Falling With Grace

The man they’d calledXiménpicked me up by my good arm, dragging me to my feet, and steadied me, the tears streamingdown my face.

“Today might be your lucky day,puta.”He dragged me toward the entrance of the church, the dead bodies of the priest and sisters in my periphery.

His hand pressed into the deep bruise on the back of my arm, causing a tingling to zip down to my fingertips and zing up my elbow.

We blew through the doors as though on a mission, our footsteps filled with purpose.

He glanced both ways and bounced down the steps with me, his silver rings glinting in the streetlamp as he opened the back of the beat-up white four-door Kia.

Ximén tossed me inside and slid in beside me while Jesús popped in on the other side, wedging me between the two large men. The other two got into the front seats, put the car in drive, and drove away as if they didn’t just kill four people and kidnap another.

Signs directing us towards the border appeared in the headlights, and my skin broke out into a cold sweat.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I can put you in the trunk. Would you rather sit there?”

The car turned onto the road, following directions and warning signs.

“You can’t take me back there.” I turned in my seat, doing a double take of the sign. My heart leaped into my throat, my head swimming, my cracked rib screaming with each breath. “I can’t go back.” The words escaped in a breathless cry as the car came to a stop just before the border patrol.

“Keep quiet.” Jesús dragged a knife along my thigh, hips, and waist. He stopped at my ribcage and pressed the sharp end into my bone without breaking the skin. “I’d hate to make you bleed all over the car before we get there.”

I winced, my breaths shallow as each exhale pressed the knife deeper into my chest.

The car drew closer to the checkpoint I’d crossed, to the people who’d saved me.

Would they help me again?

Would I get a chance to say something before he put the knife in my chest?

“Hello,” the driver said with perfect English, his accent vanishing into thin air.

The agent bent down and looked in the windows, his gaze clashing with mine.

Help me.I mouthed.

His gaze dipped down to my moving lips, then he glanced back at the driver and tapped on the door. “Safe travels.”

My chin trembled as the car moved beyond the safety of the United States and back into Mexico.

Air seized in my lungs, my heart thumping against my breastbone. “No, No. I can’t go back there.” I screamed and lunged forward, a sharp nick ripping across my side.

I grabbed the driver’s shoulders, and Ximén yanked me back into my seat. His elbow slammed into my cheek.

9

Grace

Muffled murmurs tugged at the edges of my consciousness, pulling me back from the abyss of darkness.

A searing explosion of pain ignited across my face, a symphony of agony that reverberated throughout my senses. Blood, sticky and warm, coated my upper lip in twin rivers. My eyes welled up, blurring the world around me with a veil of tears.

Rapid Spanish danced around me as they ushered me through a wooden door that soared beyond the reach of even the tallest person alive. Their hands fell away, and I dropped at the tips of someone’s tennis shoes—my rib biting under my weight.

No silver. That’s promising.

“What’s this?”