SIN FOR ME PAPACITO

IIn the Cell

The air in the Caditel was thick with familiar scent of Diava as her own heartbeat.It is 7:03 PM. She been at this for hours, the repetitive motions of loading, aiming, and dry-firing a balm against the frantic thrumming of her thoughts. The sleek, black 9mm felt less like a foreign object and more like an extension of her own hand. Her fingers, slick with a fine sheen of sweat, moved with practiced efficiency.

The only window was a narrow slit high on the wall, offering a view of nothing but the darkening sky. It was a prison, but a prison of her own making. She choose this. She had stepped into Leo Caditel’s world of shadows, and the door had clicked shut behind her, sealing off the life she used to know.

She finished the clip, the final cartridge sliding into place with a satisfying click. She held the gun out, her arms straight but not rigid, her breathing slow and controlled. In her mind's eye, she wasn't aiming at the cracked plaster of the far wall. She was aiming at him. At Joe who had promised her the world and then tried to bury her in its ruins. At the ghost of a life that had turned into a nightmare.

She lowered the weapon, a tremor running through her arm. She hadn't felt this alive in years. It was a terrifying, exhilarating feeling.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over her, so intense it stole her breath. She stumbled, her shoulder connecting with the hard wall. She groaned, pressing the cool, dry plaster against her forehead. She's been feeling this fir week now but why?. She pushed herself upright, blinking to clear the spots dancing before her eyes.

She needed to check the time. Her hand instinctively went to her pocket, reaching for the familiar weight of her phone. Her fingers found only the rough fabric of her jeans. A cold knot of realization tightened in her stomach. The hotel. Her phone is still in that sterile, The one place she was supposed to be, a ghost .

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Ghost. It was a fitting description.

Her thoughts starved of stimulation, drifted to the two people who knew her best. Stacy and Kendra. Her anchors to a world of witch . They were probably losing their minds right now. The thought brought a sharp pang of guilt. She could almost hear Stacy’s frantic, high-pitched voice and Kendra’s low, calculating hum as she tried to form a logical plan.The world she is in now would eat them alive.

She shrugged it off, a physical movement to banish the thought. They are probably busy. They have their own livesShe won't drag them into this darkness. She has to survive this on her own, for their sake if not for her own.

The dizziness receded, replaced by a hollow emptiness in her gut. The bathroom. A shower. Maybe the scalding water would wash away the grime and the fear. She walked to the small, adjoining room, her hand resting on the doorframe. As she moved to step inside, another wave of vertigo slammed into her. It was worse this time, a violent spin that made the world lurch. She gasped, her vision blackening at the edges. She threw out her hand, her palm slapping against the wall, scraping against the rough surface. She leaned into it, her head bowed, taking deep, ragged breaths.

The metallic tang of blood was suddenly on her tongue. She bit her lip. She forced herself to focus on that small point of pain, using it as an anchor to pull herself back from the brink of collapsing. She stood like that for a long moment, the only sounds her own harsh breathing.

Finally, the world stabilized. She pushed off from the wall, her legs feeling weak. She entered the bathroom, a space even smaller than the main room, dominated by a cracked sink and a showerhead that dripped a constant, pathetic rhythm. She turned the knob, and the old pipes shuddered before a gush of cold, then scalding water erupted from the showerhead.

She stripped off her clothes, her eyes catching her reflection in the spotted mirror , she looked Gaunt, haunted, with dark circles like bruises under her eyes. The woman who had once been a respected wife, a beloved friend, had vanished. In her place was a soldier forged in fire. A survivor. She stepped under the torrent of water, letting it pound against her tense shoulders, and for a few precious seconds, she let herself feel nothing.

When she emerged, steam curling around her, she felt marginally better. Cleaner. The hollow feeling in her stomach was still there, but it was muted. On a small, rickety chair in the corner of the room lay the outfit Leo had left for her. Black leather. Skintight and practical. It was the uniform of her new life. She pulled it on, the material cool and supple against her damp skin. It hugged every curve, a second skin that felt both restrictive and empowering.

