by Steph

Part One

José leaned both elbows on the balcony railing. A soft breeze lifted the dark curls on the top of his head. The sea cooled the air here, unlike in Sevilla where even in early summer the heat could be oppressive. His deep amber eyes watched two boys kick a soccer ball down the narrow street below and his full lips parted in a smile with childhood memories. He pulled a card out of his shirt pocket and looked at it. The envelope was addressed to José Miguel Cepeda. Enrique Alvarez, his best friend from University, was engaged and José had been invited to celebrate the occasion at a party in Madrid. For once, José didn’t try to think of some trick to play on his friend. He and Alvarez were always trying to outdo each other with practical jokes. Enrique hadn’t bested José yet, and he never would. When it came to surprises, José was the best. Matter-of-fact, José liked to think of himself as the best at just about anything he wanted to excel in.

He smiled and slid the card back into his shirt pocket then pushed himself off the railing with a shove of the hip and entered the living room through double glass doors. His mother, Maria, had just come out of the kitchen with a tray of snacks for her son and husband. He kissed her forehead as he took a seat next to his father to watch the soccer game. Sevilla was winning.

“Who was the letter from, José?” his mother asked.

“A classmate from University, Mama,” he said. “I’m going to Madrid for the weekend.” He and his father moaned as Sevilla missed a goal.

“Did you hear about José down the street?” asked his mother, conspiratorially, as she sat next to her son.

“Mama, don’t spread rumors,” said his father.

“What about him?” said José.

“He is a homosexual,” whispered Maria.

José tossed his head back and laughed, a deep hearty laugh that always made his mother smile. “He calls himself Antonio now, Mama, and he is not gay. He is an actor and he just played the role of a gay man.

“Are you sure, because his mother is devastated.”

José shook his head. “Well tell her that I saw him when I was in Madrid last month, and he has lots of girlfriends. He is not gay.” He and his neighbor, Antonio, had been good friends as children, but went their own ways later, Antonio to Madrid to seek fame and José to the University of Sevilla. In two months he would travel to the United States, a Yale man. He paid little attention to Antonio’s career, but happened to catch the film, Labyrinth of Passion, when he was last in Madrid, so looked up his friend, who showed him a side of that city that José would not have sought on his own. Antonio certainly knew how to have fun.

*

The party was a formal affair. Enrique’s parents had invited every acquaintance to celebrate the occasion of Enrique’s engagement to the beautiful Anita Martinez, a young woman they both knew from University. As soon as José entered the marble columned hall, he spied Enrique and his fiancé surrounded by well-wishers.

“Ah, Cepeda!” called Enrique, when he saw José. “You, my friend, are going to be my best man.”

José hugged his friend and kissed Anita, who wore a full-length mint green satin gown. “Who else? When is the wedding?”

“Before you leave, of course. I can’t believe it. You are already a snob, and now Yale! Por Dios, you will become impossible.”

“Profesor Cepeda,” said Anita. “It sounds very nice.”

José laughed with his friends. “I’ve a long way to go before you can call me profesor.”

Anita grasped José’s right arm and Enrique took the left, then they led him across the ballroom towards the dance floor.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” Anita said, as they approached a young woman in a pale yellow strapless gown that revealed a slender body with ample breasts. Young men, most of whom José recognized, surrounded the beauty. But the girl, he had never seen her before.

Her chestnut hair hung in long waves to the small of her back. Her ears sparkled with emeralds and her deep brown eyes flashed in surprise at something one of the young men said. José noticed the perfection of her silken skin, the way her breasts swelled just before she laughed. Her laugh sent a wave of desire through him.

“José Miguel Cepeda,” said Anita, “this is my good friend, “Elenora Anna Martín de Fernandez.”

“Encantada, Señorita,” said José. He kissed her offered hand instead of shaking it.

“Es mi placer, Señor,” she said. She gave him a smile that showed her innocence, revealing straight white teeth and José thought his heart skipped a beat. His knees felt weak and his hand hesitated before releasing hers.

Anita and Enrique gave each other a victorious look, then joined others on the dance floor.

José and Elenora stared at each other, ignoring the young men who still vied for her attention.

