Flamed

By Alexandra J

A nurtured flame knows no other command than to amass an insatiable size...

Revenge is a dish worth having. So, Ángel sets out to gratify his new client’s palate. To his surprise, his target, Alejandro Ruiz—the untouchable Cuban magnate—has more than just fast cars. Ángel finds himself wanting more. A job well done will simply not do.

An amateur chef determined to make ends meet in Jamaica, Ms. Murdoch, finds herself at the mercy of the empire builder himself, Alejandro Ruiz. His obsession, his command, his passion, takes the promise of true love from the pages of an oeuvre and brings it to life. Leading into a love incendiary and unquenchable.

Alejandro declares his lesson learned. He is ready to pursue a life with the cheeky chef, but then a mysterious enemy strikes! With the shadows of his past coming out to play, will their fire prevail or be snuffed out by the darkness?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra J
• Release date: Sep 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463258477

Book preview

flAmeD

Alexandra j

Copyright © 2018 Alexandra Jarrett

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To the hearts that once withered in the face of an electric love.

The after charge is enough to power a whole city.

I have loved to the point of madness

that which is called madness

that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.

— FRANCOISE SAGAN

RIVER DEEP

Languid waves washed against the range of luxurious cruisers, unconcerned with the dazzling city which glittered on its surface. Deep within the abysmal inky blue gulf, life slumbered or lived clandestinely, shrouded and encouraged by the dark latency. Still, another story was to be told on top, where the vessels bombed subtly upon the sparkling water and peace assumed a more vibrant stance as the dazzling city was feted.

A breeze, unkind like the dark depths, rolled off the twinkling surface unto the mainland. Only amongst buildings stretching for the moon and pavements animated with a blend of locals and vacationers, could it be overcome by a searing warmth and would greet the pulsating city with mirth. But, as it flowed away from the blinding lights and imposing infrastructures, scraping over a sea of sand dunes, a brittle state was undertaken, and the gulf and cheer became a distant memory.

Standing before the prosperous hotel, Ángel was mildly impressed. It embraced the night sky, as all the neighbouring resorts did effortlessly. His preference lied with the quiet and dense forest of the north. Isolation was unparalleled, in his opinion, but as a reasonable man he could accept the merits of human contact and watched the cheerful people stroll in and out of the hotel. Undaunted grey eyes scaled the opulent platinum walls to the very top. His man was inside.

And inside was a boring beauty. Had he seen it all? Ángel made his way from the rowdy kitchen to the lobby, casually, and positioned himself at the center. If he had believed in charms and luck, he would have been the first to admit that it was sheer luck to find the lobby in a more chaotic disarray than the kitchen. In chaos he could count on every minuscule detail to go unnoticed—a tribute to the human’s ever-reliable ability to look and yet, not see.

Like a boulder in the middle of rushing water, it was not long until someone, stressed and judicious, would spot the one stagnant figure amidst the hustle and bustle and set him to work. He was there for no other reason.

His eyes swept over the fine champagne carpeting and the modern décor with little to no improvement in his mood. On his ironed-to-a-crisp uniform, he slackened his name tag and then repositioned it—a task idle hands repeated consecutively. You there! Yes, you. Said a lean man standing behind a suave receptionist’s desk. He snapped his fingers and Ángel rushed to the master’s call like the obedient bag boy he was trained to be. As he got closer the surprise on his superior’s face magnified. It was a reaction he’d become accustomed to. It was the result of his striking features.

He awaited orders with a raised chin and squared shoulders as the receptionist tried to hide his initial shock clumsily. After the stumble, the man looked him over with unconcealed disappointment. Have you been idling all evening? A subtle Bangladeshi accent, Ángel had no doubt the man practiced night and day to eradicate, sneaked its way into his voice.

I don’t like to be untidy, NJ, Ángel accounted for his pristine shirt.

Despite the man’s suspicion he was glowing with silent admiration. Ángel had known the his name long before he’d read his name tag and even risked being informal with him. Still, would that be enough to destroy any further suspicion that might sprout from his mind? Ángel held his glowering gaze. Sir? He shifted in his stance impatiently.

