Pain does strange things to people, makes things that used to look bad or immoral seem logical or right. Anything to stop the pain. It cuts off portions of the conscience, sending your heart into a panic to avoid the pain it predicts. It makes me feel a little sorry for him. But not sorry enough to give him what he wants. – Felicity’s text to her brother, Nick. March 21.

Take care of this girl. There’s something about her. I like her. You like me, and I like her. So be nice to her, and I will count it as a favor. - Text from Esmeralda to Carlos, March 21

March 20

Tiny missiles pelleted her cheeks and sought to penetrate her eyelids; Felicity's sensations returned before full awareness. She could feel the grating of the wind rasp harshly across her face. Sitting up, she turned her back to the pounding wind so she could protect her eyes long enough to open them.

When she did so, she tried to brush the grit away from her lashes. Blinking her eyes clear, she glanced around her; what little she could see seemed unfamiliar. Felicity could just make out the outlines of a road - an intersection, actually – beside which she lay. In front of her, the horizon stretched flat and unchanging. She could barely discern the silhouette of several dilapidated edifices scattered on either side of the road, but she could not see them clearly. The light filtered down through a golden haze of dust, as if the party's smoke-filled room had expanded to the external world. From the way the sun bled around her, she couldn't tell the time of day, whether midday or dusk or dawn, but not nighttime. Overshadowing all her senses, Felicity felt as much as saw the thick cloud of sand that had engulfed her world, grains much larger than she would have expected; it obscured anything more than a few feet in front of her.

Since Felicity had no idea where she was or where she should go, she dragged herself slowly to her feet and began plodding in the direction the wind was blowing. The movement allowed her a few inches of clear air in front of her, enough to keep her eyes open and enough to breathe without inhaling sand. Every muscle in her body ached, but no bones seemed broken, and no pain overshadowed the minor irritation of her sore muscles save a slight pang in her right ankle. I must have twisted it falling from the truck bed, she thought.

The truck bed, she repeated incredulously. She, Felicity Miller, had jumped from the truck bed of a moving vehicle. Unbelievable. Felicity huffed the deepest breath she dared among the thick haze.

Knowing that someone would eventually notice her disappearance from the truck, Felicity forced herself forward, deciding that she would risk trying to ask for help. She approached the buildings on the left-hand side of the road, mostly abandoned ruins - cheaply-made, fallen-down shells in the adobe style typical of the southwest U.S.

How long had I been held in that truck? she worried. She was pretty sure that they had started out near the Canadian border which meant that they had been traveling at least 10 hours to reach even the northernmost part of the Southwest. She didn't remember being transferred from the softness of what had obviously been a car into the cold hard back of a pickup truck, and she doubted that her captors had ridden with her over 1,500 miles exposed in the back of a truck.

The erasure of an indefinite time period in her life unnerved Felicity, and she had not even a faint memory of the elapsed span. She did, however, remember waking up in the back of the truck. With the disorientation of her awareness mingled fuzzy remembrances of the time before her abduction: a fog descending on her as she sat in a comfortable chair talking with Jase; feeling a kiss and a caress as Jase laid her into the backseat of the car; and Brendon's cold expression as he stared at her through the glass of the window, his lover at his side. The expectation of concern from the one man; the expression of concern by the other. A stabbing pain in her heart robbed her of breath for a moment as she remembered, and she paused to gather herself.

When she had realized that she lay in the back of a speeding truck, Felicity had forced herself to pushed down her confusion and think rationally. Whoever had placed her in the back of the truck had either assumed that she would stay asleep or hadn't clearly communicated that she be restrained. Why else would she remain unfettered in an open-bed truck? Relief had mingled with her misery as she had watched small town lights blur past her. She was alive and unharmed, but someone had kidnapped her. A positive to go with the negative. As the truck had slowed at an intersection, she climbed carefully over some trash bags that had, with a thick blanket, prevented her from rolling around the back of the truck. She then used them to shield her movements from view of the driver. From her new vantage point, she could peer occasionally at the rearview mirror and watch the driver's eyes. After watching for at least 20 minutes, she felt the truck slow at what appeared to be an intersection.

Holding her breath, she locked her eyes on the mirror and waited until the dark-eyed driver glanced behind him and then gassed the truck forward. Knowing he would return his eyes to the road, Felicity used the opportunity to climb as discreetly as she could over the back right side of the truck. A sudden lurch sent her crashing over the back end and onto the pavement, her head cracking into the blacktop. Above her, the world swam, and the lights danced as her consciousness waned yet again. She struggled against the blackness of her brain, though, forcing herself to crawl off of the hard road and out of the path of any oncoming vehicle. When she felt the soft sand at the side of the road, she finally gave up, succumbing to her exhaustion and the pain in her head.

