Joanne shook her head. “Emily, I’m not aware of what they have done while running the investigation . . . all I know is that they mustered a force to rescue you from Renato’s hands, but given that the drug dealers who control Gloria Santa never take a police incursion easily, gunfights started, and a young girl was shot dead, and this caused riots in the slum.”
Joanne sighed and continued. “I’ve done my best to tell you all I know, in respect to our friendship. Now, I need to tell you some more harsh truths. You will be accused of murder by local authorities. We believe we’ll be able to bail you out, because the things you’ve gone through are more than enough to prove your state of confusion.”
She spoke, but I didn’t believe her words.
“You can’t see the threads, Joanne.” I almost chuckled.
“Threads of what? What do you mean?”
“Threads of corruption.” She was so naive. “They’re hard to evade, and it’s not even a surprise to me that you’ve been captured by them. You’ve always been weak, Joanne. Small seats on big routes? Johnson & Brothers operating on low budget. You’ve also been a huge liar since forever. Now I can see it clearly. How stupid I have been.”
Joanne pursed her lips. “As I said, you’re confused, Emily. Take a rest while we take care of your damn ass.”
She turned her back and walked toward the door.
“He was murdered. He knew he was going to die and he protected me.” Joanne ignored me. “He gave his life for mine,” I yelled.
She left the room without looking back. The whiteness of its walls seemed to stop time.
But then that gnawing came back again. That scratching beneath my bed. It came back to life when nobody was around.
“Come out of your cave, you beast! Let me take a piece of your flesh. I’ll bite you to death, you motherfucker. I’ll bite you to death.”
I was not a coward anymore.
Epilogue
The mangled hand pushes the tray through the iron door into my room. Instead of a bowl of soup, it now delivers a cup of water and colorful pills to swallow.
“Take your pills, Emily. You know what happens when you don’t take them,” says the voice outside.
I take the cup in my hands. It smells like nothing.
“It’s finished. I’ve written it all,” I say.
“I know you did,” says the hand. “You always do.”
“So, do you believe me now? We need better security in this building. They’ll come heavily armed, they’ll—”
A small window opens in the iron door. I see the face of the mangle hand on the other side.
“Nobody is coming to Atlanta. Just swallow your pills, Emily. Let me see it,” he says.
“Have you searched for Flávio Beirario on the internet?”
“You know he doesn’t exist outside your mind,” I see those black eyeballs across the opening in the door.
He is a liar, this damn beast. They all are.
I take the tray, splash it on the ground. Water and pills mixing with dried soup on the floor.
“You liar! You all are!”
“Shit . . .” I hear him saying.
I step up on my bed. Looking around, I see unblemished white walls inside my room.
I need to write it on the walls. Not on the ground. They’ll read it better if it’s written on the walls.
Then I hear it. Someone is calling for me.
“Marlon, is that you? Bring me that pencil from over on my desk, that pink one we bought in New York. My words will stand out on these walls.”
Marlon doesn’t answer me.
The door in my room is pushed open, three men appear.
“What a mess. She did it again,” one says.
“Calm down, Emily. You need to take your medicine,” another says.
The man with the mangled hand approaches me. I never knew his name.
“They won’t reach you here in Atlanta, Emily. You’re safe here,” he says.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“So you can’t see the Threads either.”
[GS1]Since Renato speaks English as a second language, I think we should leave the majority of his dialogue grammatically as is. It’s a good way to develop his character and show that he is a native Brazilian
