Marcos' Road Back From Hell

By Di

The policia rushed the small farmhouse in their attempt to bring an end to the hostage situation and what they felt was a "reign of terror" being perpetrated by the woman inside. Just as they reached the front steps, a lone figure appeared in the doorway and began his solitary walk back to where the onlookers had gathered. Even to the casual observer, it was evident from the stoop of his shoulders and his unsteady gait that something tragic had happened inside. Since the other hostages had been released earlier, it could only mean that the hostage-taker herself was now dead. It was also apparent that she was someone who meant a great deal to this distraught young man.

An older man broke from the crowd, took his arm and slowly helped him into one of the cars parked along the road. Watching them drive away, I turned to my friend to ask if he knew who the young man was. Juan was a free-lance photographer and worked with several of the local newspapers and magazines. He had graciously offered me a place to stay during my vacation in Spain and had spent several days showing me the sights. We were in the middle of visiting an old cathedral when he had received the call regarding the hostage situation and had allowed me to ride along.

"Si, his name is Marcos Vallez. He is a reporter for one of the daily newspapers in town and the older man is his editor. Mostly Marcos covers the "human interest" stories but I have always felt that his talents far exceeded those types of stories. I heard he recently finished a story for the Sunday supplement about the circus which is in town. The friend who called me earlier told me that this woman, Anna, was a sharpshooter in that circus which must have been how he met her."

Watching them drive away, I knew that I would never forget the pain I saw in Marcos' face. It was as if he had just seen his whole world come to an end and that his future was now lost to him.

The television reports and newspaper articles which appeared over the next few days all portrayed Anna as a deranged, volatile killer. The newspaper Marcos worked for only ran a small article which neither condemned nor excused Anna for her actions. I knew after having seen Marcos for only a few minutes, that there was more to the story than was being told and that he very possibly held the key to the events of that evening. No article ever appeared to explain Anna's side of the tragic events. No articles carrying Marcos' by-line ever appeared during the remainder of my stay in Spain, including the story he had written about the circus.

Two weeks after the incident, Juan and I were driving to the airport for my return trip to the States. The events of my trip were running through my head and kept returning to that one tragic night and Marcos.

"Promise me you'll let me know as soon as you hear anything about Marcos Vallez, OK? As soon as he starts writing again, could you send me copies of the articles? Even though I don't know him, somehow it's important to me to know that he has come through this."

"As soon as I see or hear anything, I'll let you know. I'm surprised that you would take such an interest in this reporter."

Reflecting on the emotions I felt when I thought of Marcos, I said, "It's strange but something about him touched my heart that night. He was so vulnerable and so hurt. I just want to know that he has been able to go on with his life and that he's all right."

Several months had passed since I arrived home and Juan and I kept in touch regularly by e-mail. He always ended his messages with the same information. Apparently Marcos had not returned to the newspaper and, if anyone knew where he was, they were not disclosing that information. It was as if he had disappeared completely but Juan promised to keep trying to track him down and let me know what he found out.

Barely a day went by that Marcos didn't cross my mind and, each time that he did, I would feel a strange pull at my heart. How in the world could such a chance encounter so affect my life? It wasn't that I didn't have many other things that kept my life busy and exciting. But there was always that fleeting thought or the memory of his face that never quite let me put Marcos out of my mind completely.

Returning home from a short business trip, I finally found a few minutes to sit down at my computer and catch up on the e-mails which had accumulated in my absence. Starting at the beginning, I read each of them one by one and finally brought up the latest message from Juan. I almost accidentally deleted the message when I read that he had some new information about Marcos! Apparently Juan had been able to use some of his news sources and searched the records for passports which had been issued since the night at the farmhouse. Exactly one month after that night, a passport had been issued to Marcos Vallez. Accessing other sources which Juan did not want to reveal over the Internet, he was able to track Marcos further and found that he had entered the United States a week later and had obtained a temporary work visa which was still in effect. After that, however, he said the trail had gone cold and that since he didn't have these types of sources in the States, he feared he would be unable to help me any further. I immediately sent back a note thanking him for all he had done and telling him I wasn't ready to let this go quite yet and would start searching on my own.

I made some unsuccessful attempts at researching databases through the Internet and casually mentioned my frustration in a phone conversation with my brother who lives in another state. Mike has worked in the newspaper business for over 20 years and, for some reason, it never entered my mind that he could probably use some of his connections to help me, especially if Marcos was still working in that field. Without going into too much detail, I filled him in on some of the background and he agreed to send out a few "feelers" to see if anyone had any information that would help.

