Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 20 | 1 YEAR AGO

After queuing for a hellish eternity at the American Airlines check-in desk at the Simón Bolívar International Airport, Ofelia had finally left behind the myriad of dejected passengers from delayed and canceled flights, four gruesome security checkpoints, and Carlos Cruz Diez's infamous multi-colored walkway.

She'd already left all that behind her, but in reality, she was leaving so much more.

Once her dad had tracked her down and found her at the Cardozos' house—where Luz and Jeremías (former classmates of hers) had kept her hidden for three days—Abraham had tried to convince her to come back home one last time. The problem was that she didn't have a home to go back to anymore. Her parents lived at the same address; in her bedroom, there were the same bookshelves that smelled of old paper and knowledge; the grandfather clock in the dining-room still ticked with the same hypnotic cadence that lulled her into sleep every night; and yet, that place was alien to her now.

"You can't put your mother through this over and over again," Abe had told her a week ago. "This is the last time you try to run away. If you want to leave, then you'll do it on my terms. You will stay with your cousin up north. Don't look at me like that. It's not up for debate. I rather break your mom's heart once, instead of having you chipping away at it every day. You won't punish your mother for what you think I did to him. Not her. It is not fair."

Ofelia didn't care about any of that, because she was sure there was no such thing as fairness. Bad things happen to good people, and monsters disguised in human flesh got away with whatever they wanted. They stole money, stole lives, stole hope... And they get away with it. So, for her, the only way left was out. Obey her father one last time and go live with her cousin Gabriela in Doral, Florida. The whore, a voice in her head whispered. Good old Abe thinks she's righteousness incarnated, but if he could see her Snapchat, I doubt he would want me anywhere near her zip code.

No matter what Ofelia had found out online about Gaby, to Abraham, this was the best solution: Get Marta's beloved little angel away from the mess that Marcelo left behind. Away from—

"Citizen!"

Here we go again, Ofelia thought, turning around to lock eyes with the Bolivarian National Guard officer approaching her. She was quickly learning to hate the sight of those baggy, green uniforms.

"What are your travel plans?" he asked her.

"I already answer that."

"Not to me, you didn't."

"You all look alike."

"I don't care if you must answer the same questions until you get on the damn plane. What's your destination? How many people are traveling with you?"

"Fine," Ofelia said before spouting the harmless answers Abraham had urged her to memorize on their way to Maiquetía.

"Give me your backpack," the National Guard officer ordered her.

A surge of angry heat that had nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning or the humid Caribbean weather went through Ofelia's chest. This is absurd. She handed her bag over and he unzipped it expertly. The National Guard officer fumbled through the contents like a blind man, his hands all over her belongings, raping her privacy. He flicked through her paperback version of The Count of Monte Cristo twice, inspected her phone's charger cable (which had been useless, since most of the airport had no power) before putting it back in, and then confiscated her roll of toilet paper (which had been a lifesaver since the few open restrooms had no supplies or running water).

Leaving her unzipped backpack on the floor, and apparently bored with her, the man moved on to interrogate another woman waiting in line to board the plane. She was holding a child's hand (her son, perhaps?), although she looked too young to be a mom. Not much older than Ofelia, at least. Her kid, who was using a battery-operated portable fan to combat the unbearable heat, stared at the National Guard officer as if he was a monster emerging from his bedroom closet at three o'clock in the morning.