The Heart of Blood Read online

  “In case you’ve forgotten your loving husband and your beautiful boy, here’s a reminder! Come back soon, mommy! We miss you!” The note was written on the 18th of January, 2000, according to the British postal stamp.

  Chapter Four

  3:00 AM – Juan sat on the wine-soaked bed taking big gulps of his whiskey. The stench of warm wine filled the room as vapors of alcohol escaped the fabric of the bed sheets. He stared into space thinking about how his plan had completely turned around on him.

  His brother, Octa, had given him the cold shoulder, which had turned matters even worse. The theft couldn’t be carried out without assistance and what kind of assistance would you find in a foreign town within seven days? Juan knew the answer, the unreliable kind.

  He thought about his son, Aaron, wrapped up in chains, hungry and bleeding in a cold room somewhere and shuddered. I have to save him. . . His mind could no longer withstand the pressure and he broke into tears.

  He snorted and shook as tears streamed down his face. The thought of his son being tormented burned a fire within him that he could not control. He wept and wept till he started to get a little numb and slowed down, but couldn’t stop the tears from falling now and then.

  Just then there was a soft knock on the door, and it slid open slowly. Lucinda stepped inside and looked at him, alarmed. She came up to him and sat close; her concerned eyes looked innocent and worried.

  She started asking questions that Juan could hardly make out, and her innocence had no effect on Juan. He thought about how he was aroused the other day by looking at the attractive woman and how he felt completely repulsed by her at the moment.

  The bitch whispers shit into my brother’s ear and he obeys like a fucking dog with his tail between his legs . . . he doesn’t understand, yet .

  Juan stared into space as Lucinda kept inquiring about things that seemed like useless bullshit to him at the moment. He said a few things that he couldn’t recall later, something about not being able to sleep; he couldn’t be sure.

  All he remembered clearly was feeling disgusted by her, and she was the reason he was unable to save his son from those motherfucking rats that took him. He recalled thinking about the call from his son’s school.

  Aaron had been seen crossing the street an hour before he went missing; a van had sped up and abducted him. For days, Juan ran back and forth from the police station to his son’s school, searching every nook and corner of the city for any sign of his missing son. He knew their lives were in danger, but he could have never imagined his son would have to pay for his sins. The boy was only six years old.

  Things got worse when Juan received a call from the kidnappers, and they had warned him about the severe consequences he would have to face if he didn’t pay his dues. They had seized Juan’s gambling den a few weeks ago, and Juan had thought the worst of his troubles were over; at least he and his son were safe.

  He knew the people he was dealing with would stop at nothing to get the money he owed them, but the den didn’t compensate for the loan. They had demanded an enormous ransom for his son’s early and safe return, and all the money Juan ever owned had already been taken away.

  A week later he received an email that contained a video of masked men beating up Aaron, who was bound to a chair, his mouth bleeding with every slap. Juan’s heart had stopped at the sight of his little boy being beaten up by huge men; he barely looked conscious after the last blow. The video was meant to be a reminder of how Juan was running out of time. Gambling had been his whole life for as far back as he could remember. He could have never been able to predict, could never have dreamed, even in nightmare, how one day, he would gamble with his own son’s life.

  Juan had decided to ask his brother for help, but before he could even talk to him about it, he was given a deadline to leave. Some loving brother, he had thought to himself. His brother’s money was the last thing that could save Aaron, and Octa had proved to be of no good use.

  Juan thought about all the immoral and inhuman things he had done in his life, how he had always escaped his dreadful fate numerous times. This time, everything was different. “If only Octa knew about the things I’ve been through these past few years.”

  He remembered Lucinda picking something up from his dressing table and taking it over to the window to look at. Juan did no pass out by this time, he was only faking it. He even remembered her looking at him with sadly surprised eyes as he dozed off. In the morning, he put the photo frame with his family’s picture back in his luggage to avoid any mishap. He couldn’t risk Octa finding out about his marriage; this was not the time.

