting every time he took some air in. Both wounds were still discharging foul fluids, especially the gunshot in his abdomen, which contributed greatly to the stench.

"I'll increase the dose again today. I think you get used to it quickly and then it's no longer so effective."

Diego produced then a small bottle with the medicine, which Pedro took quite avidly, swallowing the liquid mix quickly when Diego poured it in his mouth, much keener than he was before to take the water. Then, Diego rubbed some extra powder on his gums to be absorbed through the mucous membranes a bit faster.

"Better?"

Pedro nodded with his eyes closed. At least, that drug acted quite fast, although the effects were getting shorter and shorter, and he always craved for more. Diego watched how that poor man's tense expression gradually relaxed, glad he could at least give him some relief, if only momentarily.

"I will get married on Saturday. The date is now set, finally," Diego said with a half-smile when Pedro opened his eyes again, to keep the conversation going, distracting him from the pain.

"Congratulations… How is she?"

"Not doing well. She's going to need a lot of time to heal. The same as you."

"She'll have plenty of time to heal… Me? Not so sure… When are you going to Spain?

"We'll wait another month at least. I want to be sure I recover from the vertigo spells, because the last thing I want is to feel dizzy at sea, and I also want to ensure that Mendoza carries on with his newly found, heroicand commanding attitude until the new alcalde arrives."

"I hope I get to see you… leaving on that ship."

"Me too, Pedro. Me too."

They stayed silent for a short while, until Pedro talked again, with his sunken eyes full of regret, avoiding Diego's.

"I'm so sorry… I didn't get there sooner… So sorry... Forgive me."

"You apologized before about the horses, and you also blamed yourself for not helping Esteban. But you shouldn't reproach yourself on anything: nobody thought you could help at all this time, not in your condition. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you at that door."

"But, if I had got there… a bit earlier, then…"

"Don't think about it," Diego interrupted. "I keep thinking about all the possible "what if's" scenarios myself, all the time, and believe me, it is a very unhealthy thing to do, which is driving me crazy, because I can't change anything, no matter how hard I think about what I could have done for Esteban or Victoria differently."

"But… I could…"

"Enough!" Diego said, interrupting him again, with a finger on his dry lips. "You did well, Pedro, and I will be eternally grateful to you. Now, concentrate on healing and surviving this, please, and don't worry about anything else."

"I'm trying… you know? I'm still going… waiting to pass that bullet… as you said."

Pedro managed a real smile this time, with a little chuckle, but it was brief.

"That would be really good, Pedro Cagafuegos, but you should eat something first to bulk it up, or that will never happen," Diego said, smiling as well, placing a hand on Pedro's arm as he stood up, tapping it gently. "Rest now, I'll be back later with another dose. And I hope María tells me you ate all that chicken broth, or I'll smack you."

"Gracias, Don Diego."

"You are welcome, but I told you before to call me Diego. See you later."

After visiting Pedro, Diego headed for the stables. Toronado greeted him happily, bobbing his head with a soft neigh.

"Hello, boy. No, sorry, I can't ride you today. Soon, we'll go for a ride soon," Diego said, patting the horse's wide, muscular neck. "How are your friends?" He walked to the adjacent stalls, where Apollo and Zeus were looking at him with interest too. "I wish I could have been there to see your great escape from that bunch of… of…"

He couldn't decide on the word. He had been mentally insulting them so much, he had run out of bad names. Hijos de puta had become old, the same as malditos cabrones and jodidos bastardos.

Apollo neighed loudly then, stumping his right hoof.

"Yes, that, whatever you called them," Diego said, laughing, also patting him.

Diego looked around the now full stable, wondering what it would have been like if the horses had not been found and returned home safely. Not a nice thought. But, of course, if that could change anything, he would give them all up, including Toronado, to undo what had happened to Victoria.

When he returned to the house, he found his father at the entrance, tending for his precious flowers.

"Ah, Diego, buenos días. You are up early today. Are you all right?"

"I couldn't sleep any longer. I think I spend too much time resting during the day now." Diego pointed at the two plant pots Don Alejandro was carrying. "Are those Mendoza's casualties?"

"Yes, they are. I think they're going to be fine these two; they're taking to the new pots quite well. Some of the others…" He didn't finish, pulling a sad face.

