23
Penelope
"Axel!"I scream one more time, but it's too late. The heavy metal door clangs shut, and I sob.
Don't forget your promise to me.
Please.
I didn't know why I felt Axel would have to choose between Millie and me. It was a feeling that consumed every cell in my body when we were in Nicaragua.
Now I know why.
A spy.
Treason.
Will they kill me or let me rot in a cell no one is aware of?
I'm fully aware of what the prime minister does with spies. A significant arrest for treason took place a few months before Santiago kidnapped me. The British government arrested several men and one woman, and it was the discussion at dinner.
The prime minister gloated about the torture tactics his men applied to these spies. I wasn't sure if they were spies or not. My gut said they probably weren't.
As the evening progressed, my nausea grew. Two of the men had died already. The others were thrown into the equivalent of a dungeon and left to rot.
No one even knew about their detainment.
By the time the immigration officer drags me down a long hall and gets to another door, I can't stop my tears and try to breathe.
Axel needs to save Millie. She can't stay a captive with whoever has her for the rest of her life.
My only glimmer of hope is that my dream with Julieta and Zoe means Axel finds her, and they take care of her, since I won't be able to.
The thought is a potent mix of comfort and sorrow. It only brings more excruciating pain to my heart.
The officer pushes me into a small room. There's only enough room for a six-person table. Bright-white walls are empty, except for a window-sized mirror and a clock that ticks loudly.
Who is on the other side watching me?
Are they happy over my distress?
Stop being emotional. I need to get my head on straight.
The immigration officer pulls the chair out. The metal scrapes against the floor, screeching in my ears.
I shudder.
"Sit," he commands.
I obey.
He leaves the room. I avoid the mirror and stare at the scratches on the tabletop. The cuffs around my wrists are heavy and thick. I set them on the table and realize the marks in the wood are probably from other detainee's cuffs.
Please, Axel. Don't go back on your promise to me.
What are they going to do to me?
How did they know I was here?