Felicity could not estimate how long she had lain in the dirt, unseen and undisturbed. Though she could not currently determine the time of day, she knew that she had jumped from the pickup sometime in the night. She was safe, though – she had to focus on staying that way.

Most likely, the dusty haze had obscured her from any passersby, because a woman wearing a dark blue cocktail dress and lying in a gutter would surely have otherwise attracted attention. She considered seeking help. What would she do if she found someone? Whom could she call? Felicity wouldn't want to contact any of her family or friends, not until she knew what was after her. In the past she would have called Brendon. He would have hired someone to come retrieve her and then spent the few weeks making fun of her or berating her for being stupid enough to drink that much wine.

Was Brendon her enemy? A few days ago, she would not have thought it possible. Even after, did it mean a man was a criminal just because he had a mistress? Then half the men or more and a quarter of women through all of history would be criminals. Problem was not the mistress. Problem was the deception. If a man would take the systematic and intentional steps to conceal something like he did, then he was the sort of man who would take the systematic and intentional steps to conceal something. And almost worse, a man who pretended to be a good, upstanding citizen, the pinnacle of moral virtue, while engaging in the practices that are the bedrock of all criminal behaviors. She just had no idea who he was anymore.

His tone for the past few days had held such a sense of urgency, his eyes an anxiety and panic since before they boarded the airplane, and those expressions seemed to betray a desire for her well-being. Might it rather have been anxiety that she, that someone, would mess up his plan? She wanted to believe he meant her no real harm, but she had found out in the past 24 hours just how far she would go to believe whatever made her feel better. But just because it makes me feel better doesn't mean it’s true, she reminded herself.

Two strong images rose up in her mind, and she had trouble dismissing either one. Perhaps because, in her rage at Brendon, she wanted them to be significant, but she couldn't ignore them. Two images: Brendon's glare, Amy on his arm, and Jase's concerned eyes as he said the words. I'll come and find you, Jase had said. I won't let them hurt you. Did she trust Jase? She couldn’t trust anyone. But outside of finding her attractive, what self-serving agenda could Jase possibly have? If he only wanted a woman, his options were numerous. Felicity had seen a dozen beautiful women flirt with Jase. Why would Jase reject those other women for Felicity if, in order to have her, he had to brave kidnappers and ProtoComm and who knew what other hurdles to “come and find” her? It seemed motivated by at least some noble intentions inside him.

Felicity felt faint again, not from the pain in her head, but from the intensity of her emotions and the disorientation they wrought. Her knees gave way beneath her, and she sank to the ground. What could she have done that would deserve this? Surely Brendon could just have divorced her if he wanted Amy. Not like Felicity had money of her own to fight him in court. Kidnapping seemed an inconceivable overreaction, especially for the ever-controlled Brendon. Unless kidnapping was the easy solution…

With a dawning thought that her mind fought against, she remembered Nick’s words to her on the phone. “I found something a little more provocative than 'communications,” he had insisted. He had also claimed, “It may just be something his company is doing.” For a normal person, a divorce was the easy option. For someone with a multinational powerhouse, hundreds of millions of dollars to play with, maybe kidnapping was the easier solution. It just didn’t seem real. Brendon’s fight with Bill at the party became significant in Felicity’s mind. I’m not going to let this blow up in my face, Bill had complained. This is far outside our SOP.

Looking physically around her as if for answers, Felicity slumped her shoulders in pain. She couldn't breathe. Of course, she had always heard about broken hearts and had thought that she understood. Now, though? A tight constriction, just off center in her chest kept her physically held down in the earth. It wasn’t so much the heartbreak of Brendon’s affair. It was the heartbreak of the betrayal of all that was good and beautiful. If Brendon had managed her kidnapping, then the world was a lot darker than she had let herself believe. The loss of that kind of innocence was devastating.

Though she tried to filter through the violent black haze that had just choked her mind into uselessness, she could not find a ray of light; she could see no silver lining. Just stand up, she commanded herself. Past the squeezing of her heart and lungs, she sucked in a breath as far as it would go and lunged to her feet. It felt like she had just ripped herself out of molted skin, and she stood raw and exhausted for several seconds. Maybe she should have just crawled out into the road and waited for some passing traffic, blinded by the dust, to end her misery. Without warning, Noah's smile flashed before Felicity's mind, and a sob heaved inside her. How could she even consider leaving them, her children? How was any of it their fault? Would she punish them, make them lose their father and mother on the same day? Or worse, leave them with Brendon and Amy as the only adults in their lives? Felicity took one step and fought to stay upright. Still, she wondered how exactly she would make it across the road and endure the inescapable search for a way to go forward.

