That’s why I stopped, exposed to whoever might be passing by the alleyway, or peeking outside through door cracks. I had no time to lose. My life was on the line. And that’s why telling my story was of the highest importance. If anything, I had to let people know the truth. Otherwise, I might end up taking the whole of that scheme, the whole of the truth, to the grave.
I went back to Fátima’s phone, unlocked due to my constant tapping on the screen. On Google I found the number of the US Embassy in Rio, and dialed it up.
“For English, press 1. For Portuguese, press 2.”
Before actually speaking to a living person, I had to pass through the timegate that talking to a machine represented. I chose the option to “talk to an embassy officer.” A few minutes later, a young woman came on the line.
“US Embassy in Rio, how may I help you?”
For a moment I halted over the line, baffled for hearing an English speaker at the other end. I could almost feel the smells of Atlanta Airport, the smells of my room. Her voice was enticing—it gave me back the hope I thought I had lost forever.
But she had a Brazilian accent. Would the US Embassy hire Brazilians for some of its positions? Maybe. But that wasn’t my biggest concern at the moment.
“Oh my god, I need help. Someone, anyone. I need help,” I said.
“Please, lady, stay calm. What’s your name?” she replied.
“My name is Emily Bennett, I’m lost . . . I’ve been running from the police and drug lords. I’m in hiding in a favela. I’m—”
“Are you Emily Bennett? Where are you?” The woman said. Her tone indicated she was aware of my disappearance.
“Yes. I’m inside the Gloria Santa slum, but I’m heading to the bottom. I need your help, please, send help. I’m hurt, I’m hungry . . . I need—”
“Mrs. Emily Bennett, my name is Claire. I’m already calling my superiors, we’ve been looking for you. But I need you to provide specific directions of where we might find you. We’ve been helping local police scour the area, but Gloria Santa is just too big.”
I was excited to finally talk to someone I could trust, and exhausted. I couldn’t handle this situation anymore. I could already see everything coming to an end: my going back to my country, to my people. It was real. It would be real. So real that it made the scents around me, the wretched houses, and all the violence that dwelled in Gloria Santa bring me nauseas. We only get used to bad things when they seem eternal.
The nightmare was about to end. And for the first time I had the sense of air vanishing from my lungs.
Panic attack.
“Please, come quickly. I . . . I’m not feeling well. They’ll kill me. Drug lords, they’re behind all this. Too many people died already. They won’t spare my life.”
“Mrs. Bennett, breathe slowly. I need you to keep talking to me. But I need you to be clear. Where are you?”
I gasped for air, let go of the broom and shored my back up against an electricity post. Truth was, I had no idea where I was. I only knew I had to go to the bottom. Down to the bottom of the slum. Down to—
“Gas station,” I said. “I’ll be at the gas station . . . it’s at the foot of Gloria Santa.”
“All right, Mrs. Bennett. Gas Station. We’ll send a car right away. We’ll also request an escort from the local police. I need—”
“No. Local police? No, don’t do that. Not them. Local police are working together with Drug Lord Factions. Not them.” My legs started to tremble, my hands to shake.
“Mrs. Bennett. I need you to remain in touch with me until you’re rescued. How long before you to arrive at the gas station?”
“I . . . I hope it won’t take long. I’m hurt, walking on a broom. But they’re already coming for me. I might come across them anytime.”
“All right. Keep calm Mrs. Bennett. We’ll do everything we can to rescue you. Oh, please, just a second,” she said.
But that second sounded as an eternity. I heard crackling and buzzing and distant voices at the other side of the line. Around me, slum walls seemed to twitch and wave, distorted on the corners of my sight. In my mental clock I knew those coming up for me were about to arrive. I was probably only a couple of minutes away from walking across them.
Claire went on, “I’ve just been informed that a squad is already on its way toward your location. It appears your location has been reported to the local police.”
“What? No, that’s a lie. Don’t believe them, Claire. Please. They’ll make something up, they kidnap me. They’ve already killed Renato . . . oh god, please no, Claire.”
I started walking again with the broom as a crutch. A moving target is harder to hit. My foot scratched the ground, the foot under my swollen knee. The other kept my balance, in coordination with the bristled stick.
Claire continued, her voice metallic on speakers.
“Mrs. Bennet, I understand you’re scared, but you need to stay calm. We have evidence that your kidnapper has been neutralized trying to use the cable car at the top of Gloria Santa. We’re unable to foresee any immediate threat to your safety. Stay where you are and—”
Before letting her finish her sentence, I hung up.
Chapter 31
Claire’s Brazilian accent planted a tiny seed inside my mind when we started talking over the phone. That seed rooted as our conversation went on, and before long it had blossomed into a faulty flower that’s smells lashed out my mental nostrils.
Claire was a