Mendoza had collected most of the uprooted plants after all the drama, and had clumsily placed them in some fresh soil, presenting them to Don Alejandro with lots of apologies when he returned to the hacienda. But, as Diego with the horses, the old don would have preferred to see his whole collection annihilated if that would have helped the sergeant to rescue Victoria sooner. Diego knew his father kept blaming himself for leaving the hacienda unprotected when all his men went out searching for the horses, including Pablo, who was supposed to stay on guard; a stupid mistake his father would never allow himself to forgive and forget.

"How's Victoria? I hardly see her now, and I don't want to intrude into her room. Is she happy about the wedding on Saturday, or she still needs more time?"

If it had depended only on him, Diego would have got married the next day, but she wasn't that keen, because she wanted to look a little bit less "damaged" for the ceremony. Now, a week after, her eye looked better, but maybe waiting had been a mistake, because now she was gradually getting more and more withdrawn as the days went by, rather than improving.

"She is as happy as she can be, I guess. I'll ask her now if she had got the dress and all things ready."

"Yes, do that. There is still time to get a new dress if she needs one."

"No, she has her mother's. She wants to wear than one. She got it from the tavern when she went there with Felipe the other day, and she only has to retouch it a bit. There's no need for a new wedding gown, thank you."

On the way to her room, he reflected on the main reason why he couldn't sleep anymore after he woke up in the middle of the night: his concern about Victoria. He didn't want to tell his father or Felipe, but she wasn't doing well, not at all. And he was running out of time. He had figured that, if she was pregnant already, the only way she would accept that situation, and the child, was to create a reasonable doubt about who the father was, and for that, he had to make love to her somehow, even if she wasn't ready for it. But, attempting to make love looked like an impossible task unless he forced himself on her beloved, also raping her, because now she was rejecting even the more innocent of physical contact with anybody, including him. The days of happy frolics at the cave looked truly over, and he had to wonder if sex with her would ever be the same.

He knew she had her last period ten days before she was raped, and during those ten days, they had behaved and not had sex, so he didn't have the excuse to affirm that withdrawing wasn't a fool-proof way to avoid a pregnancy, claiming the baby could be his. Now, he only had a few days left to make love to her before she was due to bleed again, verifying if she was pregnant or not. It was a huge gamble, but he thought it would be better to create a shadow of a doubt about the possible paternity, just in case. He had to get close to her and make love, this time without withdrawing. If only he could get near her... but she now looked like a crazy mare no longer in heat, kicking off the stallion from her rear end!

ZZZ

Diego knocked on the door softly, but he got no answer. He tried the handle, but the door was locked from the inside. He sighed then, sad. Victoria had become so paranoid she insisted on locking the door at night while she slept. He knocked a bit harder then, more insistently, determined to get in.

"Victoria, it's me, Diego. Are you alright? Open the door, please."

It took her a while, but she eventually opened the door wrapped in a shawl, with her head held low, and she went back to bed quickly after muttering a hazy buenos días, not looking at Diego, hiding her face with the sheets. He instantly knew she was crying again.

"Victoria, please, don't do that. There is no need to lock the door," he said, closing it behind him before he approached her, sitting on the bed by her side. "And I know it is easy for me to say this, but you shouldn't cry. We are getting married on Saturday, finally, and then we can go to Spain on our honeymoon, away from this place and the bad memories. And of course, there will be no more Zorro. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

He gently touched the bulk covered by the sheets, and that mass moved away from his hand. She was getting worse, definitely.

"Victoria, querida, por favor…"

"Go away!" the bulk said.

Instead of following her command, he lay in bed close to her, pressing his body along her back, and then he passed his arm around her waist, protectively, drawing her closer. She didn't complain this time, so he moved his hand up to uncover her face, pulling the sheets down gently. When she huffed, trying to cover her head again, he grabbed her little hands in his, as he had done many times before, lying slightly on top of her back, so she could not move away from him easily if she tried.

"What are you doing? Let me go!" she cried, panicking.

"I'm not doing anything, calm down. I only want to lie here with you, cuddling, as we love to do, and talk to you."

"Get off me then! Don't pin me down!"

"Cariño, I'm not restraining you. I only want to talk to you, please. I'm so worried about you," he said softly while she tried to get off the bed, wriggling under his weight, but he kept holding her hands firmly. As she continued to struggle, not listening, getting more and more agitated, he let go of her, and she sprang out of that bed in a second.