As if in reply to her thought, Felicity swallowed and nearly flew into a coughing fit. The lack of saliva in her mouth induced a searing pain in her throat, dry from hours or days without liquid. While death might sound appealing in theory, Felicity's body apparently wanted to stay alive, and adrenaline kicked in with the discomfort. Her immediate physical needs superseded the mental anguish which she wanted to nurse. You want water, it told her. Quit crying and go find some.

Felicity stood to her feet and plodded purposefully toward a row of houses, though she saw no signs of life. Perhaps she could find a working garden hose. After several fails, she finally found an occupied house. Before that, she had only encountered falling down commercial establishments or vacant mobile homes.

Finally, better than a garden hose, she spotted a lone horse standing statue-like but very much alive about 30 yards off of the main road – a live horse meant that a live person who took care of the horse lived nearby. Felicity could just make out the outline of the wire fence that corralled the horse and, behind it about 20 feet, several edifices in varying stages of decay. On one of those buildings, she could also see a rectangular light shining through the dirty fog. Indeed, Felicity had encountered some form of humanity. As Felicity approached the house, she could see that the other buildings were just utilitarian additions to the poor rustic dwelling: a lean-to chicken coop; a small, broken-down, barn-like building; and a generic shed.

Reaching her hand toward the door, Felicity knocked at first timidly, then more demandingly on the ramshackle wood. Felicity wondered if she had been wrong about its occupancy when no one responded for several minutes. How long could it take to walk from the back of that shack to the front? Then, out of the corner of her eye, Felicity saw a shadow of motion behind the lone lit window. A flutter of the curtains? Someone looking out? Glancing down at herself, Felicity's heart dropped. Though she had left Banff a stunning lady, she stood outside this door dirt-encrusted and disheveled. Who knew how many hours in the bed of a truck, a leap onto a dirt shoulder, and a dust storm had all done their worst, and Felicity showed the battle scars.

For some reason, however, the soul inside the house chose to have pity on her. Felicity heard a faint scraping and the slow turning of a doorknob. Then a crack of light joined the nearby rectangle as the person inside opened the door into a semblance of civilization. A very small form caught Felicity's eye, so small in fact, that Felicity thought the form a child. As Felicity stepped in out of the storm, however, she realized that the form was in fact a tiny woman. The woman had a slightly rounded, motherly figure and the dark hair, skin, and eyes of those with Spanish and Native American descent. Her first words confirmed Felicity's thoughts.

“Que quiere?” the woman demanded suspiciously. Her gaze swept up and down Felicity's disheveled figure.

I can do this, Felicity encouraged herself.

“No hablo español,” Felicity grasped at her limited knowledge. “Solo un poquito.”

“Okay, okay,” was all the woman said.

“Agua?” Felicity pleaded, touching her throat.

The woman just nodded and trod off into the back of the house. Shouldn't take too long in a house this small, Felicity thought tacitly. Almost carelessly, the woman had left her door open and now beckoned Felicity into the tiny room - some sort of kitchen and living space combined. Felicity glanced around the room; cozy would have been a generous description of the space. On one wall stood a baker's rack, and a round, wooden table took up the center of the room. A sofa bench rested against another wall. Though tired, Felicity didn't dare invite herself in to sit at the table – not without the woman's permission.

As she waited, Felicity felt safe to spend a few moments thinking. She literally had nowhere to go and no one to call. Move forward, her psyche told her, and her emotions spit back, which way would that be? She could hardly stay long with the poor woman whose house she now invaded. At most, Felicity could hope for some sustenance, maybe a... A phone. Despite her hesitance to involve anyone else, the idea of a lifeline opened for Felicity a sliver of hope. Her last conversation with Nick convinced her that he knew something that could give her direction. Plus, although Nick would definitely lose his cool, Felicity thought she could count on him to let her make her own decisions. Most importantly, if the revelation brought danger with it, Nick could take care of himself.

At this point in Felicity's deliberations, the little woman returned with a mug of something that Felicity didn't recognize. Not “agua.” Maybe some sort of tea? Placing it on the diminutive table, the woman gestured for Felicity to have a seat. The concoction didn't smell too bad, so Felicity surmised that it would be safe to drink. And if not, she mused ironically, I have nothing to steal. She can drug me, but she can't rob me. And I'm already kidnapped.