The receptionist’s response was immediate. Well, that is good.

Here comes the task.

Take Mademoiselle Clement’s cases to her room. He planted room keys enfolded in a blue case. Pray it’s ready, he said in a hushed tone. She’ll be there shortly.

Ah. Ángel collected the case, If it’s not ready, Selene and I will just have to get creative. The man nodded and released a nervous snicker.

Afterwards, Ángel fetched the cases and hurried to his task. Two women stepped into the service elevator after him. Maids, he recognized. Shortly after the doors united, the lift rocketed upwards smoothly. The smaller one eyed him as though she was indebted to his existence. Contrarily, the round one tried to conceal her desire by feigning annoyance.

On many occasions, he was dubbed beautiful. It was no new fete when in all walks of life women liquefied in the face of the silky black hair flowing pass his shoulders; and the egos of men grew into humongous chest-beating primitives when looking at his fascinating pair of silvery-blue eyes. They were cool yet piquant like ice surfacing a lake. For grown men it was no easy task deciphering the emotions those eyes wrought. Was it pure intrigue? Or did a bit lust finds its way in? Either way, it always left them at the raw end of insecurity.

Ángel let the suitcases slip from his underarms. The rounder one was much prettier, he deliberated, after giving into uncreative thoughts.

As soon as his work was done, he could return home. There that idea was again. Always smuggling its way into in his mind, that he could, but would he? Not that a family was waiting anxiously for him to return. For Joachim, perhaps, but for a man like him, it was unlikely. He willed his mind to return to the task at hand. And the task at hand was to get into Ruiz’s apartment.

Alejandro Ruiz, a massive cinder block cut out of a human being, and his new responsibility. If he’d ever seen a man with complementary proportions of muscles to height in the most extreme and fitting of ways, it was that cinder block, Alejandro. Ángel’s subconscious spewed up all the photographs he’d ever seen of the man, all the while, his clear talc gaze focused on the round woman. The man was a celebrity of sort, on the cover of magazines and main man in a variety of commercials. Not to mention a formidable business shark. The first place he’d ever seen the man was a luxury watch commercial in Dubai.

Before he had accepted the job, he had known quite a few things already about Mr. Ruiz. Namely, he’d bought several of his very own paintings, albeit under another persona. Secondly, he knew the man was ruthless and at the nucleus of several minuscule gun trades. Alejandro Ruiz, his name was virtually followed by sparkling lights and conversations of many breeds. Ángel never forgot a name but more importantly, he never forgot a face.

Names changed all the time, faces too, but it was far easier for a man to dub himself Carl than to rearrange his entire face. Besides, he looked for specific things in a person, features unique to them and them alone. Not like a scar that could be covered, rather characteristics that took forever to tame, like the pitch in a woman’s voice when she tossed her head back to laugh or the twinkle in a man’s eyes when he had the upper hand in roulette, even the set of his mouth and chin when he scowled at a beggar for standing too close.

In Ángel’s twenty-two years on earth, he’d seen many variations of one man, many variations of one name. Sometimes bathed in tribal art from hairline to toe, sometimes shaved bald, sometimes buff other times small, but his foundation stayed the same.

A more suitable case was that of a boy called, Joachim Kozitch. He was the thirteenth child born to Mayenne and Maxim Kozitch. His mother, Mayenne, was born to a foreign country she resented and from her, he had inherited a very rich dark skin, graciously carved mouth, and feline-like eyes embroidered by long fanning ebony lashes. Then there was no more of his mother in him.

His intense ash blue eyes that had a bottomless indifference and caused heads to turn, he’d owed to his father, Maxim. His straight black hair that stretched pass his chest in the same velvety fashion of an Indian, he’d owed a distant ancestor his mother never dared to speak of. Amongst his nine siblings, his parents’ genes had divided and manifested in many different forms, causing them to be a family of extreme diversity.