After a couple of false leads, I got the call from Mike that started me in the right direction.

"Check your e-mail, Sis. An article came across the Associated Press wire this morning and I think it's the guy you're looking for."

Pulling up my e-mail, I quickly downloaded the text file Mike had attached and read the headline, "International Foreign Press Honors Three Reporters". Scanning through the article, I read the names of the three reporters receiving the awards: Mohammed Azinifar of the New York Times for his reporting of trade relations within the United Nations, Lee Chang of the San Francisco Chronicle for his articles on Asian immigrants relocating in the United States and Marcos Vallez of the Chicago Sun-Times for his ongoing investigative reports on victims and survivors of violent crime.

Immediately I went to the Chicago Sun-Times website, pulled up all of the articles with a Marcos Vallez by-line from the archives and started printing. These were more than human interest stories. It was immediately apparent from the way the reporter spoke of the victims and survivors and the way that he handled the details of the tragedies that he had suffered the same type of personal loss himself. Upon finishing the articles, I knew I had located the man I was searching for, the same distraught young man I watched walk away from a small farmhouse in Spain almost a year ago.

Making a snap decision, I let everyone know I was taking a few days off, threw some clothes in a suitcase and started the eight hour drive to Chicago. Those eight hours were filled with trying to decide how to approach Marcos, what I would say if and when I found him and trying to determine exactly what I wanted to come out of this meeting. Sadly, I arrived in Chicago with no better plans than when I had left home. After checking into a hotel close to the Sun-Times, I realized just how tired I was and immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning I decided the only way to do this was the direct approach and made the short walk to the building which housed the Chicago-Sun Times. Looking up at the front door, I gathered my courage to climb the steps, enter the building and ask to see Marcos Vallez. Just as I started up the steps, I saw a man come out of the front door. The way he moved, his build, the dark curly hair all triggered the memory of that night in Spain as I watched Marcos start down the steps in my direction.

When he was only a few steps above where I stood, I was finally able to stammer, "Mr. Vallez? Could I speak to you for a moment?"

Even the glasses he wore couldn't disguise his handsome features as his eyes met mine. "Do I know you?", he asked.

"Um, no, you don't. But I know you. Is there someplace where we could sit and talk for a few minutes?"

I could see the curiosity in his eyes as he nodded and gallantly took my arm to lead me down the steps. Reaching the corner, I could see a small diner across the street which was not unlike Mickey's Diner in St. Paul. An old streetcar which had been converted into a streetside diner, it boasted a seating capacity of no more than thirty-five people. As we entered, we could see that other than one waitress and the short-order cook, the only customers at this hour were two elderly gentlemen seated on stools at the counter.

The waitress greeted Marcos by name as we made our way back to one of the empty booths and he smiled at her as she filled the two coffee cups she had placed in front of us. Returning the smile, she walked back to the two elderly gentlemen and rejoined their conversation.

Looking across his coffee cup, I saw a wariness enter Marcos' eyes as he said, "You say you know me? How can this be? I haven't been in this country that long and I think I would have remembered if we had met."

Clearing my throat, I tried to choose my words carefully. "We didn't actually meet. And it wasn't in this country. You see, I was visiting in Spain about a year ago and, well, I was there that night. I saw you leave the farmhouse after Anna died."

Instantly, all warmth left his eyes and was replaced by the flash of anger. "So! You are a reporter or what? Why do you talk about this now? What do you want from me?". He was practically shouting as he gathered his coat, threw a few dollars on the table and rose to leave.

The smallness of the diner worked to my advantage as I flew out of the booth and blocked the small aisle to prevent him from walking out. From the look on his face, I almost expected him to physically shove me out of his way and decided I had better talk fast if I didn't want him to do just that.

"Please, sit down with me. I promise you that what we discuss will remain between you and me. I am not a reporter and I have no interest in seeing you or Anna exploited and your story made public." I spoke as calmly as I could and was relieved to see some of the anger leave Marcos' eyes. The wariness, however, remained. "Please, just sit down and let me explain."

With a barely discernible nod, he tossed his coat back into the corner and slowly slid back into the booth. Confident that he was at least going to hear me out, I moved out of the aisle and took my seat across from him. Marcos turned to look out the window as I explained how I came to be at the farmhouse that night, the feeling that there was more to Anna's story and my unsuccessful attempts to locate him in the months that followed. Marcos listened in silence until I finished, never once breaking his gaze out the window to look at me.

I finished my explanation and the silence hung as an almost tangible shroud between us. Seconds turned into minutes as I stared uncomfortably into my coffee cup which had gone untouched. "Great," I thought to myself, "Now he thinks I'm some kind of deranged stalker."

