Orphans of Paradise Read online

  Orphans of Paradise

  By

  Laekan Zea Kemp

  ***

  Copyright 2013

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  PART I

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  PART II

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  PART III

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  PART IV

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Part I

  Prologue

  Nadia

  Her head fell back, eyes closed. Her breaths slow and stilted. Nadia placed the cold latex on her tongue and then let go, letting it slip to the back of her throat. It lingered there, round and thick and threatening. She inhaled through her nose and then she swallowed. She felt the capsule’s slow descent—sinking, sinking, settling cold against her insides and then she felt their eyes. The men flanked her on either side, waiting.

  She reached for another capsule, resting heavy in her palm, and placed it against her lips. Her jaw went slack as she guided it back with her tongue. Then she took another breath, eyes closed, and swallowed again and again until she could feel the button on her jeans pressing hard into her skin. She stopped and brought a hand to her brow, scraping off the sweat. She felt sick.

  But there were four more—four more latex capsules of finely powdered cocaine. She felt one of the men moving closer, his eyes pouring over her shoulder. He let out a gruff cough, impatient, and she reached down once more. Sweat peeled down her back, the collar of her shirt sticking to the nape of her neck as she forced down another and then another.

  She’d been there before, trembling against that wall, commanding her body to ignore its instincts and just keep pushing. She could do it again. She would. She took the last capsule between her fingers, trying not to catch sight of her swollen belly rising over her jeans, and she closed her eyes. She stood there, searching her body for the emptiness she knew was still there and then she filled it, the last tablet forging a dry, burning trail to the bottom.

  Arms clutching tight to her waist, she cradled her stomach the entire hour drive to the airport, past the shanty towns and the government housing, past the street vendors peeling awnings from their mobile storefronts, past the children playing barefoot in the street. Colors pricked at her from beyond the tinted window—the olive flesh of ripening fruit, the dark clay road tearing out from beneath the car, pulling them into the blood red morning.

  This was her Colombia—the wild, beautiful thing that had charred and hardened and fashioned her into stone. But it was also the thing that had broken her and seeing it then, the countryside passing before her in sharp chaotic flashes, she hoped it would be for the last time.

  In the crowded airport she waded through mounds of luggage and anxious passengers, careful not to fall into a run as she tried not to linger too long near the entrance. She knew they would be watching her all the way up until she made it to her gate, men flush to the wall next to a payphone or milling near a magazine rack, hands leafing through the pages as they watched her standing in the security line. She knew they were always there even when they weren’t.

  And she was always calm, her body still, listening. She knew how to fall in line, how to pretend she was waiting for a coffee instead of death. But this time was different. Because this time she wouldn’t stand still, silent, numb. This time she would run.

  She filed onto the plane, finding a seat by the window as if she’d be able to see the morning bleeding across her sister Rani’s face as she stood on the front porch watching for Nadia’s plane. Nadia gripped her seat, the turbulence rocking her into a fog as she glared down at the flat paper bag she wouldn’t touch. Nausea poured from her skin and she pulled her hair from her face, tying it at the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes again, waiting for the pressure to leave her skull, for the ache in her chest to give way. But it lingered, drumming with her pulse, tearing at her.

  Something slipped past her shoulder and she trembled against the small oval window. But when she turned it was just the flight attendant, dew from a sweating glass dripping from her fingers.

  Nadia bit at the dry corner of her lips and shook her head, turning back toward the window as the flight attendant moved on to the next row. She thought about the next time she would have something to drink—twelve hours from then sitting on the hard end of a motel mattress or in a cold chair behind a Chinese restaurant while a pair of thugs looked on, waiting for their supply.

  When the plane finally began its descent into Boston she folded in her lap, riding the change in pressure as if there were no walls between her and the wind, between her and falling. She closed her eyes and felt the plane touch down; heard the doors opening and then she filed out, stiff-legged and wary, eyes searching for the familiar exit. As the airport doors slid open, the cold swirled around her legs, burning across her skin in a raw blush as she pressed the cold receiver of a pay phone against her ear.

  Rani’s voice sifted in, their brother Max’s muffled questions humming in the background, and for a moment the cold lifted. But then Nadia placed the phone back on the hook, coins tumbling into the slot, and it settled at her feet again, climbing her as she lingered there by the street. They’ll be here soon. We’ll be together.

  Nadia searched the crowded sidewalk and the cars winding their way through the parking lot. People rushed past, swallowed by the pale exhaust swirling behind idling cars. She pulled her collar over her lips, biting into it as she searched for the sun—now just a lucid shadow hanging over the city. It would be dark again soon and she scanned the parking lot one more time, eyes pausing over every face and every dark window until she saw him, standing there on the other side of the street, waiting for her.