“Would you like to dance, Señorita?” José finally said.

She said yes with a blush that took his breath away.

They danced to the music of a live orchestra, José unwilling to yield to the interruptions of the other eager young men. Acutely aware of her scent mixed with lavender, the rose blush of her cheeks, the soft flesh that beckoned his touch, he could hardly think of a thing to say.

“Anita told me you are going to the United States to complete your education,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he said, though right now he did not want to think of leaving her.

“I have an uncle in Boston. He is a contractor, or something like that.”

“Maybe you can visit me,” he said, stumbling over his words. He had never felt this way before, so weak, so lost in her eyes.

“I think I would like that,” she said, and blushed again.

“Do you live in Madrid?”

“Yes,” she said, breathless as he led her across the dance floor. The couple seemed to glide; unaware of the others around them, the music controlling their feet, each pair of eyes seeking the depths of the other’s.

“I’ll be staying in Madrid for awhile,” he said. He had planned to return to Málaga after the party, but now he decided he would stay in Madrid as long as possible.

“I’m glad,” she said.

How he longed to kiss her but, for the first time in his life, he felt shy. When the night ended, he kissed the hand that offered him her card, then watched her leave in a black, chauffeur driven Mercedes Benz.

Enrique placed his arm over José’s shoulder. “Well, you two seemed to hit it off. I’ve never seen you so calm, my friend. I guess she is what you’ve been needing all along.”

Calm? José felt anything but calm.

“I’m going to marry her,” José said. It was a decision he made as he said it.

The next few weeks seemed like a dream to José, one that, at times, had touches of nightmare to it. He and Elenora spent every available moment together, at least every moment that her papa would allow. He was strict and very old fashioned, an international businessman who was involved in banking, construction and some other things that were never made very clear to José. Sr. Fernandez did make clear that if José wanted to marry his daughter, he expected the young man to learn the business. He didn’t believe his daughter should have to live on an academic’s salary. He called José, Profesor, with a tone that showed his distaste for his daughter’s choice in a husband. When José agreed to learn the business once he completed his studies at Yale, Sr. Fernandez allowed the wedding date to be set.

“Your father is impossible,” José told his fiancé at an outdoor café near the Prado. “Now he wants me to change my course of study.” He looked at the black car that parked about a hundred yards away. “And when is he going to stop having his goons follow us? If I can’t be alone with you soon, I’m going to go crazy.” He stood up, paced towards the walk, then returned and sat down. “They even follow me when I’m not with you, like he’s trying to catch me at something so he can turn you against me.”

“Relax, José,” said Elenora. “He’s trying to intimidate you. Don’t let him.” She pressed her lips together in worry as José stood again, peered at the car, and then sat.

Her father’s tactics were having a strange affect on José. Every time he looked around, he saw one of the Fernandez men. His confidence eroded and he became jumpy, nervous. He began to wonder what he was getting himself into. What exactly were the “other” businesses?

One weekend, José joined Enrique for a hunting trip in the north. They had spent many weekends hunting when they attended the University of Sevilla, and José was a crack shot. As they entered the hunting grounds north of Zaragoza, Enrique stopped and turned.

“Who are those guys following us?”

“Carlos and Santiago. They are my shadows,” snarled José. “Elenora’s father has them follow me everywhere.” He cocked his rifle, turned and aimed in the direction of the two men. Both reached inside their jackets as they jumped behind trees. José laughed, a high pitched sound that Enrique had never heard before. “Mother fuckers,” he said, then turned and continued walking, leaving Enrique to stare, wide-eyed, after him.

“Well,” Enrique said, “at least you’ll be leaving for the United States soon.” He looked back and saw the two still following.

“You think so?” José said, his tone angry. “Elenora’s uncle lives in Boston and conducts the U.S. side of the “business”.” He stopped and hung his head. “What am I going to do, Ricky? He wants me in the business but I don’t want any part of it. I agreed because he wouldn’t let me marry Elenora if I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, my friend. I should never have introduced you two.”

They continued walking. “Don’t say that. I love Elenora more than my own life. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to be with her.”

