Amapola Beviláqua

I am dragged by the brute to the elevator, which he operates with a sequence of numbers, and I feel a jolt as the metal box starts moving.

When the doors open, I am led down an extremely dark corridor where I can't see a hand in front of my face, but the man seems to know the place like the back of his hand. A door opens, and I am thrown into a small, square space. The doors are made of iron, and I can see after he switches on a light, which I assume is outside. I'm in a kind of cell, but not surrounded by bars—the environment is completely enclosed.

“What are you going to do with me? What did you do to my father?” I ask, but he doesn't bother to respond. He turns on his heels, leaving me here in this cold, empty place.

Then the light is turned off again, leaving only darkness, and I am sure this will be my end, just like my father's.

The darkness confuses me, but I've never feared it before. For the first time today, I feel as though a beast, a wild animal, is about to be thrown into this space where I am alone, and that will be my end.

There is no sound except the loud beating of my heart and the sobs that burst from my chest and escape my throat. In a failed attempt at self-protection, I curl up in a corner, as if that could shield me, even though my conscience screams that it won’t help.

At first, I cried out for help, begging for assistance that I knew deep down would never come. Then I grew tired. Still in the same corner, I saw my tears dry, hope die, just as I would.

I hear a noise at the heavy iron door, the light comes on, and I blink several times, trying to adjust my eyes to the brightness. Soon, my captor enters the room, and I leap to my feet quickly.

“Where is my father?” I ask, gathering all the strength I have left inside me.

The man steps aside, and three men who seem like angels enter the room. Did they come to save me? Did they hear or know of my despair and come to get me out of here?

A cloud of hope fills my chest; maybe that's it, maybe they are angels guiding me to paradise. I hope to find my father there.

The three men are tall and strong, possibly the strongest I have ever seen in my life. They position themselves in front of me in a perfect triangular formation: one in front and the other two on either side, one step behind the first.

They are synchronized, like a perfect orchestra, and looking into the eyes of the one in front, I did not feel the peace that an angel should bring. Instead, I felt fear—my whole body was swept by a chill of raw terror that I have never felt before.

Their silence, like the silence of the prison I was in, is unwelcome. They all watch me with caution, like predators ready to attack their prey. It is as if they are trying to anticipate my movements, and I am so shocked that I can't even move; they must have noticed this.

“What do you want?” a voice, as deep as thunder, reverberates in the room, echoing off the empty walls and in my mind.

“My father,” I respond, frightened.

“And why do you think he is here?” he asks.

“He isn’t?” I say, somewhat confused. Did the woman lie? Is my father not here? I can’t read any of these men’s expressions, which leaves me lost.

“I ask the questions, and you answer,” he says gruffly, and I tremble with fear.

“Someone told me that one of you took him,” I try to explain what brought me here. I wanted to say that he took my father; the woman said it was the boss, and the demeanor of the man speaking directly to me confirms that it is him.

“And you believed it?” he asks, his quick and precise words confusing me even more.

“I had searched everywhere for him and didn’t find him,” I explain, a greater fear taking hold of me. I don’t know what would be better: my father being under the power of these men or not.

The man’s eyes scan me thoroughly, as if he wants to read me, but there is no need for that effort. I have no secrets, I keep no secrets. It’s exactly that which brought me here—just the desire to find my father.

“Who do you think I am?” he asks.

“I don’t know... Yes...” I don’t know what to say. “I mean, I heard some people talking, and I think they were right,” I decide to be honest, feeling as though he could detect any hint of a lie or omission that leaves my lips.

“I’m honored that you’ve heard of me, but could you be more specific about what they said?”

“That you were the very embodiment of a demon,” I finish, and almost regret it the moment the words leave my mouth. I could have said anything; any other truth might have convinced him, but I didn’t really need to say he was the demon himself.

“And do you think they’re right about that?” It’s not a question. “Interesting.” His cold tone almost makes me witness the transformation from angel to demon in vivid color, but strangely, I don’t fear him.

I know I shouldn’t, but I’m not afraid of him; what drives me is finding my father. As long as my eyes are open, that’s what I’ll do—I’ll try to find him.

“I don’t want to know anything but where my father is; I just want my father. Tell me where he is,” I say, and his ever-growing smile frightens me even more.

“You’re very impatient,” he says, as if reprimanding me, as if he’s displeased that I’m trying to end the torture he’s imposing on me as quickly as possible.

“If I were in your place, I’d try to delay things, not rush them,” one of the other men behind him says with a grin wider than the first man’s. I know it’s a warning, but I can’t control my desperation.

I throw myself at the man in an attempt to force him to tell me where my father is. I try to punch his chest, but he holds my wrists firmly. The smile never leaves his lips; it’s as if all my suffering and the pain I feel at this moment satisfy him, making my desperation grow.

Without strength to fight him or to try to free myself from his firm grip, I collapse onto my knees, tears never abandoning me. Despair rises over me, and worst of all, the certainty that there’s nothing I can do.