“If anyone could find a way to keep me from Eli,” he spat, “it would be her.”
Rachel gasped, then stopped and put her hands on her knees, her face twisted in a grimace.
For the first time since arriving Noah felt cold.
“What’s wrong?”
Her breaths were heavy, but controlled. As both she and Noah had been taught at Lamaze class.
“It’s nothing. I’m okay. Dr Mielke said I might get sharp pains in my back or stomach during the second trimester.” She continued to push air through her teeth. “I just need a second. Christ, it feels like someone stuck a knife in me.”
“Do you…Do you want me to do something?”
“No, no. I’ll be okay. Just a minute.” She breathed deeply, one final time, then straightened herself out. Her face was a bit red and swollen, but otherwise she looked okay. She sniffled. “See? All better.”
“All the same, we should call it a night.”
She took his hand again and they turned around. Other than the moon and the tiny light of the Hotel Bolero, there was nothing else to guide them through the dark.
II. Avenues of Investigation
Noah could not lie still between the hotel sheets. Sleep seemed elusive, impossible, when he was so exhausted from his journey on little more evidence than a blurry newspaper photograph. He itched with unbridled anxiety; it was like electricity travelling through his nerves into his addled brain. His ears buzzed, his eyes filled with sparks behind closed lids. Even his teeth felt slightly displaced, and biting down did not alleviate the discomfort. He was charged with the knowledge that Eli was close—closer than he’d been in years—and it became impossible to spend another moment in the shrinking bed. While Rachel slept easily and deeply, Noah pulled back the covers and slipped free.
The heat in the middle of night remained oppressive, and sitting beside the open window proved futile—the air from outside was no cooler. Still, Noah could look out from his perch at the tiny village streets lit by moonlight, and past the broken spire of the church toward the rough-edged horizon. He stared out and wondered where in all that emptiness Sonia was hiding. Sonia, and the son she had stolen from him. He boiled with impotent rage. If he only knew where Eli was being held, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from storming over there, despite the assurance of both Rachel and the Sarnia Police that it would likely result in his death. But Noah was willing to risk it all to be reunited with his son. No one understood how much Sonia had taken with her, what emptiness Eli had left. The man Rachel met two years ago was not whole, had never been whole the entire time they’d been together. But there in Mexico, his body vibrating in anticipation of its missing piece, Noah was closer than he’d ever been. He didn’t know how things would change when he was complete, didn’t know if Rachel would reject the version of him she’d never seen before, but he couldn’t allow himself to falter with worry. Eli, his only son, was close, and his presence was stoking the fires that burned in Noah’s heart. It was burning him up.
Noah was still sitting by the window as the sun made its slow ascent into the sky, a fiery god from behind the horizon. More heat came with it, and whatever respite the dark had offered was revoked, a victim to the burning orb. Rachel opened her eyes not much later, she too finding it impossible to sleep, and when she waved her arm at Noah, beckoning him back to bed, he complied. Arm around her body, hand on their unborn child, he pressed his body into her back and fought the instinct to flee from the unbearable heat she was radiating. It was essential to his sanity that he stay tethered to her. Eli, though, was out there waiting for him.
“We have to go soon. We need to start looking.” He felt her take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. “You’re not too hot, are you? If you want to hang back here, I can meet you later.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” She swallowed hard. “Where to first?”
“I guess we’ll start with the photo. Show it around. See what happens.”
It did not take Noah long to get ready, but Rachel moved slower, her ligaments aching as they stretched to accommodate their growing child. Noah had not planned what to do once he and Rachel reached Astilla de la Cruz. Before they arrived, he had felt certain it would be easy to find a Canadian woman and child in a village so small, and yet once there he realised how detrimental his own foreignness was. He and Rachel had little in common with those around him. One mistake and they would get nowhere.
Downstairs, the old señora sat behind her desk as though she had been stationed there overnight, staring at a framed photograph. Rachel appeared discomfited by her presence and tugged at Noah’s arm to keep him moving past, but Noah decided if they were going to start searching there would be no place better. The señora‘s scowl did not frighten him—he would have suffered far worse for Eli.
“Excuse me? Señora?”
She grunted in response, her jowls tight over a clenched jaw. But when she looked up at him her face was wet, and those cold eyes red. He glanced at Rachel, hoping to catch her eye, but she was intentionally looking elsewhere.
“Do you know this place? Do you recognise it?”
He unfolded the article he’d been carrying. Time had already worn its creases, giving the photo an additional layer of fog. Noah flattened it out as best he could before showing it to her. Her eyes didn’t move.
“Señora, please. Muy importante.”
Her scowl deepened, scoring the flesh of her leather face like an old handbag, and she laid the small framed photo face down. “Ándale. Dámelo.“ Her hand snatched at the article, and he gave it over, albeit reluctantly. He struggled to tamp down the fear that by simply relinquishing possession of the clipping, he might lose his only clue to his son’s whereabouts. When her swollen eyes landed upon the photograph, they stretched open wide, much wider than he would have expected. She turned noticeably paler, as a dark shadow crossed her face. He worried she might scream. Instead, she shook her head vehemently and pushed the clipping as far away from herself as she could. As though it were on fire.
“No, no conozco a este lugar.“
“Please, Señora. In English.”
“No sé esto. Vete. Lleva tu hereje contigo.“
“What?”
She pointed at the photograph, and then looked at Rachel. Noah felt uncomfortable with the glare she gave his girlfriend.
“Where is the place?” he repeated.
“¡Hereje!“ she said, slamming the table. Her finger shot out, pointing at the door. “¡Vete!“
Noah picked the clipping up off the counter and backed away, his arms raised in surrender, unsure what had happened. He stopped when he felt Rachel touch his back. The old woman was still seething.
“We’d better go,” she whispered, tugging at him. Noah nodded and let her guide him outside, his eyes unable to leave the crooked glare of the señora.
Outside, the heat hit them like a wall. A glare reflected off the church across from them, though its bulk remained in shadow. Enough of a glare, at least, to disguise the presence of the priest until Noah bounced off him.
“God, I’m sorry!” he said, then immediately regretted the curse. Rachel’s mouth was agape.