Enrique’s dog pointed, then, with a sign from his master, rushed forward to flush out the quail. Without thinking, José raised his rifle at the sight of the first bird and brought it down. He cocked the rifle and hit a second, then a third. He turned and looked at the men behind him. They were impressed and José wondered what kind of report they would make to their boss.

“If I thought Elenora would forgive me, I’d kill the bastard.”

Enrique once more stared, shocked at the change in his friend.

Part Two

The wedding was a grand affair, attended by wealthy businessman and dignitaries from several middle-eastern countries. José allowed himself to be led along, his mind only on finally being alone with his Elenora. He had not had sex with a woman for two months, afraid that any simple liaison would get back to Elenora because of her father’s efforts. Now, he would have to control himself with this sweet woman who would soon be his wife.

Sr. Fernandez had planned their honeymoon, two weeks in Italy, and then they would fly to Boston where Elenora’s uncle prepared a house for them. After the first night in the Fernandez home, they would be escorted to the airport, and it was clear that they would be escorted for the full length of their trip. As a favor, Enrique made different plans for the newlyweds, according to José’s wishes. They calculated that it would take at least a few days for Fernandez to catch up to the couple, who would be flying to Rio de Janeiro.

All I want is a few days alone with her, José told himself, and tried not to wonder if he could be satisfied with only a few days.

When finally it was possible to leave the throng downstairs in the Fernandez ballroom, José kissed his mother and father then led Elenora upstairs to the room prepared for them.

He allowed Elenora to pass into the room, then shut the door behind him. She turned and threw herself into his waiting arms. Their mouths met, their tongues entwining in an abandon they had not dared to allow in front of witnesses. His hands reached behind her to unzip her dress, hers tugged at his shirt to free it and soon he felt her touch on his skin. Finally, they had to part in order to remove their cumbersome clothing, neither worried about grace in their rush to return to each other’s arms.

When José turned to see his bride, he gasped at the beauty of her slender curves. Her full young breasts beckoned for his touch, their nipples hard with anticipation. As she bent to remove her panties, he moved behind her to caress her taut buttocks and thighs.

“So pure,” he whispered, “so soft.”

She stopped and straightened when he touched her, then leaned back, nervous but desirous. One hand moved to stroke her flat belly, the other cupped a waiting breast. He moaned as she pressed against him, his hard member between them.

“Te quiero, Elenora, tu eres mi vida.” His hand played with the dark curls of her mound, then reached for the moistness below. He found her nub and she mewed her pleasure. Her head fell back against his shoulder, arching her back and offering herself fully to him. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, then laid her gently on satin sheets. On his knees he leaned over her, every muscle in his taut body trembling with anticipation. He bent and kissed her gently on the lips.

“Te quiero, José Miguel, soy tuya.”

He nibbled her lips, sucking each into his mouth, tasting her breath with his own. Then he found her neck, his fingers playing over her breast and inner thigh. Her silken skin seemed to tremble at his touch. His tongue reached, slowly finding its way from neck to breast. Again, she arched her back, encouraging him. She entwined his dark curls in her fingers as his tongue followed the line between her ribs. He kissed her mound, then spread her legs and reached with his tongue to taste her sweetness.

His member throbbed with need as she moaned with pleasure but he could not taste enough of her. She bucked and cried out.

José lifted himself over her; his body hot with need. Her breath came fast, her eyes glazed as she pulled him closer, her need as great. With all his will he held back, pressing gently between her wet and pulsing nether lips. He felt the obstruction and the elation that came from knowing that only he would possess her. With a sharp thrust, he broke through. She cried out in pain. He kissed her, gently pulling out, then pressing into her again. Slowly he continued the rhythm, delaying his own urge to take her hard and fully. When she began to meet his thrusts, he gave in to his own desires and the pace of their lovemaking increased. She matched his rhythm, her hands gripping his buttocks. She cried out as he filled her again and again. Then she shuddered and he shouted, “mi amor!” as he released his seed.

José lay on top of his bride. Both breathed heavily. Her hands stroked his back as he marveled at the ecstasy he felt. Never had he felt such pleasure with a woman. Never had he felt so completely satisfied. He rolled to his side and pulled her close.

