Page 62 of Mouse Trapped

The man has my arm held in a death grip. He must be near six feet tall, heavily built at that. There’s no way I can shake him loose. As soon as he mentioned my father, I tried to run, but he moved too fast. Now, as I’m being forcibly marched through the tiny airport and out into the heavy rain, I consider my options.

I’ve papers, but no money. No place to go. My brain’s numb as I try to process how quickly I’ve been removed from everything I’ve ever known. Even if I got away from him, what would I do? He works for my father. I’m not stupid, he clearly had a hand in bringing me here.

I’m exhausted, tired of fighting enemies too strong for me. It’s easier just to give in and go where this man wants me to go.

I can’t remember my father other than that he was a man who shouted a lot. A man who hit my mother.Hit me.Could he have changed in the intervening years? Could he really want to nurture a meaningful relationship with me? Somehow I doubt it.

As I get into the car, I automatically fasten the seatbelt, and let fate do with me what it wants. I’m glad I never allowed myself to believe a future with Tse was realistic, he’s lost to me now. I’ll never see him nor my brother again. But at least I met Tse, know enough that he’s a good man, and he’ll do the best he can to look after Drew. I have to believe that, can’t allow myself to think he’d do my brother wrong.

How will Drew take it when he hears I’ve been deported? A tear runs down my cheek as I realise I won’t ever see my brother again.Ma,he used to call me, joked that he looked on me as his mom. Well, I certainly looked out for him like any mother would have done.He’s got no one now. No one other than Tse.

I’m grateful now that Tse bought him that car, if Drew hadn’t had to have a guardian’s approval, I would never have signed that form, and Drew would have no one. Yes, Tse must honour his commitment to him, to me.He will, won’t he?I regret my words the last time I saw him. I told him I hated him. I lied.

My concern about my brother overrides any apprehension I have about my own fate. As we drive through unfamiliar scenery, the wipers constantly sweeping large drops of rain off the windshield, I look out with no interest on the country I’ve been shunted off to. The man beside me is silent, I’m glad, I don’t want to engage in conversation.

All my hopes and dreams for my future are gone. What could Colombia offer me? A home with a man who killed my mother?What does he want with me?That’s the conundrum. Why would he want his daughter when he had no feelings at all for his wife?

At last the rain begins to ease, and the sun bravely tries to shine weak rays, but hardly seems to brighten anything up. The ground has become hilly, and now we start to climb. There are mountains around us, trees and lush greenery unlike the dry desert surrounding Tucson. The very difference makes me homesick all over again.This isn’t my home. It’s not where I’m meant to be.

I should be thinking positively, not drowning in despair. But I’m so scared, I feel like I’ve been beaten into the ground. A fish out of water, unable to breathe air. Since the moment the police arrested me I’ve had no say or control in my fate.

We’re coming up to a fortress, or that’s how it appears. High walls, a barred gate, a castle-like building inside. There’s a man on the walls, he’s got a rifle slung over his shoulder.Who is my father? Does he work here?

The gates are opened. The car pulls in and parks. The driver gets out, comes around and opens my door. I’m not waiting for him to be polite, just terrified of stepping out.

“Come.”

Another few seconds, then I take a deep breath. My legs are shaking when I put my weight on them. I wrap my arms around my waist as I look at the oppressive building in front of me.It looks like a prison.One from which there’s no hope of escape.

Inside, I soon find, it’s lavishly furnished, as though someone very rich lives here.

My escort nods to a heavily armed man in jeans and tee who’s appeared. I rack my brains as I look at him, comparing him with the vision of my father I try to conjure up. But his features have been lost in the depths of time. Rationally I realise sixteen years have passed, and this man’s too young to be my parent.

He takes up a position next to an enormous fireplace as the man who brought me here leaves.

The door opens again, causing my eyes to look across expectantly. A woman comes in carrying a tray, and places it in front of me. There’s coffee and cakes on it. Automatically I thank her, but have no desire to eat or drink.

An ornate clock with a swinging pendulum loudly ticks off the minutes. I watch as though hypnotised as the weight veers back and forth. It’s half an hour later, the untouched coffee now cold, that I hear loud, uneven footsteps from the hallway.

The guard, who’s obviously been assigned to watch over me, stands straighter. I hold my breath. A man enters. He looks to be in his forties which makes him the right age, he’s got a scar onhis face, and walks with a heavy limp. His eyes are hooded, his lips thin, his features sharp. He’s not handsome, but there’s something there that reminds me of Drew. I think this could be my father.

The man whose hands are red with the blood of my mother. I shudder. Something breaks inside me, and my strength returns.I refuse to be cowed.

“Déjanos!” he snaps.

The guard almost salutes, and replies, “Sí, General.”

When we’re alone, the newcomer approaches. “Mariana, mi hija. Bienvenido.”

I stay seated. I get his gist, but respond to make it clear, “I don’t speak Spanish.”

His eyes rise, and he spits out, “A la mierda tu madre! Your mother never taught you?”

I shrug. “She wanted me to fit in in America.” I notice him looking me over, I do the same to him. “You are my father, I presume.”

He startles, as if it hadn’t occurred to him I wouldn’t know him. “I am.” He limps over and sits down on the couch opposite, the low coffee table in between us. Still his eyes are taking me in. “You need feeding up.”

“I’ve been in a detention centre for a few months. I wouldn’t look my best,” I snap at him.

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