Factory controller, p.14
Factory Controller, page 14
The man hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still the most nondescript, average-looking, white businessman you can picture. Everything about him seems vague and tenuous at best. Even his hair won’t commit to being a single color, being a blend of dishwater blond and light brunette. I’ve lived with him for years and stared in his eyes more times than I can count, and I’m still not sure if his eyes are grey or blue.
He’s one of those creatures whose appearance sizzles away from your mind like water off a hot skillet, while his persona does not. Andrew is quite content in his role with the Factory, and that contentment breeds a world-weary smugness and know-it-all attitude made all the more insufferable for his keen intellect.
We step out to the patio as Andrew takes a long pull on his cigarette. “Heather, so glad you could make it. Have a seat.”
I sit in the cold wrought-iron patio chair as Trent settles in beside me. Andrew glances over at him and chuckles. “So, is this your asset? I approve. Guy looks like he could do some damage.”
“I’ve seen him get in one fight, and that was with a jaguar. He lost.”
Andrew’s eyes widen as he looks at Trent.
Trent laughs, rubbing his scarred shoulder. “Hey, which one of us retreated first? Me or the jaguar?”
“Admittedly, the jaguar.”
Andrew takes a long drag on his cigarette, eyes twinkling with cunning as he looks at me. “So, tell me everything that happened. Spare no details.”
To my surprise, Andrew takes out a notepad and pen. He takes notes while I regale him with the story of my time in Brazil. I’m not sure what language he’s writing in. Possibly he’s writing in code, but he takes a lot of notations.
“Sounds like you performed admirably under the worst type of scenario. Well done, Heather. You can consider your Favor repaid.”
My excitement at being free from the Factory is tempered by Isabella’s threats.
“Not so fast. You have to protect me from Isabella. She—”
“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about Izzy,” Andrew says, sipping from his coffee and sighing. “Man, what is it about this place and great cups of joe? I have to ask the waitress what blend this is.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, a scowl blossoming on my face.
“I mean it’s rich, full bodied and roasted to perfection. I think I pick up notes of maple and chocolate. This morning I got a Kenyan blend that went perfectly with my croissant—”
“I wasn’t talking about the coffee,” I say through gritted teeth. “I mean, why shouldn’t I be worried about Isabella.”
“Because she was taken into custody shortly after you two lifted off from Macapá International.”
My eyes widen. “She was?”
Andrew nods. “Yup. It’ll take us some time to dismantle the human trafficking ring, of course, but eventually we’ll get most of the children reunited with their families.”
“Andrew, you don’t understand,” I say firmly. “Isabella says she has friends in the Factory, friends in high places.” Andrew’s face goes still.
He’s ageless and wears a perfect poker face.
Especially when the stakes are high.
“She said that to you?”
“That’s all you have for me? A question? I’m telling you a human trafficker has ties to the Factory!” He remains complacent, sucks at his lips for a moment, then rolls forward in his chair and taps his cigarette over the ashtray.
“It’s being looked into. Isabella has been on our radar for a while.”
“If you already knew all this about Isabella, why did you send me down there in the first place?”
“We didn’t know the full extent of her operation, and you uncovered a whole rat’s nest down there in the rainforest. I assure you, we didn’t waste your time for naught, Heather.”
Trent drums his fingers on the table.
“Mr. Andrew, earlier you said that most of the children would be reunited with their parents. What did you mean by that?”
Andrew shifts in his seat, a rare moment of anxiety. “Some of the children could have potential to be Factory wards. We’ll see to it, if their parents agree, obviously, they get the best care and training.”
“I don’t know if I’m okay with that,” I say.
“Don’t worry, your friend Aberto and his sister are safely back with their family.”
That brings me a flood of relief, but I can’t let it go.
“But it’s not fair. Why would you send the kids to a Factory school instead of putting them back with their families?”
“But you see, Heather, you’re making faulty assumptions about many of them.”
“What do you mean?” Trent asks.