His father worked for lucrative establishments, whose names could not be pried from cold dead lips. And all his older brothers, danced in his footsteps. Joachim, however, hadn’t fancied the family business, and at twelve years old decided that farming alongside his grandparent was far more rewarding.

He was a complete fool to think that would last. Everyone adored him as well as respected him for his honest living. Ángel’s lips stretched thin and his gaze went empty as Joachim’s tale unraveled further within his mind.

Joachim’s father and eldest brother, Dan, had left the country for Prague. They’d been gone for two weeks then on the dawn of April 9th, 2011, two wooden boxes were delivered to his house. One was piled with maggots swimming in entrails and the other possessed the heads of his dear father and brother. He’d leapt backward in fright knocking over the contents of each box.

Dan and his father’s faces were set in a distortion of agony, missing noses, and ears. His scream was endless. Ángel could hear the wails of this boy filling his stomach and echoing in his bones. He had wept for hours, clawing at his eyes and ripping ruffled black hair from his scalp, unable to fashion a sane thought.

A swift burial followed.

Even when the organization behind their deaths was dismantled and its participants dismembered, triumph still slipped from his hands like sea water. The years and tenure of searching for Geoff, the man who had eviscerated and beheaded his beloved, had frozen his heart. Eventually, he’d come to know that only a frozen heart could be shattered into a thousand pieces. It took roughly three years, but the harsh reality found its way to him, settled on the outskirts of London.

It was revealed to him on a phone call, that shortly after killing Dan and Maxim, his elusive target had been stabbed to death by a scorned wife. So, the revenge he’d set out to gain was over before it had truly started. Upon hearing this Joachim had shrieked like a kettle and thrown himself out of his apartment window.

From the second story, he’d landed on an assemblage of furniture that was being removed. To think that the man who had stolen his humanity was comfortably in his bed when he’d met his end had injured Joachim profusely. A fractured shoulder and concussion were nothing compared to his inner throes. The fact that he had not gotten the honours was the swinging mallet to that frozen heart.

People had gathered around the bawling boy, and they’d all been convinced that his tears and hollers were a result of his bloody nose and the bone protruding from his elbow. Once again, the pain screaming from his heart was buried too far below to be heard, like a necklace settled at the bottom of a lake.

He had become a boy living on revenge. Revenge had filled him to the brim like water in a vase and once that was taken from him he’d been reduced to an empty vessel. It was at that moment he’d began to admire life’s ironies and so life’s ironies never disrupted his peace again.

He’d recognized it then, at seventeen, bleeding on nightstands and bookshelves, and going in and out of consciousness around complete strangers, that he was a lifeless form. He had taken a blade to the heart and now, he’d become a blade himself. The very morning Joachim had woken up to find his father and brother’s heads in the mail he’d died along with them. It was merely revenge that had made him mobile and gave him a daily purpose.

Life had played a cruel trick on him. Life had made him many promises but, instead he had died twice. And on the street side, broken and bleeding, a nameless, faceless figure had been born.

JOACHIM’S JUSTICE

Ángel reflected on the unfortunate tale written by, without a doubt, a demented god swishing his paintbrush on the world before him. A blurred vision of the black-skinned boy, Joachim, circulated in his mind, his face was distorted in swirls but, his anger rushed through Ángel’s veins. As the rational man he was, there was no denying Joachim Kozitch. The was no denying the first person he’d ever been, the first face he’d ever shed.

As the nameless man, he had honed his intellect and pressured his body to meet the demands of his ingenuity. He spoke six different languages along with his native Russian. He prided himself on knowing things and being self-sufficient. His active mind called for many different professions in between clients. He had cased sausages in Germany; he had been a shoemaker in Denmark, a cashier, a bus driver, elderly caretaker and babysitter. In London, Joachim Kozitch, the faceless man, was recorded as a physicist by trade.

Every now and again, he would retire to a tent on Mount Skiddaw to bask in the cold and solace. However, even in solitude, stagnancy was stifling and so he’d always resorted to painting and sculpting.