Next came the gun. She checked the chamber one last time, the familiar weight a comfort in her hand. She slid it into the holster at the small of her back. She was ready.

She took one last look around the room. This was the end of one journey and the beginning of another. She turned and walked out the door, her steps silent, she is not going to be a victim anymore.

---

~Criss goue station ~

Stacy in her silk blouse askew and her mascara streaked down her face. She slammed her open palm on the counter, making the heavy police logbook jump.

"I don't care about your damn 24-hour rule!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "She's not just 'not answering her phone'! She's gone!. she disappeared! Something is wrong!"

Kendra stood behind her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her jaw set in a hard line. While Stacy was the emotional explosion, Kendra was the ticking time bomb. She watched the desk sergeant, a weary man with a stained tie, with the cold, predatory focus of a hawk. The man, Sergeant Miller, looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. He’d been dealing with them for the better part of two hours, and his patience was worn as thin as the vinyl on his chair.

"Ma'am, please," he said, his voice strained. "I've explained this. An adult is free to go where they please. Without a sign of foul play, we can't... we don't have the resources to launch a full-scale investigation for a person who's been gone for less than a day."

Stacy opened her mouth to unleash another torrent of abuse when the station doors burst open with a loud bang. A new wave of chaos swept in.

Cassie in her platinum blonde hair was a wild mess, her false eyelashes were askew, and her designer dress, which probably cost more than Sergeant Miller's car, was wrinkled and stained. Her eyes were wide with a frantic hysteria that was a perfect match for Stacy’s.

"Please!" Cassie shrieked, running to the desk and sobbing dramatically. "You have to help me! He's gone! He's been gone for hours! I've called his phone a hundred times, I went to his office, he's not there!" She grabbed a fistful of Sergeant Miller's shirt, her manicured nails digging in. "Joe is missing! My fiancee is missing! He would never just disappear! You have to find him!"

The air in the room freeze. The sounds of typing and muted chatter from the other desks stopped as everyone turned to look at the scene unfolding at the main desk. For a split second, Stacy and Kendra were just as stunned as the police.

Then, a primal roar of rage erupted from Stacy. She snapped.

"YOU!" The word was a shriek.

She lunged, moving with a speed that defied her stilettos. Before anyone could react, her hand connected with Cassie's cheek. The sound of the slap, echoed in the cavernous station. Cassie's head snapped to the side, and she stumbled back, clutching her face. She stood there, her mouth agape, a perfect red handprint blooming on her cheek.

"You absolute monster!" Stacy screamed, trembling with fury. "I cannot believe I was ever friends with you! You did this! You stole her husband! You’re the one who destroyed her! And you have the nerve to come in here, acting all pitiful, because your piece-of-garbage husband the one you stole from my best friendis missing? You probably had something to do with Diava disappearing too!"

Cassie's initial shock melted away, replaced by a venomous sneer. She straightened her posture, a cruel glint in her eyes. The damsel-in-distress act was gone, replaced by the predatory woman who had systematically dismantled Diava's life.

"Please," Cassie scoffed, her voice dripping with contempt. "Don't act like you're the hero here Stacy. I didn't steal anyone. Joe chose me. He took one look at me and realized what he was missing." She flicked a contemptuous glance between Stacy and Kendra. "Maybe if Diava wasn't such a barren, dried-up, boring little thing, she could have kept her man. But she wasn't enough for him. I was. I am. And that's a fact that eats you both up inside, isn't it?"

The words hung in the air as Kendra’s eyes narrowed to slits. Her entire body went still.

With a fast, deliberate motion, Kendra reached up and grabbed the high heel from her own foot. It was a lethal-looking stiletto, sharp and dangerous. She didn’t shout.She just pulled her arm back and, with a casual flick of her wrist, launched the shoe like a missile.

It was a perfect throw. The heel of the pump connected with the center of Cassie’s chest with a dull thump. Cassie gasped, the wind knocked out of her. She stumbled backward into a potted plant, the leaves rustling as she tried to regain her balance.