The liquid in the mug did cause Felicity to calm down, but not the befuddled calm of the alcohol the night before. Was it the night before?

“Qué día es hoy?”

“Hoy es miércoles,” the woman replied.

Wednesday - so Felicity had traveled from Banff less than twenty-four hours before. From the increased darkness outside, Felicity surmised that Wednesday had passed on into evening. The feel of the app night took Felicity back to the previous night, how it had begun in hurt and anger and had ended in devastation. Brendon's glaring face rose before her, and she quickly forced the picture from her mind before she could lose her cool again.

“Como se llama Usted?” Felicity begged, searching for a topic to divert her.

“Me llamo Angela.”

“Angela,” Felicity weighed the name. “Usted es como un angel para mi.” Like an angel to me, Felicity managed a smile.

The woman smiled in return and ducked her head. “No problema,” she shrugged. The compliment seemed to ease something in Angela's mind. “Necesita Usted algo de mi? ¿Como puedo ayudarle?”

How can she help? That's the question of the decade, Felicity groused, hoping her discomfiture wouldn't appear on her face.

“Teléfono,” Felicity mumbled. “Teléfono, por favor,” Felicity pleaded again, a little confidence returning to her voice. The woman dug in her apron and handed over a small, inexpensive cell phone, which Felicity immediately put to use.

When Felicity heard the voice on the other end of the call, she almost burst into tears. Nick sounded worried, almost panicked, and Felicity knew he needed reassuring. “Is that you? I can hardly hear you. Where are you calling from?”

Turning to Angela, Felicity begged, “Donde estamos?”

“Quido.”

“Quido? Donde?”

“Quido, New Mexico.”

Felicity almost dropped the phone she held, and for a moment, thought failed her.

“La frontera?” she asked Angela, not knowing exactly how to ask if she were near the border.

“Treinta minutos al sur.”

Good Lord, Felicity exclaimed. Thirty minutes from the border with Mexico.

Suddenly, the pickup truck made sense. At some point, someone had transferred Felicity from the hands of swanky ProtoComm. What had Nick said he found out about ProtoComm? The Dark web? The playground of traffickers. Her sudden fear retreated instantly to its safe place inside her mind so she could think about a very real danger. Someone was taking Felicity, dressed in a slinky blue dress and stilettos, across the border into the wild western waste of Mexico. If she hadn't awakened; if she had been tied up; if the truck hadn't come to a stop light...Panic crept into her throat, choking her until her brother's anguish wrenched her back to reality.

“Lissie...Lissie, are you there?”

“Oh, Nick...” The tears came, uncontrolled spasms of terror and pain gripped her, rendering her unable to speak or move for several seconds. Why she reacted this way now she didn't know. Maybe the adrenaline that had kept her moving when she was in danger had finally waned, releasing the flood of emotions that she had needed to suppress before. Still, she had to get a grip.

Angela looked a little frightened but just sat staring uncomfortably at Felicity. The realization that she might scare off her refuge finally made Felicity check her crying and enabled her to answer the anxious calling of her name through the phone.

Her voice still breathless, Felicity finally answered Nick's inquiries.

“I'm okay. I haven't been hurt. I don't know where Brendon is, probably still in Canada. I'm in New Mexico, near the border with Mexico. I'm really okay except I twisted my ankle jumping from the back of a truck.”

At the mention of jumping from a truck, Nick unleashed a tirade of curses. “You could have been killed!” he finally finished. “What has Brendon gotten you into?”

Felicity flinched when Nick mentioned Brendon. Whatever Nick had found, he assumed Brendon's guilt. She couldn't yet broach that subject, so raw from recent injury. One thing at a time, she decided.

“Listen, Nick. I need you to do something for me.”

“I'm coming to get you is what I'm doing for you.”

“No, not yet. Just wait. I can't go home. I don't know what I might bring with me. What I need from you is to send me some money.”

“Sis, you are insane! You need me to come get you. I can find some place to hide you.”

If she let herself think, she knew Nick was right. Alone and without resources, Felicity stood little chance of survival. Still, going home seemed counter-intuitive. Home would obviously be the first place anyone would look for her, and she didn't want Nick used as leverage. Plus, she didn't really want to share the news of Brendon's infidelity with anyone yet. Anyone who heard the two stories together would conflate the two, and Felicity knew that she had to separate them. Just because Brendon had proved unfaithful didn't make him a criminal. No, Felicity needed to figure out the kidnapping before she delved into her more personal betrayal.

“I'll let you come get me soon,” she appeased him, “but I need money now. Once I figure out what I'm doing, I'll tell you where to come. But first send me money. Just a minute,” Felicity turned to look at Angela.