Ángel was far from the young boy staring at his loved ones in boxes. He made peace with that notion and focused on the surrounding walls of the elevator. But soon it slipped away once more…

Even as a young farmer, he’d found himself surpassing his superiors in a short time and moving on to bigger duties. So, it was no surprise that his acute senses later called for more stimulating tasks. To date, he sought the most peculiar clients which landed him in the sights of a very interesting man. His client, whose name he didn’t ask for but knew, had an elaborate scheme mapped out for his revenge on this Alejandro Ruiz and he needed a malleable man—a blank canvas.

His only surviving brother and psychiatrist, Mikhail, always applauded him for distinguishing each character and not getting things muddled like a can of alphabet soup. In return, he would disclose frigidly that it was easy for him because he’d forgotten who he was from the start. Joachim Kozitch was forsaken. He was useless. He hadn’t done anything to help his father and brother when they were killed.

He’s useless! And he’s not me!

He’s not me! The words fired from his mouth with such power it reverberated off the walls and made his companions flinch. As he recovered from the momentary relapse his eyes gradually soften from the fevered steely grey to a meek blue. He inhaled deeply for a while and gathered his wits. Why today of all days had his mind chosen to hang off its hinges? It wasn’t the first time the Alejandro case had caused him trouble.

Ángel stepped from the lift, a man with his sanity intact. The temporary episode behind him as well as the scared women. He donned a long-rimmed cap and black gloves then navigated down the different hallways until he was face to face with the targeted room. Inside, the lightning was set to a romantic dim and women spread out from sitting room to bedroom, basking in the aftermath of excellent wine and exquisite sex. In his usual pedantic manner, he scrutinized the rooms in one swift move and continued on.

Discarded clothes and wine glasses bedazzled the floors and furniture. The squishing and sloshing sound as his feet trekking through a wine soaked rug followed him to the bathroom. Beneath smoke clouds, he found Alejandro in a drug-induced stupor on the floor. A woman’s cheek was planted on his bared thighs. A breath away from his torpid member, she too was dazed, swimming in the clouds which floated around them. Alejandro’s muscular arm cuddled a hookah next to his lifeless form. While his other hand was buried in his companion’s golden hair.

Ángel stooped next to the man and pressed an index finger in the hollow just below his jawline then backtracked to the bedroom. In the past, his line of work surrounded men who were suspicious of their very own shadows. To find Ruiz so vulnerable, Ángel was almost disgusted. And it would’ve been an absolute feeling had Alejandro not been down on his luck lately.

Granted the man had been sprayed with bullets just recently, Ángel wouldn’t judge the scene before his glassy eyes too harshly.

A man chose to recover how he chose to recover.

He was an interesting fellow, Mr Ruiz. Not long ago he had collapsed before a grand hotel now he partied with lovely women, fine wine and spirits. Touché. He was indeed an incredible man. Just like his foe. Ángel sent a confirmation text message and soon opened the doors of Ruiz’s suite to his new client.

A man petite in stature, with a small face, peaceful eyes and a high-pitched voice, entered. Those eyes widened and became vacant as they rested on the unconscious Alejandro. Repressed emotions were potent enough to create a neurotic aura around the man. It was relatable for Ángel knew that if Geoff had survived his stab wounds and turned up on the map somewhere, he too would fall on his knees.

Just a month ago, for the first, they’d lounged about in another hotel room discussing the nature of the job. The man had given him a synopsis of his history with Alejandro. Then had made his desires clear. "Do you believe in magic, Ángel? the man had asked him with hopeful eyes. Ángel had known of black magic and nothing more. Ready to listen wholeheartedly to his proposition, Ángel had relaxed in his chair.

What kind of magic?

"The best kind, acere! The best kind! he said before dramatically finishing, Amar."

Love?

It was not a brand-new concept. The man had started to lack originality but, Ángel knew very well that love or the lack thereof and who or what it was directed at motivated a lot of disasters. So, he listened and listened allowing the man to empty his breast. In order for me to get what I want, in order for me to congratulate you on a job well done and plant six million in your hands, you have to pay close attention to what I’m about to say next.