  He somehow knew when he left this place, he would not be the same man that came here. He may have to do terrible things that would haunt him for the rest of his life to save his son.

  Chapter Five

  The next day, Lucinda didn’t wake up until late afternoon. Octa had already left and Juan was still asleep. As Lucinda wearily started the day’s chores, her mind wandered back to the previous night, how Juan had been crying and the photo frame. She couldn’t figure out why her husband had never told her Juan had a family. She thought about the little, brown-haired boy smiling innocently at the camera . . . but where is he?

  She decided to ask Octa everything about Juan as soon as he got home. She wanted to help Juan. She thought about the repulsion she had felt against her husband’s gambling brother when he arrived, but a soft spot had started to form within her heart for him since last night. She was still in the middle of her thoughts when Juan’s door slid open, and he stepped out, looking like he was just hit by a truck.

  “Coffee?” Lucinda asked him sportily with a soft smile.

  “I’m going to need a whole bucket,” he muttered back without even giving her a glance.

  “Is it okay if I get the stained bed sheets from your room? I want to get done with the washing early today,” she asked, trying to hide how eager she was to get the red blotches of wine on the light-colored blanket out.

  “The wha . . . oh yeah . . . yes, you can. I’ll help you clean them, I’m sorry about last night.” Juan was speaking sheepishly now, but his voice was still coarse and thick from all the drinking.

  Lucinda smiled. Finally, signs of human life somewhere in there, she thought to herself. “I’ll clean them. It’s ok, you should rest.”

  Juan stared at her. Lucinda had been trying hard to be hospitable after she had effectively sent Juan’s plan plummeting from the sky. What a manipulative bitch, he bitterly thought as he smiled back at her.

  Lucinda went into the guest room to get the sheets. As she entered the room, she stole a glance at the dressing table. The photo frame was not there anymore, and she looked around, puzzled, but it was nowhere. Did I put it somewhere else? No . . . where is it? Juan was passed out; he couldn’t have seen. Questions started shuffling through her mind as she picked up the stained bed sheets and turned to leave the room. She was utterly confused. Why would he try to hide his family from us?

  As she put the sheets in the washing machine, she realized she needed to talk to Octa urgently. If only he could explain all this. She had a growing feeling that something atrocious was about to happen, and she was scared.

  Chapter Six

  Juan finished his coffee and went back into his room. The coffee had helped, but he was still extremely hung over. He checked his suitcase to see if the photo frame was still well hidden. It was in its place, and Juan grinned at how predictable and stupid this woman was. Amy would’ve caught me in a blink, he thought as he got back up and walked out the door.

  In the basement, Lucinda stood near the dryer now holding the washed sheets in her hand. The stain had set in and she was thinking about where she had put the club soda the last time a stain emergency happened when Juan came down the steps.

  “I hope I didn’t scare you much last night,” he said as he walked toward the dryer.

  Lucinda barely knew how to react “Oh . . . No. . . you seemed disturbed. I hope you�
�re feeling better now,” she said, eyeing him intently.

  He had sharp features, and he was much better looking than Octa. There was a boyishly attractive air about him that even she couldn’t deny. She put the sheets back in the wash and started the machine. Juan was suddenly closer to her body.

  “Thanks for worrying about me. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been worried about me.” He was looking at her lips as he spoke, and she was suddenly aware of how attractive he was. “I’m sorry I’ve been so grumpy with you guys. You let me in and I . . .” His voice trailed off. “Thank you for listening to me yak about shit last night. It means a lot to have someone just listen sometimes . . . my brother’s lucky,” he said with a soft, but mysterious, smile.

  Lucinda wondered if she should ask him about what had been troubling him, or who the woman and the kid in that picture were, but she stopped herself. She felt incredibly attracted to him at the moment, and the guilt was making her blush.