  Chapter 1

  R
ani

  Rani watched as the boy lay there on his back, his feet hiked up on one of the wooden beams. Rain carved down the rotting exterior, trickling down the metal roof and between the cracks of the beamed floor. Swollen drops fell in loud pops against the plastic shoulder strap of the boy’s backpack and Rani, crouched behind a sand dune, watched as he pulled it out of the rain.

  So much for a sneak attack, she thought. She kept her eyes on his body slumped in the dark and heard the backpack sliding across the frozen beach as he wedged it underneath his head. His hands fell still on his chest and Rani reached into her coat, resting her fingertips against the cold metal casing of her pocketknife as she waited for the boy to fall asleep.

  Her eyes started to burn as she timed the rise and fall of his chest, waiting for almost an hour until the beats were far enough apart. She lingered there, in that space and time between his breaths, trying to reel in her own. Her fingers were numb but her palms were melting into a balmy sweat and she wiped them on her jeans.

  When the rain finally stopped she lied low against the ground and pulled herself across the sand. It gave way, trying to drag her into its shifting folds and she wanted to stop, to give in to her tired, scared limbs. But as she glanced over the cinderblock wall that separated the city and the sea, to the iron silhouettes of a country she didn’t belong to, she knew she couldn’t stop.

  In Columbia they’d lived in an efficiency between a beauty supply store and a small Mercado. It was only a mile from the beach and Rani and her family would walk there on Sundays and sometimes after school. The water was always warm, even in February, and always drew Rani into its sun-licked folds. But the black water lapping up the shore to her right was biting and the spray blowing off the glassy surface burned her face. She pulled the strip of nylon she’d found in the alley behind a discount clothing store and tied it over mouth, biting into it with her lips, trying to warm herself with her own breath.

  The shoulder strap of the boy’s pack sputtered along the ground, the wind twisting it into a frantic crawl. When she was close enough, Rani perched on her heels, readying her legs to break into a run. Then she slid her fingers around the strap, the plastic sizer cold on her fingertips, and she pulled until his head began to roll to one side.

  He opened his mouth, sleep still trailing from it in long hard breaths, and then he closed it again. His dark hair fluttered over his face and Rani remembered it gripped between his fingers as he’d slipped out of that alley and onto the street. She noticed a faint scar along his jaw and she wondered what he’d done to get it. If a mule had gotten in one good swipe before he’d dragged her back to their hideout. She wondered if that mule had been Nadia.

  The knife slid from Rani’s pocket and she held it out in front of her, the blade hovering under his chin, breaths of shadow and moonlight glinting off the dull surface. She tightened her grip around one of the arm straps, the woven plastic cutting into her palm, and then his eyes opened.

  They flashed gold, widening on Rani’s face before settling on the blade floating just below his chin. He leaned forward, the metal grazing his skin and he flinched. He followed the blade to Rani’s hand, knuckles burning white, then to her other hand gripping the pack. His eyes drew into slits and then he was pulling at the sand, trying to slide up onto his elbows as Rani’s hand, still clutching the knife, started to tremble.

  She jumped to her feet but he caught her by the wrist and she swung at him, the point of the knife pricking the soft tip of his earlobe. He hissed, his fingers reaching for the bleeding hole and she slipped free, flying down the beach, hugging the pack to her chest.

  Her knees burned as she swung the backpack over her shoulder and tore across the sand, cold air scraping down to her lungs. But then she felt a pair of arms around her waist and a moment later her nose and mouth were full of sand.

  He was straddling her and with one swipe of his arm he flipped Rani onto her back. She hit the frozen ground, the air racing from her lungs in one terrified exhale as one of his hands still clutched his ear and the other wrestled for Rani’s throat. She spat at him, sand splattered in dark thick flecks across his face and he tightened his grip. She felt his thumbnail cutting into her jaw but when she squeezed her eyes shut in response, teeth clamped tight, his fingers started to slip. She whimpered beneath closed lips and he recoiled, his hand trembling as it released her neck.

  Her eyes stayed closed but heat flashed across her face and she could feel his breaths barreling out over her skin. She felt his thighs, squeezing her beneath him, suddenly give way. His hips lifted from her chest and she inhaled. And when she opened her eyes he was on his feet, making his way through the darkness back to the lifeguard stand.