“Angela, tiene esta ciudad un...” she fumbled for the word, but decided to just go with the English, “un Western Union?”

“Si, si. Va a abrir mañana a las ocho por la mañana.”

Felicity spoke into the phone, “Western Union, Nick. Quido, New Mexico.” She could have used apps on her phone to pay for most things, but apps came from bank accounts or credit cards, and those could be tracked or canceled. She wanted cash.

“Necesito pedir dos cosas,” Felicity turned back to Angela. “Podría mi hermano mandar un poquito de dinero en su nombre para mi. Podemos pagarle algo a Usted. Y podría dormirme aquí solo por una noche.”

Could Felicity have the money sent to Angela’s name? Less chance of tracing Felicity through the money. And could she stay the night with Angela? Angela seemed to seriously consider the requests.

“El dinerito, si. Esta bien. Pero, mi esposo va a regresar...” Angela trailed off uncertainly.

Angela’s husband. Felicity hadn’t thought of that. And if Angela didn’t want Felicity there with her husband, then Felicity didn’t want to be there. Undaunted, Felicity instructed Nick on what to do. Felicity felt a hint of confidence return to her as she ordered around her baby brother. “Okay, listen, Nick. The bank opens at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Please go as early as possible and send me as much money as you can spare. Any idea what that will be?”

“I have a couple K in my savings. That would be no problem.”

Felicity sighed in relief, certain that such a sum would support her for more than enough time to make a decision. After working out the details with Angela of the how, when, and where, Felicity communicated the details to Nick.

“That’s perfect. Thanks, little bro,” she smiled, letting herself accept the relief that welled gently in her chest. She had no overarching solutions, but for the next few hours, she had a plan.

“You’re not-so-little bro. Big enough to beat the hell out of anyone who wants to hurt my big sis,” he promised dangerously. Even so, Felicity grinned widely at his protectiveness.

“Of course, you are,” she agreed. “Nick?” Felicity grew serious again. “Don't hang out at my house anymore. Take the dog to your apartment and forget the plants. It's just not safe for you to be there.” Then, ignoring his protests, she ended the conversation.

She turned to Angela to beg for some sort of resolution about the sleeping arrangements.

“Yo puedo dormirme en uno de las casitas a fuera. O si tiene usted un poquito de dinero, puedo ir a un hotel.”

Though Felicity didn't really relish the thought of sleeping in one of the barns outside, it beat the alternative of sleeping on the ground in a ditch, in a slinky dress and stilettos. Angela crossed over to a cabinet that hung on one of the walls. Opening it, she pulled out a can, rusted with age, its label long faded, and she took from it a small wad of bills.

“Es todo que tengo.”

All she has? Felicity balked, realizing that the small number of bills were also small denominations. When she had finished counting, Felicity had eight $5 bills. Forty dollars for a very cheap hotel. It'll do, she thought. Unfortunately, the idea of going back into the black night, which had been obscured further by the furious sandstorm that raged, caused Felicity to quiver with fear.

Timidly, she looked up at Angela, the insecurity apparent on Felicity's face.

“Si es possible,” Felicity began haltingly, “No quiero salir sola.”

Felicity didn't think she could make herself go back out into the dark, alone and unprotected. Her ridiculous clothes made her feel all the more vulnerable – as if she didn't feel exposed enough – and Felicity held no confidence in her ability to find her way around town in the dark. Angela nodded, sighed, and surprised Felicity by calling out to someone in a loud voice.

“Eulogio!” the woman called. “Eulogio, ven acá!”

A child, not young but maybe barely in his teens, appeared from nowhere out of the door through which Angela had gotten the drink.

“I couldn't...” Felicity began to protest.

“Eulogio, venga con esta mujer al hotel a la esquina de Main y Calle Tercer.”

“Señora,” Angela now addressed Felicity, “Eulogio va a ir con Usted al hotel. Por la mañana, el y yo vamos a regresar a su cuarto así podemos ir al banco.”

Felicity really didn't know what to say. This woman had paid for her hotel room, sent her adolescent son out into the night with a stranger, and agreed to help that stranger get some much-needed money. Although Felicity's faith in all Mankind had been shaken in the past few days, she couldn’t yet dismiss any possibility of good. Angela would receive no reward for her kind deeds, save what Providence gifted her. Even so small a glimpse of hopefulness helped Felicity smother her ever smoldering fears and, as Eulogio closed the hotel room door behind him, Felicity felt herself succumbing to sleepiness. When her head reached the pillow, darkness once again engulfed her mind, but this time, the darkness of respite.