“Mi amor,” she whispered.

“Mi vida,” he said, then he kissed her shoulder and fell to sleep.

Part Three

The two men who followed the newlyweds to the airport didn’t surprise José, but the men gaped in surprise when José and Elenora boarded a plane for London. From there, they would fly to Rio. José hoped the flight to London would confuse Fernandez. Enrique had arranged for the couple to fly as Mr. and Mrs. Miguel Bain. José laughed when he saw the name on the passport. Enrique had spelled the name incorrectly. It was supposed to be Bane, the English word for what he planned to be to Elenora’s father. It was a joke, but José had no illusions that Sr. Fernandez would find it funny. Elenora, on the other hand, could hardly stop laughing all the way to London.

It didn’t really matter where they went for their honeymoon. Except for meals on the balcony overlooking the beach, Elenora and José rarely left their room.

“I think I will call you Miguel,” Elenora said. “He is the naughty side of you.”

“Oh? You like my naughty side?” he asked, leaning over her naked body on the king size bed.

“Oh yes, especially in the bedroom.” She pushed him to a sitting position then rose to kiss him. “And now you can see my naughty side,” she said as she bent to take his large member between her teeth.

“Uh-oh, I think I am in trouble,” he said, grinning.

She didn’t speak but flicked her tongue along the tip of his penis.

José’s head fell back as she pulled him into her mouth. There was no doubt that he liked her naughty side.

On the third day of their honeymoon, José and Elenora decided to go for an evening walk along the beach. Holding hands, they looked like any other couple in love.

“I think we should have two boys and two girls.”

Elenora laughed. “And should we place an order for a girl or boy first?”

“A boy, of course,” said José. “Then, after I get my doctorate, we’ll move someplace where your father won’t bother us.”

“Buenos Aires,” she said. She stopped, her eyes wide with excitement, “or a little college town in the United States. We could have a little house and I’ll do the cooking. I love to cook.”

He agreed and they laughed together, promising to stand together against her father’s demands. Now that they were married, what could he do anyway?

When José spied the two men in black following them, he sighed.

“My sweet,” he said, “I think we’ve been found out.”

She frowned and turned to look at the men who were moving quickly towards them.

“José, I don’t know them,” she said.

José turned in time to hear Elenora’s scream and feel the butt of a gun against his head.

*

He woke surrounded by people speaking Portuguese and policemen telling them to stand back. His head ached, but he jumped unsteadily to his feet.

“Elenora! Where’s Elenora?” he demanded.

People shouted and José understood that two men had shoved her into a long black car. No one knew who the men were. The police took him to their vehicle and assured him that the attackers would be found. Something about their insouciant tone told José that they wouldn’t be much help.

*

“You are Miguel Bain?” the police captain asked at the station.

“Yes,” he said, pacing the floor of the tiny room. The captain had asked him to sit several times, but to no avail. He felt like a trapped animal.

“I think not. I think your name is José Cepeda from Spain, huh? What do you think you are doing coming to Brazil with a fake passport?”

“Look, that doesn’t matter right now. I’ve got to find out who took my wife.”

“You tell me what you are involved with and then maybe we will have a clue about who took your wife.”

“I’m not involved in anything.” He struck a wooden chair with his fist, knocking it against the wall. “She could be hurt, or worse! You’re wasting time questioning me.”

“Calm down, Sr. Cepeda,” said the captain. “Another act of violence from you and I will have to jail you, hm?” Someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”

An officer handed the captain a paper. José continued to pace while the captain read the long note.

“It seems, Sr. Cepeda, that your wife’s father has sent someone to retrieve you and they will arrive this afternoon. He has asked that we keep you close until then, so I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”

The captain walked out then locked José into the room.

Fernandez would probably kill him but he didn’t care. As long as they found Elenora, José didn’t care what else happened. He tried to calm himself. He needed Fernandez now, the one man he knew with the means to locate his love.

Five hours later, Fernandez walked in with a lawyer and two bodyguards. Fernandez’ money was more effective than the lawyer, and soon José followed his father in law out of the station and into a limousine.

“Where is she?” José demanded.