  Juan leaned in closer and kissed her softly. She pulled back abruptly, but minutes later, they were wrapped up together in a sexual frenzy unlike any Lucinda had ever experienced. Juan was incredibly tender at first, which she found surprising, but he got more passionate with every passing second.

  Lucinda suddenly thought about how he seemed harmless now. He gazed at her with affection and caressed every inch of her skin with his rough hands. Lucinda didn’t know how long had it been when it all stopped. She lay on the bed of the guest room next to Juan, drenched in sweat.

  She kept thinking about Octa, and what he would do if he found out. She shuddered at the thought of something bad happening. It happened on the spur of the moment, she justified it to herself. I don’t even love Juan, and . . . how could I be so stupid! Lucinda knew she couldn’t tell Octa about the picture she had seen the previous night anymore. If Juan had wanted him to see it, he wouldn’t have hidden it and if she ended up telling Octa, who knows what Juan might do or say. She felt the sinking feeling in her heart settle once again as she got up quietly to leave the room without waking Juan up.

  Juan lay there, his eyes closed, but his mind running fast. He was proud of how well he had handled the threat. That’ll show her, he thought, grinning slightly. As she got up and left his room, Juan started thinking of how easy everything had become now. It’s a piece of cake. He reveled in the joy and satisfaction of knowing that Lucinda would no longer raise any further suspicions against him.

  Chapter Seven

  Octa was sitting at the dinner table discussing some employee at work that kept post-dating his data, and how work was becoming too chaotic, but Lucinda barely heard him. He even mentioned that Bob was located in Delray Beach, Florida. He had decided to quit his job without informing his superiors and was reluctant to talk to anyone.

  Flashes of what had happened that afternoon kept passing by as she sat uncomfortably in her chair eating her soup. Juan had gone to North Miami Beach to meet some old friend that evening before supper, and wouldn’t be back anytime soon. She was relieved that he wasn’t there through dinner.

  The guilt would have been unbearable. She had completely lost track of what Octa was rambling on about when she heard him.

  “Lucy? Is everything okay? You look tense,” he inquired, breaking off from his work problems.

  “Oh . . . It’s nothing . . . I’m just a little tired,” she said meekly, trying hard to hide the traces of nervousness in her voice.

  “Is my brother giving you a good scare?” Octa asked, grinning.

  “No . . .” Lucinda uttered. “He’s almost always pre-occupied.”

  “Really? What does he do all day?” Octa looked at her as if there was nothing that could be bothering her from the inside.

  “Well, he drinks a lot, so he seems grumpy all the time . . . Love?” Lucinda was choosing her words very carefully.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where has Juan been the past few years?” She suddenly realized that was too direct an approach. “He seems terribly depressed most of the time. . . I thought maybe you would know better what could be bothering him.”

  “Don’t concern yourself too much. He’s always been a heavy drinker,” Octa said with a weird smile, “a well-rounded sour puss.”

  Lucinda smiled back at Octa. “Why didn’t he ever get married?” She thought this the best way to address the question she desperately wanted answered.

  Octa started snickering. “You know, I’ve never told you this story.” Octa took a big gulp of wine to wash his dinner down.

  “What story?”

  “Well, back in high school, Juan was pretty good at school, and I used to be good with all the girls,” he smirked.

  She looked at him with surprise.

  “It is very flattering that my wife finds this fact hard to believe.” They both cracked up as Octa began revealing the story Lucinda was particularly eager to hear.

  “That was back when he used to sport a pair of dorky glasses that made him look like a complete nerd. We both liked this one girl in school . . . and well, I am not particularly proud of cock blocking my little brother, even though it was fun. So we both asked her out to the prom, and she said yes.”

  “To whom?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Me, just like you did when I asked you out that cold December night.” Octa leaned in close, trying to compensate for the jealousy he assumed Lucinda would be feeling and gave her a soft peck on the cheek. She was far from jealous. “That night, the prom night, was the first time he got drunk, and he grew compulsive about it as time passed. I doubt he has any particular reason to be depressed; he can’t still be sobbing over his high-school crush. He just likes to drink, I guess.”