After several minutes, I picked up my purse and started to slide out of the booth. "Well, that's all I wanted to say. I just wanted to make sure for myself that you were all right. I didn't mean to pry. If you feel that I did, I'm sorry."

Just as I started to rise, Marcos' hand shot out to grab my wrist, stopping me. I looked from his hand to his and saw no trace of the anger I had seen there earlier.

His voice almost a whisper, Marcos said, "You are right. There is much to the story that was not told. Don't leave yet, please. I haven't told anyone the whole story as it was much too painful. I would like to tell you."

Our eyes remained locked as I nodded and slowly slid back into the booth. Sensing a break in the conversation, the waitress silently appeared with two fresh cups of coffee and left before either of us spoke.

"She was not like they said, you know. What happened in that trailer made something inside of her snap," he started. Marcos went on to describe how they had met, the few days they had together before he had to leave for Barcelona and what he had found when he returned. From the condition of the trailer and the blood he found there, it was obvious something terrible had happened. He told me of his frantic search to find Anna and of the things she had kept in her diary. Overwhelming pain came back into his eyes as he described what he had found and what had transpired in that small farmhouse once he had convinced Anna to let the mother and children leave.

As he finished speaking, I took his hand in mine and looked into his eyes. "Why haven't you told Anna's story before?"

Grasping my hand tighter, he lowered his eyes before speaking. "They judged her to be this monster who had no remorse about what she had done. No one wanted to hear about the rape or that she was also a victim in all of this. Only I knew the truth. I couldn't tell Anna's story or use the things I had found in the diary. It was too personal. But I decided that night that I would do whatever I could to help other victims and survivors so that they are not "judged" in the same way. That is why I write the stories I do - to help the victims and, in a small way, honor Anna's memory at the same time."

Realizing that the noon rush had come and gone while we sat talking, he left the waitress a large tip as we rose to leave. She had floated back and forth with fresh coffee several times but never pressured us to relinquish the booth.

As we reached the sidewalk outside the diner, Marcos looked at me and asked, "Surely you are not driving home tonight?"

I shook my head and answered, "No, I'm staying tonight and heading home early tomorrow morning. It's a full day's drive and I'm not too wild about being on the road by myself after dark."

"No other plans? Good. Come with me, then," he said as he raised his hand to hail a passing cab which took us to a small park bordering Lake Michigan.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Marcos turned to me and asked, "Walk with me?"

I smiled in response and we started down the long walkway which paralleled the lake's shoreline. As we walked we discussed several topics including how he planned to use his articles to raise awareness here in the States and how, eventually, he would like to return to Spain to do the same. I told him about my relatively quiet life and told him how much I would like to help him start a victim support group in my area that could combine efforts with the group he was starting in Chicago.

We had walked quite a distance when I suddenly realized that at some point Marcos had taken my hand. I couldn't believe I hadn't even noticed but then I realized it was because it just felt so right, so comfortable. Eventually we reached a small bench next to the sidewalk and sat in silence to watch the waves.

Removing his glasses, Marcos turned to me and smiled. "This is the first time I have let myself relax in over a year. Telling you about Anna helped release some of horrors of that night. I don't know why you looked for me but I'm glad you did. And thank you for making me talk to you."

"I'm glad I did too. Seeing you like this, I can go home knowing that you will be OK and that you have positive plans for your future. I'm also glad that you are going to let me help you with some of those plans!"

Taking my hand once more, we rose from the bench and hailed a cab.

Arriving at my hotel, Marcos insisted on walking me to the elevator. As we waited for it to descend from the thirtieth floor, Marcos slowly took me into his arms and kissed my forehead. Tilting his head back, he looked into my eyes and said, "I cannot thank you enough. Maybe some day I can tell Anna's story to the world. For now, it is enough to know I told you. I will be forever grateful that you cared about her and about me." With that, he lowered his lips to mine and increased the pressure of his arms.

With an annoying "ding", the elevator doors slid open behind me and Marcos slowly backed away.

Never breaking our gaze, I backed into the elevator as Marcos backed down the hallway toward the front entrance.

"Soon, mi amiga. Soon!" I heard him call as the elevator doors slid silently closed. Smiling to myself, I knew that this was only the beginning of a wonderful friendship. Remembering the flutter I felt as he kissed me made my mind wander to places far beyond friendship.

"Si, Marcos, soon," I whispered to myself as I thought of what might be and felt myself begin to smile as I practically danced down the hallway to my room.