Ángel’s brain rushed through the familiar proceedings and brought him back to the moment at hand. Alejandro was unconscious on the bathroom floor, and his enemy was reaching out for a lock of his blondish hair. He rubbed the tress between his fingers and stared into a future he longed for. Alejandro had appealing characteristics, Ángel noted. After a full minute, his client straightened and assumed a more cheerful mien.

You’re an impressive man, Ángel. Said the petite man. It’s yours. His gaze fell on Alejandro once more. Then he left.

A minute had only passed when his cellphone beeped to life. It was alerting him of a transfer of four hundred thousand euros to his bank account. Within him a joyful tune hummed to life. He had not foreseen success after failing his first task but his new boss was a man of his word and now he had secured a promising job.

At first, Ángel had had no doubts of course but his employer was a doubtful man. And rightfully so. The things he’d confided in Ángel, the things he’d set out to do, were unnatural, no regular man could walk away unscathed from such a game. So, he had given Ángel a task to prove his worth. He had to find Alejandro, a man he’d never seen in person, within three days.

Superbly, Ángel had located his target in Brasil an hour after leaving their meeting place and tracked him down to Jamaica. By 5 p.m, he’d figured out several routes and by seven, had been ready to become the man’s shadow. His employer had been pleased. But then Alejandro Ruiz had done the unexpected. He had died.

In the busy city, Ángel had watched it from ten feet away. Alejandro had exited his car for a hotel valet to park and had hopped onto the platform of the impressive building. Ángel had not taken another breath when the noise of a gunfire blazed though the streets. Everyone had scattered in a loud commotion. Ángel had just dived behind a car before it had been sprayed with unguided bullets. And then it had happened. Three singular bangs and his target had fallen back into the arms of a middle-aged man who had happened to be sheltering behind him. Blood leaked from three distinct holes that had become visible on his grey shirt. There was a small pause then an uproar of screams and pleads directed at the heavens.

The nearest hospital had pronounced him dead. Ángel had made a mental note of the peculiar case of Alejandro Ruiz and had set his mind on seeing a bit more of the tropical paradise. If only the man had stayed dead. Ángel had hardly bitten into his patty, walking through King Street, when he’d received the phone call detailing Alejandro’s brief revival and swift trip to The Emirates. Ángel had half a mind to refuse the second task, lest he found a dead man again but, the job pulled him like an over-sized cartoon magnet.

Especially when his client made interesting stakes. What if I get the girl but Alejandro gets me? Let’s say I take his love and he ends up taking my innards? Let’s say within two weeks of my death you are somehow able to produce the corps of Alejandro Ruiz. 

Ángel’s ears had perked up. Yes, let’s say that exactly.

Then everything that I once owned will be signed over to you, Ángel Casillas. He’d said. Of course I’ve made preparations with my lawyers which you will meet with if you accept this job.

Let’s meet right now, was Ángel’s keen decision.

Now, his feline shaped eyes gleamed as he placed the phone back into his pocket and strutted to the front door. Never had a job aroused him with such intensity. Never had he given himself over wholeheartedly to the success of a job. He was bubbling with fascination and motivation for his client was cooking up a flawless revenge.

It would be a shame if someone were to take that from him, said an envious voice.

No; he would see his clients desires through. He vowed silently to ensure that his client’s revenge was served to him on a golden platter. He fetched Mademoiselle Clement’s cases in the hallway and took them to the assigned room. Now the real work began.

World of the living

Colossal architectural masterpieces illuminated the night, and he was very impressed for he was perched at the zenith of one of them, at the foot of the heavens, all its glory eclipsed by the vibrant city. The wind danced around him playfully, carelessly gliding up the solid frame of his bare back and over broad shoulders. It swept through his tawny hair with a mighty swirl and pulled the tormenting heat from the depths of his body onto the golden tips of his hair, and finally unto the starless grey sky. His inner peace flourished in the airy solitude as electric teal eyes rested on the superlative vessel, renowned, La Mariposa del Mar. Hundreds of feet below him the remarkable vessel stood a speck, no match for the city’s opulence. The harbour on which it bobbed and rocked sparkled with delight, a watery mirror for thousands of extraordinary lights.