  “What was this girl like?” Lucinda asked, picturing the attractive young woman in the image she saw in Juan’s bedroom last night.

  “She was nice, but not better than you, sweetie,” he said. Lucinda was not getting the details that would ease her mind. She tried asking again as she attempted to appear casual about it by taking small sips of her wine.

  “I mean, how did you handle going out with Juan being around all the time? He apparently liked her enough to ask her out on his prom night.” Her mind was now rushing in a thousand directions.

  “He was hardly ever around when we used to hang out, and we broke up after a couple of months,” he said. “She was the first girl ever to cheat on me.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” she said apologetically. She stood up and started to rub his shoulders.

  “Now, you tell me, sweetie, what woman in her right mind would marry a scary drunk like him?” he said teasingly, ignoring her apology. “I sometimes doubt he’ll ever get married, with his destructive habits and all. It will be a long time before the guy settles down, honey. Trust me on that one.”

  “Maybe he has a girlfriend,” she said to herself more than him.

  “I hope he does . . . that ought to do him some good,” Octa replied.

  “So did you enjoy being cheated on?” she teased as she massaged the back of his neck.

  Octa leaned back and said, “Young love leaves deep scars,” and looked at her for traces of insecurity; she didn’t budge. He smiled and said, “How tired are you? I’ve never known you to be so indifferent to my previous love interests.” He smiled tenderly as he lifted up his arms, took her hands in his and kissed one of them. She leaned in and kissed his forehead from behind and smiled at him, feeling knots in her stomach as she thought about what had happened between her and Juan earlier.

  “Well, they all wanted you, and I’m the one who got you. How can that make me jealous?” Lucinda spoke flirtatiously as she collected herself. She couldn’t afford Octa getting concerned and inquiring about what was troubling her.

  Octa held out her hand and made her sit on his lap. His body felt so familiar to Lucinda, and she felt the dreadful guilt again. She ran her fingers through his hair, combing it and feeling the thick, brown hair that she was utterly used to.

/>   “So what was her name?” she asked him in a way that made her seem insecure, but she had no other way of finding out.

  “Who? That girl from school?” he asked, eyeing her in the personal way he always did, with a teasing smile.

  “Yes! ‘That’ girl from high school you liked so much you wouldn’t even give up a date with her for your flesh and blood,” she asked, messing playfully with his hair.

  Octa let out a chuckle. “Amy.”

  Chapter Eight

  Juan came home really late that night. He made sure both Octa and Lucinda were asleep, so they wouldn’t spot the supplies he bought downtown. He had a couple of contacts that sold the specific equipment required for the quick fix like the one he had in mind, and that’s exactly what he needed. But guns were not what he brought. All set, he thought to himself as he opened up the small but heavy suitcase he was carrying and looked inside.

  Earlier that evening Juan had received another call from his son’s kidnappers. They made him hear his voice as they slapped him repeatedly; Aaron was hardly even crying anymore, and he let out small whimpers with every blow. After the disturbing ordeal, Juan had immediately left to look for supplies that would speed up his plan. The man on the phone had said, “Aaron doesn’t have much time.”

  Juan never even tried to consider taking Octa into confidence about this. Every time he thought about his brother, flashes of an overshadowed childhood started passing him by. Juan was a distraught gambler with a kidnapped son whose life was in terrible danger.

  Juan still remembered how Amy and he used to meet secretly, how devastated Octa was when she left him for Juan and how she ended up cheating on him too, later. Sluts, sluts, sluts, that’s all you get these days, he thought, thinking about how similar Lucinda and Amy seemed right now.

  Although Amy had left Juan, she was still Aaron’s mother, and even though things had gone terribly sour after that, they still used to meet once in a while whenever she missed her son, until . . .