  Rani rolled onto her side, coughing up sand and clutching her chest as she watched him trudge back to the stand, sand spraying up from his boots with every step. Her hands moved from her body to the pack still lying next to her and she twisted the strap around her forearm. Then she slowly rose to her knees, getting up to run only when the faint shadow of the boy disappeared behind a wooden beam.

  Chapter 2

  Rani

  Breezy and Enzo dug through the bag, their tiny fingers searching every pocket and every fold until every battery, old receipt, and empty pack of cigarettes was lined up along the concrete floor. Breezy fiddled with a small red shoestring, draping it across her wrist and Enzo, with the same cautious curiosity as his twin sister, stacked the loose change in small towers, starting with the pennies and ending with one lone quarter.

  Rani crouched down on the floor next to him, her lips brushing the top of his head. He stared up at her, his green eyes placid. I’m sorry, Rani wanted to say.

  “Did you find it?” Max asked.

  Rani pulled the small blue booklet from the pocket inside her jacket and handed it to Max. He flipped it open and their sister’s stoic passport picture stared back at him.

  “It had fallen into a hole inside the seam,” Rani said. “That’s all I found of hers.”

  “Are you sure nothing fell out while you were running?”

  “I don’t think so. But who knows if the guy who had it dropped something or threw it out, trying to get rid of evidence.”

  “Shit, Rani, I hate when you talk like that.”

  “Hey, Max, watch your mouth.”

  “Stop acting like we’re at home,” Max said. “We’re not.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Rani said, leading them into the other room.

  “I think you like to pretend you don’t,” Max said when the twins were out of earshot.

  “Here,” Rani said. She pulled a silver revolver from the waist of her pants and handed it to her brother. “This is me not pretending.”

  “Holy sh—”

  Rani glared at Max and nodded toward the other room where Breezy and Enzo were whispering to each other in the corner, their voices ringing off the empty walls.

  “Where did you get this?” Max gripped the handle of the gun the way they did in movies, examining the sharp indentions along the loading chamber and the faint scratches at the end of the barrel before pointing it at the boarded window.

  Rani swatted at his arm. “Stop being an idiot.” She took back the gun and tucked it into the waist of her jeans. “It was in the bag with this.”

  Rani pulled something from her back pocket. She flicked her wrist and a blade, twice as long as the one she’d been carrying flew out from beneath her palm. She held it up to her face, the edge of the handle in line with her chin and the tip of the blade in line with the bridge of her nose. She snapped it closed and handed it to Max.

  “So you get the gun?” he asked.

  “I get the gun,” Rani repeated. “Besides, the chamber was empty.”

  “No bullets? What was he just carrying it around for?”

  “Or he ran out.”

  “Jesus, Rani.” Max stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose the way their father did when they’d done something wrong. “You got lucky,” he fi
nally said.

  And Rani knew what he was thinking. That he should have gone instead of her.

  “So what now?” he said.

  The words split Rani open like a blade and she forced herself to focus only on their immediate needs—hunger, warmth, safety. But she knew that wasn’t what Max was talking about.

  “We’ve been here for almost two weeks…”

  Rani imagined him trying to stitch together all of the places they’d slept, the nights they’d had nothing to eat, until the actual length of time they’d been in the United States started to take shape.

  “We haven’t found her,” he said. “We don’t even know what’s happened to her.”

  Rani thought about that morning in the kitchen, she and Nadia the only two awake as they waited for Nadia’s taxi. Night was still pouring over everything, the warble of things they couldn’t see—cicadas and crickets, rainwater rushing down the gutters—all of it giving them permission not to say the one thing they were both thinking. That this could be it. That Nadia may get on that plane and they’d never see her again.

  Rani lowered her voice. “We don’t?”

  Max fell against the wall, wringing the dirty hem of his shirt. He closed his eyes. “How do you not feel this?” he said. “She’s our sister.” Max opened his eyes again and they stung red on Rani’s face. “And she could be dead.”

  She could feel Max waiting for her to break, wanting her to. But it was too late for that now. So she swallowed it down again, the fear settling like ashes at the base of her stomach.

  “Could be,” Rani finally said. “Probably.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rani said, the words stiff and automated.

  Their parents’ deaths had calloused her in a way she was used to apologizing for now. Rani tried to drop the chill in her voice. “But you’re right,” she said. “We’ve been here for two weeks, waiting for her, looking for her. What she was doing, what we were all doing, it was dangerous. We knew something like this could happen and we will never stop looking for her but we have to start thinking about what we’re going to do now. We can’t just sit and wait for the cartel to find us too.”