His strong legs dangled from the ledge, still, he never felt more in control. To be in his body once more, to feel, to smell and touch, all the basic things he had taken for granted. It was his last night in the city and to his amusement, it hadn’t gone any different from all the other nights.

Are you going to jump? Though the vacant teal gaze that distinguished him a dispassionate and foreboding man among his peers lingered on the yacht, his spine arched with profound weariness as the gruff voice of his new companion pierced his haven. Manuel moved closer. The silhouette that preceded him was as ill-formed and obscure as the soul of the man himself. Alejandro picked himself up off the ledge and turned to face the cancer he called, Abuelo.

Alejandro stood a great height over him. Even though the man was thinner compared to Alejandro’s excessive mass, he possessed biceps that spoke to a very active lifestyle and remarkable upper body strength. He was not a man to underestimate. He moved with short precise steps at a reptilian-like pace. Years of cigars had left his voice creaky and hoarse. In fact, his tone was always raspy yet beguiling. The man had lord himself over everyone he crossed paths with, but not Alejandro. From a young age, he had been too irrepressible.

I should push you then? He continued airily like an old friend.

I’m sure you’d like to do that. Alejandro’s voice had no trace of emotion. It was just like his grandfather to disregard how severely they had butted heads over the last couple of months. He supposed that would be the man’s solution after all the great years they had shared. In all Manuel had fifteen grandchildren but only one he knew by heart and latched onto.

"Smoking your troubles away, little boy?

Alejandro cringed. I don’t see any weed.

Puto!

The bitterness he felt was nauseating, for the man it was aimed at had once been his truest friend. How they had come to a sour patch was confounding but, Alejandro could no longer endorse the man’s behaviour. Not if he wanted to live to see thirty. I don’t need to see them to know that you’re high.

Yes, I am high. Alejandro spread his arms wide in commemoration of the marvellous view before them.

Alejandro, what are you doing up here? Trying to get yourself killed? Manuel asked.

I remind you that two days ago I was practically a corpse on a hospital bed.

"Trying to get yourself killed otra vez?"

Can I help you, Abuelo? It was rare to have two self-assured men going against each other when their interests normally aligned beautifully but, Alejandro was determined to put some distance between them if not physically then socially.

You should be celebrating.

I’ve had my fill. Delectable images of half-dressed and completely naked women lying on his hotel room floor and in the massive sized bed sauntered into his mind. There was even one splayed across his bathroom floor, hugging a hookah in blissful sleep. They were fair women, six in all. But had they done anything spectacular? Being non-existent in the last four weeks had left him with a hunger. If not for sex, then what?

During his time in Abu Dhabi, he had appreciated the exotic blunt more than the exotic sex.  It was clear to him he’d woken with a void no present thing in his life could fill. Not power, naked women, affluent Mediterranean cities, nor his family. Alejandro ticked each point off in seething anger until the eruption ceased and the smoke settled and in the clear a thought surfaced.

Brown eyes?

So you’ve come here to feel sorry for yourself.

Yes, that is in order, considering you got me killed.

How dramatic of you Alejandro, you didn’t have to spend millions to gripe in a foreign country. You could have done that in your bedroom back home.

Careful how you speak to me, I’ve had my fill of you too, and I may not forgive you. In fact, I might just discard of you. His snarled words hung between them for some time. Once it had diffused, his grandfather finally gave his two cents.

The worst thing we can do is lie to ourselves. He planted a hand with three rings on his shoulder. Alejandro felt the weight of his words and not his hands. There was no ocean to keep them apart, not when their compatibility was fiercely magnetic. Alejandro looked from his grandfather’s pale leathery hand to his deep-sunken eyes that were shadows of a sinister heart. Evil clung to his persona like the hand-tailored suit he was wearing. Then a sudden thought flickered in his mind. It was not prosperity he was after. It was peace.