“Shut up,” said Fernandez. He looked at the bandage on the side of José’s head. “That’s all they did to you? You didn’t fight for her? You should have died for her, you coward!” He slapped José across the face. “I gave you my daughter and because of you, she suffers.”

José did not argue. He agreed with everything Fernandez said.

“Break his thumbs,” Fernandez said, then turned to look out the window of the limo.

José grit his teeth as Carlos grabbed his thumbs and twisted them out of their sockets. He grunted with pain, but didn’t scream. He deserved the pain. He deserved worse.

His hands wrapped in bandages, he remained silent for the remainder of the trip, except once, to ask why they were returning home. Fernandez slapped his face and told him to shut up, then took his silence as cowardice. But José knew that Fernandez knew much more about Elenora’s whereabouts than what he was saying. He overhead telephone conversations and knew a ransom had been demanded, and not just for money. The more José listened, the more he understood that Elenora’s kidnapping had to do with the Fernandez business. He also understood that Fernandez was negotiating. His dislike for the man turned to hate.

Back in Madrid, a limo met the private jet on the tarmac. Carlos and Santiago rushed José into the vehicle, then a half an hour later, rushed him into the Fernandez mansion. They locked him into a basement room with no windows and no explanation.

The cell had an open bathroom and a panel in the room’s door to slide in a tray with his meals. A single bed was the only furniture with a single blanket and no pillow. A dim light shone through a small hole between the wall above the door and the rest of the basement.

On the second day of his imprisonment, a newspaper accompanied his breakfast. An article had been circled in the obituary section. José Miguel Cepeda had been killed while honeymooning in Brazil. His mutilated body was found at the edge of the jungle. His wife was still missing.

He dropped to his knees on the floor. Fernandez planned to kill him. Then he thought of his parents. José was their only child. He thought of his mother’s pain, and wept.

He didn’t move for hours, then the numbness in his feet and legs roused him. He crawled to the bed, pulled himself up and stretched his legs. Elenora still lived, or the paper would have mentioned her death as well.

He rose and paced. They would open the door sooner or later, he was sure of it. He pulled the bandages off of his hands, dropped to the floor and began a series of pushups.

They would open that door, and he would be ready.

José was dead, but Elenora still lived. And so did Miguel.

Part Four

Miguel finished a series of sit-ups. He still wore the same jeans and short sleeved shirt that he had worn on that beach in Rio. His hair fell in greasy strings to his shoulders and an unkept beard covered half of his face and neck. With nothing else to do, he exercised and his shirt stretched tightly over the taut muscles of his arms and chest. He began to kick and strike at a phantom opponent, increasing his quickness with moves he learned from two years of karate lessons he had taken with Enrique during University.

He had stopped wondering if Elenora had been returned. Instead, he believed that her father had negotiated successfully for his wife, then sent her to some solitary place where no one could find her. He told himself that he was alive because Fernandez needed a hostage to keep his daughter in line, but that was the only reason he still lived. Of all the scenarios that he imagined, that was the one he settled on. And he was determined that, the moment he had the chance, he would escape and rescue her.

The wail could be heard throughout the mansion. It sent a cold chill through Miguel, who stopped his practice and sat silently on the bed to listen to the cries and shouts that came as muffled moans through the ceiling. Next came the sound of heavy feet running down the wooden stairway: four feet, two men. Miguel stood, his eyes wild from solitude, his unwashed body reeking of sweat. Months may have passed. He didn’t know. He only knew that they were coming to get him.

The door opened and light poured in. Miguel covered his eyes with his arm as the two men grabbed him and pulled him outside of the cell. They dragged him up the stairs, complaining of his stench, then one hushed the other as they traveled over a polished wood floor to Fernandez’ study.

There on the large oak desk, stood an open box. Inside the box, Miguel saw the head of his Elenora, her skin a bloodless white, her lips blue. In that moment, he knew he had not only lost his only love, but all the love he would ever feel. A hole opened in his soul, and he felt every emotion escape like the air of a punctured balloon, unrecoverable. In that moment, he remembered every look she had ever given him, the touch of her lavender scented skin, the sweet smell of her breath. He heard the sound of her voice and the cry of her passion, and the words, “Te quiero, mi Miguel. Soy tuya.”

