Page 43 of Burdens
If you didn’t complete the task,youwere terminated.
What I hadn’t known at the time—hadn’t known until I joined the Bureau—was that the target for each initiation was to kill the current drug lord so you’d take over. The cartel wanted to see if you’d be willing to go to extreme lengths for the role and to prove that there was no one you couldn’t kill.
Talk about a twisted fucking way to prove it.
But uncovering that information made me realize three things. My father had killed his to be in power, I’d been set up todo the same to mine, and the fact that I had to kill my father was most likely the reason why he’d wanted me dead.
Not that he’d lacked reasons to. I was sure he had a long list of them.
I’d always been relieved that I’d never had to go through the initiation because, although I wanted my father gone, I’d never wished to be part of his world. It was something I’d been forced into from the moment I’d taken my first breath.
If by some omniscient force I’d known about the life I’d be born into, I probably would have prayed to never take it because I could have avoided a lifetime of carrying a pain that never seemed to go away.
I was forty-three years old now and the weight of my name and its legacy had never lifted.
It had gotten better, with therapy, my medication, and a lot of hitting inanimate things, but there was a lingering feeling in the back of my mind that was always there, threatening to take over and drown me.
And sometimes when that happened, I just wanted to let it.
Because wouldn’t that alternative be infinitely more peaceful?
My exhaustion was now at a threatening distance, and I closed my eyes, hoping to give myself an ephemeral moment of peace, but not long enough to let it drift me away.
I woke up hours later, realizing that despite me fighting it, the exhaustion had taken over. I didn’t know for how long I’d been sleeping since there was nothing here to tell the time of day, but it couldn’t have been for more than a few hours.
My eyes flitted open, and a shiver ran down my spine. At first, I thought I’d no longer been immune to the chill of the cement floor. But when I moved, I realized that the water leaking had somehow made its way to where I’d lain.
“Tfou?1,” I cursed under my breath.
The whole back of my shirt was now soaking wet. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t woken up when it reached me. Before it made its way to the bottom half of my body, I got up and removed my shirt. I squeezed the excess water out as I walked to the iron door to hang it between the bars, letting it somewhat dry up before I put it back on.
I’m so over this captive shit.
I walked to the back of the cell and plopped down against the wall, the bitter cement digging right into my spine. “I need to get out of here,” I murmured, the echoes of my plea bouncing back to my ears.
I closed my eyes when a voice said, “You and me both.”
I jerked back, moving my head to look around but not finding anyone there. “Great, now I’m hearing things,” I whispered to myself.
I hadn’t eaten or drunk much water since being here, but I hadn’t been here long enough to be hallucinating already. That usually came around week three or four, and at the time I was six years old, so surely I should be able to sustain for longer now.
I rubbed my eyes and shook my head from side to side. Then I dropped my head back, branding what I’d just heard as a figment of my apparently creative imagination.
“Matat7lemch a khoya?2, I’d actually much rather be in whatever was happening in your brain than here,” the muffled voice said again.
My eyes flew open and I shot to my feet. I definitelydidhear that.
“Who are you?” I asked, standing in the middle of the room, waiting to hear it again.
When whoever it was didn’t speak, I began to think I really was hallucinating, but I rarely spokedarijaaside from swearing. I could understand it and get by if I needed to, but I definitely wouldn’t have talked to myself and made a full cohesive sentence.
I moved to sit, but the person—a man—spoke up again, “Gabriel.”
I sifted through my brain, wondering if I knew the name, but it didn’t ring a bell.
“That doesn’t really tell me much,” I responded, focusing on what he’d say so I could pinpoint where it came from.
I’d never had the chance to visit the outside of this cell when I’d been kept here, but whenever I’d been dragged in, I’d never noticed a cell next to mine. There was a large door on the left wall outside of my cell, but I’d always thought it was broken or contained a closet on the other side for storage. Besides, in all the times I’d slept here, I’d never seen or heard another prisoner.