"Don't you ever do that again!" she cried, standing by the bed in her night gown and shawl, furious. Her puffy, reddened eyes filled afresh with new tears. Her hair was frizzy and mad, giving her a crazy appearance. Not a pretty sight.

"What are you afraid of? It's me, Diego, your husband. Unofficially, yet, but still your husband. Come on, come back here with me, don't be silly. I'm not going to hurt you. I miss you."

She looked at him then with an odd glint in her eyes, a mix of pure hatred and fear, that hurt him more than any gunshot could. During the last couple of days, she had gone through a couple of episodes when she seemed to be reliving the nightmare vividly, unaware of her real surroundings, making him extremely worried. He talked to Doctor Hernández about it, who said he had seen soldiers doing similar odd things, suddenly reliving the most gruesome, dramatic moments in battle, even years after the events took place, and he said it was all due to the stress they had suffered. He said she would get better when she accepted what had happened and moved on, but Diego thought it was more serious than that, that she was losing her mind.

"Don't touch me, you son of a bitch!" she cried then, stepping back, cornering herself at the end of the room, with her back to the wall.

"No, Victoria, por favor, don't do that, mi amor," he said, getting off the bed as well. "Don't you recognize me? It's me, Diego. Calm down, please."

The glaze over her eyes told him she didn't recognize him at all. He came closer to her, but she dived for the drawer at the bedside table, producing a gun.

Shit. Where did she get that from? Diego's guts wrenched in a panic at the sight of yet another gun aimed at him at point blank. It was like an endless, bad joke. He stopped, frozen on the spot, unsure what to do. She looked so out of her mind she could pull the trigger for real. And he had been lucky too many times already.

"Please, don't shoot," he said, lifting his hands up. "Por favor, mi amor, no dispares. It's me, Diego. I love you. I don't want to hurt you."

"¡Cállate, cabrón!"

"Te quiero más que a mi vida, but please, don't shoot."

With his heart racing, he got on his knees slowly, trying to get down to the floor without startling her, shaking with the worry and the fear. She wasn't even looking at him anymore, lost in her own fake reality, because she kept aiming the gun high, a bit over his head, but if she aimed down and killed him now, she would probably kill herself later on when she realized what she had done. And, as she wasn't listening, he didn't know how to prevent that tragedy.

"Don't come any closer or I'll shoot!"

Oh, Lord, why is this happening now? What do you want from me?

He carried on lowering his body in slow motion until he lay flat in front of her, resting his head on the floor by her feet, spent, giving up. He mentally cursed, closing his eyes, and lay totally still, hoping she didn't see him anymore. Then, she fired the gun to the ghost in front of her.

The loud blast got her out of her trance, snapping back into reality. Realizing what she had done, shooting Diego down, her trembling hand dropped the gun and she sank on her knees, shaking his shoulders, frantic.

"Diego! Diego, are you hurt?"

"For goodness sake, Victoria, you nearly killed me!" he said, sitting up, too upset and frightened to be calmed. She covered her face with both hands then, sobbing, shaking her head.

"I didn't mean to! Oh, God, I didn't mean to!"

Don Alejandro and Felipe stormed into the room then.

"Diego, what happened? Are you two all right?"

"Yes, don't worry, Father, we are fine. That gun went off by accident, sorry. We didn't mean to alarm you."

They didn't buy it, suspiciously looking at the pair that sat on the floor so awkwardly, with Victoria crying her heart out, still shaking her head, mumbling something incoherently.

"You can go now. I'll deal with this," Diego said, standing up to show them the door.

"Diego, are you sure? What's going on?" Don Alejandro whispered, looking back at Victoria. "Is she all right?"

"Nothing. Nothing is going on. Just leave, please."

He physically pushed them out of the room and locked the door behind them, coming back to Victoria then. He was thoroughly shaken by that gun blast after facing death once again, freaked out by the surreal situation that could so easily have ended up in disaster. However, with his hands all jittery, he had to be strong, for her, and act normal, as if nothing had happened. Or at least try to do so.

"Vamos, preciosa, get up," he said casually. He helped her up and made her sit at the edge of the bed, and then he sat by her side. She threw herself into his arms then, desperate, and hugged him tightly, clinging onto him, hanging from his neck.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Well, at least that's better, he thought, letting out a long sigh, embracing her, trying to calm her down. He caressed her back gently while whispering soothing words, glad she allowed him to touch her now. Shitting myself in fear could after all be worth it... Who would have thought?

ZZZZZ