He looked at the father in his chair behind the desk. The man seemed drained of all energy.

“Negotiations did not go well?” Miguel said.

The words shocked Fernandez. He sat up and the worn look on his face twisted into ugly hatred. “The men who did this will die soon.”

“Let me kill them, and they will die sooner,” Miguel said, his voice cold.

“Why would I put a gun in your hands?”

“Because no one will know me. José is dead, and I never miss what I aim at.”

Fernandez studied him a long time and Miguel studied Fernandez, avoiding the box. Then the father pushed a file forward. “These are the men. Carlos and Santiago will make sure you know what to do, and if you don’t get your marks, they’ll get you. Understand?”

Miguel took the file and nodded, a curt movement. Fernandez continued to study him and Miguel had the feeling that the man was frightened.

“And take a shower, will you?”

Miguel turned and laughed, a high pitched sound that caused Fernandez to wince.

Miguel shaved his beard, but left his hair at shoulder length. Anyone who knew him would certainly recognize him, but he had no intention of running into someone he knew. His picture graced the Madrid papers only once, during the wedding. In Bilbao, no one had ever seen him. The Martinez family, more than a hundred if you didn’t include the guards, enjoyed a birthday party in a park just south of the city. Less than a month had passed since they killed Elenora.

Miguel left the park custodian tied up and unconscious in the corner of the trash enclosure, behind the large receptacle, then made his way to the two story bell tower, a landmark of some sort. He tossed the custodian’s keys in his hands, whistling tunelessly. Inside the tower, he recovered his rifle from the back of a storage closet, where he had left it the night before. Checking the silencer as he walked the stairs, he continued to whistle.

The high powered rifle was one of the demands he made of Fernandez, who expected the expensive piece of equipment back. Even in mourning, the man was a tight ass son of bitch. Once at the top of the bell tower, it didn’t take long to find his two marks, then the third, Fernandez’ rival. Like Fernandez, that man would be the one to give the orders. What about his pretty little daughter? thought Miguel. He had a touch of conscience, then fired, once, twice, three times. He reached the bottom of the stairs before anyone knew what happened. The screams started, then shouts, the firing of guns. Miguel’s blood pumped wildly through his veins.

“Ooh-hoo!” he shouted as he ran to the car where Carlos and Santiago waited for him, their guns drawn. Carlos, the driver, stood by, holding open the back door. Santiago was about to climb into the passenger seat. Miguel stopped. “Ay, yi, yi, yi, yi!” he screamed. One, two, they fell so easily. He shoved Carlos’ body out of the way, jumped into the driver’s seat, tossed the rifle into the back seat, then reached for Santiago’s extra pistol in the glove compartment as he sped away. Adrenalin pumped through him and his eyes flashed his excitement.

Fernandez waited in his living room, his daughter’s head enclosed in the box on the table beside him. Miguel stepped in, the pistol shoved into the back of his pants.

“Where’s Carlos and Santiago?” Fernandez asked.

“Waiting for you,” Miguel said, taking a casual stance before his father in law.

“The job’s done?”

“Oh yes. It was a lot of fun, too.” Miguel smiled.

“So, you found something you are good at, huh?” Fernandez lit a cigar.

“Well, I make it a point to be the best at anything I choose to do.” Miguel watched him, smiling still.

“Good, then I won’t have you killed yet, as long as you can be of some use to me.”

“I think I’d like to work on my own. Besides, I don’t think you’ll be much use to me in hell.”

Fernandez lowered the cigar and looked at the open door, nervously. “Where is Carlos and Santiago?”

“I told you, DAD, waiting for you.” He pulled the gun. “In hell.” Miguel fired, hitting Fernandez directly in the heart. He picked the cigar up off the floor and carefully put it out in the ashtray then opened the box to look at the gray head inside a brine jar. “I have avenged you, my love, but I am afraid we will never meet again, because I am certain you are in heaven and this life, my sweet, leads me to hell.”

He closed the box and wiped away a tear, the last tear he would ever shed for another soul.

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