"That's for Diava, you self-centered viper," Kendra said, her voice cold as ice.

Cassie screeched in fury, picking up the fallen shoe. "You crazy bitches! I’ll have you arrested! I’ll have you both thrown in jail for assault! I'll see to it that you rot! My mother will."

"Your mother is nothing," Kendra cut her off, her voice deadly . "And you're not going anywhere."

Cassie snarled, throwing the shoe back at Kendra, who easily dodged it. "I'm leaving! I don't have to stand here and be assaulted by you lunatics!" She turned on her heel, her intention to storm out of the station clear.

Kendra didn't even blink. She looked at the squadron of patrol officers who had gathered around, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. She then shifted her gaze to the two terrified desk sergeants. Her voice was quiet, but it carried an authority that was far more chilling than Stacy's hysteria.

"Arrest her," Kendra said.

Sergeant Miller sputtered. "On what charge? We... we can't just "

"Stacy, Stacy, Stacy," Cassie taunted, reaching the door.

Kendra took a single step forward. Her voice was now a low, dangerous whisper that somehow silenced the entire room. "If she takes another step out of that station," Kendra said, her gaze fixed on the lead officer, "you are not just losing your job. You are losing your family." She pulled out her phone, letting them see her thumb hovering over the screen. "You will all be tied to an investigation you can't even imagine. And if she takes one more step, I will make one call. Just one. My father's phone will ring. And by the time he's done with this precinct, the only thing you'll have left is each other's company in a cell for obstruction, aiding and abetting, and being complicit in a kidnapping. Do I make myself clear?"

Her words fell like stones into still water. Every officer in the room felt the chill. They had no idea who her father was, but the absolute certainty in her voice was terrifying. The officer standing closest to Cassie saw his future, his pension, and his family's safety flicker before his eyes. The sergeant saw his badge and his marriage disappear.

They reacted instantly. Before Cassie could get her hand on the door handle, two uniformed officers lunged forward, grabbing her arms. She shrieked in outrage.

"Get your hands off me! Do you know who my mother is? She will have you all killed! She will "

"Get her in a cell," Stacy snarled, stepping forward, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated hate. "And I promise you, if you take more than a minute to do it, you won't have to wait for her mother or Kendra's father. My family has their own connections. You'll be tied to a chair, doused in gasoline, and burned alive before you can even scream for your union rep. And I'll enjoy watching every second of it."

It was a brutal, visceral threat that cut through the last vestiges of professional decorum. The officers manhandling Cassie reacted with renewed vigor. They didn't just grab her; they manhandled her, their hands gripping her roughly. In the frantic, clumsy scramble, one officer's hand clamped down on her breast, another grabbed a handful of her backside, using the chaos as cover to cop a feel while pretending to subdue her. Their fingers dug into her flesh, a silent, degrading punishment for the trouble she’d caused.

Cassie screamed, a high-pitch "Stop it! You’re hurting me! I'll have your jobs! I'll have you killed! Get your filthy hands off me!"

"Keep moving!" the officer at her head barked, yanking her forward, his grip still firmly on her chest.

They dragged her, kicking and shrieking, through the bullpen and toward the holding cells in the back. Her designer heels clicked frantically against the grimy linoleum. Her threats became a garbled, hysterical mess of curses and promises of retribution.

"Your mother is nothing to me!" Stacy shouted after her. "You're nothing! You hear me? NOTHING!"

Cassie’s screams echoed from the back of the precinct, a final, satisfying punctuation to the chaos.

Kendra finally let out a long, shaky breath, her icy composure cracking just for a moment. She looked at her friend. Stacy’s chest was heaving, her face still flushed with rage. Kendra walked over and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"It's not going to get Diava back," Kendra said quietly. "But it's a start."

Stacy nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. "She knows something. I know it. And she's not going to be able to hide in a cell." She looked at the terrified police officers. "Now, you are going to get her phone. You are going to get her location logs, her texts, everything. And then you are going to start looking for Diava. Or the next person I slap is going to be you.”