I have a gift for you, Manuel told him before stepping aside.

If it’s women, I’ve had it. If it’s a car, I’ve seen it. If it is my own personal slave, I’ll pass. He didn’t chuckle but Alejandro could feel his mood lightening.

I will leave you some space. That is what you want and I will respect that, he stated upon leaving. It was the closest thing to ‘I love you’ Alejandro had heard and it pleased him. Sure, it was annoying to have his abuelo inspire happiness in him but what was the point of denying it?

Alejandro was just getting used to the feeling of hope when once again his solace was intruded on. "There is so much to celebrate, sobrino, why be by yourself?" as he said this Tio Miguel’s nostrils curled and Alejandro knew that he’d smelled exclusively of ganja.

If I wanted to celebrate I would be with my parents and my brother. Not miles away with strangers and whores. Alejandro returned to his seat at the edge of the building.

Why did you invite us if you wanted to be alone?

I did not invite either of you. You felt like babysitting me and that old fart followed. No offence

I am a little offended. Miguel plopped down beside him. They stared in silence. The city was a tribute to man’s innovation.  I love coming to this country.

When I am done here I’m going back to Jamaica.

What! Why? Tío Miguel jumped to his feet that instant and soon Alejandro followed.

It is where I want to be. It’s where I live.

But think about what happened to you there. All the warmth drained from Alejandro and his whole body convulsed at what his uncle was referring to. Should it matter? It was his home. Months after his seventeen birthday his father packed them up and left Cuba. His uncle and some of his cousins had already been living there and when he had arrived it was simply falling in love with the culture. It was his home, so he belonged there.

Think it through, Alejo.

"I did! That is why I need to go back. Can I really allow some cowards to run me out of my own country again?" His uncle probably thought he needed to get revenge. He did have a mind as morbid as Manuel’s, but Alejandro had not the appetite for revenge. If anyone had asked he’d tell them that he deserved exactly what happened to him. Now, his wounds burned afresh within his flesh. He had left Jamaica as soon as he was able to climb out of the hospital bed, not for fear that someone would find out and finish him off. It was near impossible with the security his grandfather provided. However, it was suffocating, being bound to a hospital for weeks. The trip was enough and it was time to return.

What did she look like?

Miguel paused for a moment. "¿Que? When Alejandro did not repeat himself he continued, no me acuerdo."

How useless, from his jeans pocket Alejandro retrieved a fresh roll of weed and lit it. The nurse said she had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

Brown eyes, Miguel said flatly. Brown eyes, Alejo. Both his arms jerked up and down to emphasize how average the situation was.

I need her. Her name. Something!

Why?

I was dead.

You were not—

I was dead! Alejandro crushed the roll in anger and tossed it over the ledge. Contrary to what you, my mother or anyone else would like to say to spare feelings that I could piss on, I was dead. 8:49 a.m, they called it. His chest shriveled from the inside like paper being crushed by an irritated sketch artist. He remembered the heavy smell of blood and disinfectant. His clothes had felt damp and as the seconds strolled by the colder he’d felt. He wanted to get off the table but hands restrained him and scissors clawed its way up his shirt. The shirt had cost him thousands of dollars yet in seconds it was cut to pieces and removed from his body.

You were saying your goodbyes when she came in, right? Miguel didn’t meet his gaze but nodded regrettably. And what happened when this easily forgotten girl walked into the room?

Your eyes opened.

Alejandro ceased his interrogation. A curious situation. Upon regaining consciousness, he had asked his grandaunt, Maita, to tell him the tale of his resurrection over and over, and still, in the end questioned the woman’s sanity. But his mother and brother all supported her claim. It was God’s miracle they said. He’d been in surgery for 16 hours and it had gone successfully. He’d woken from anaesthesia the next day to ghastly tear-stained, smiling faces. The following hour his health depleted rapidly and he’d gone unconscious once more.

Doctor! Get the doctor! His mother had screamed on the top of her lungs in her native