“The kids we’re considering do not have families to return to,” Andrew says, his eyes cold and hard. “Besides, my dears. It’s not your problem or your concern. Your time with the Factory is over, and you’ll never hear from us again. Unless you want to become one of our generous donors.”
Andrew crushes out his cigarette and throws a bill on the table. More than enough to cover a coffee and a croissant. He stands, blows me a kiss and walks away.
TRENT
Andrew leaves and Heather reels, her face contorted with anger over the fates of the indigenous children that will not be returned to their families. I reach out and put my hand on top of her own.
“Hey,” I give her hand a squeeze. “You did great, Heather.”
She flinches at my compliment. A look of gratitude flashes over her face for an instant, only to be replaced by a glum frown.
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t save those kids, I just turned them over to a different type of captor.”
“Not all of them. Under the circumstances, I think you did a fantastic job. Most of the children are going back to their families. That’s better than none, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Heather says, hanging her head and staring at our entwined hands. “It still doesn’t feel like a victory.”
“Isabella was right about one thing.” I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it. “You have a tendency to see things in terms of black and white, good and evil.”
“Those aren’t shifting points on a sliding scale for me, Trent,” Heather says firmly. “They’re absolutes.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hand again. “I know, and I wasn’t finding fault. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your unflinching dedication to doing the right thing is one of the things I admire about you.”
A flush comes to her cheeks, and she looks away for a moment. “Thank you. It’s nice to be validated.”
Heather turns her gaze back on me, a sly grin at her lips. “You’re not much different than me in that regard, though, when you really think about it.”
“What?” I shake my head. “I told you when this whole thing started, I’m not a hero.”
“Sure, you are,” she says, lifting my spirits. It’s not that I like the idea of being the big hero. I’m happy that Heather thinks so highly of me. “Let me tell you something about heroes. They don’t wear capes, or even necessarily badges or uniforms. A hero can be anyone who chooses to do the right thing when it would be so much easier not to. You’re my hero, Trent.”
I let out a laugh. “Some hero. Tarzan fights apes and lions and elephants, and I can’t even take out a measly jaguar.”
“That cat was huge.” Heather laughs softly. “Two hundred pounds of pure muscle and sinew, too. It’s incredible you even survived, let alone drove it off.”
“Keep this up and my head’s going to swell so much I can’t get this turtleneck off.” I tug at my collar for emphasis.
She laughs, but her face grows serious soon after. “Trent, what happens now?”
“Now, I imagine the Factory leaves you alone.”
“No, I mean…what happens with us?”
“There’s an us?” I perk up and grin. “I like the sound of an us.”
“Do you? Do you really? We were thrown into an extreme set of circumstances, Trent. I wouldn’t blame you if you felt…I don’t know. That you got…carried away.”
“No way.” I grab her hand in both of mine and look her dead in the eye. “I’ve lost so much in my life, Heather. I don’t want to lose you.”
She smiles, putting her free hand on top of the pile. My heart’s so warm I’ve barely noticed we’re outside in the cold.
“I don’t want to lose you, either.” Her face splits in a wide grin. “I’d even live in a shack in the rainforest, if it meant we could be together.”
“You wouldn’t miss the trappings of civilization?” I ask.
“I might miss some of it,” Heather says. “But what you said earlier is right. I have a black and white view of morality, and modern society doesn’t. Things were so much easier down in the jungle. Simpler.”
“Do you really mean what you’re saying right now?” I can’t help being a little incredulous. “What about the spiders, and the snakes, and the jaguars—”
“Oh my.” She chuckles and tosses her head back to free an errant strand of hair from her eyes. “Don’t forget the paramilitary groups and the human traffickers. It sounds pretty daunting on the outside, but I feel like it’s the right path. What do you think?”
I heave a heavy sigh. “I think that, for all the harm Isabella did, she also did some good, and now that her charity has shut down, there’s nobody left to help.”
“Are you suggesting we go and try to make a difference?” Heather’s brows climb high on her face. “I do have some savings. It’s money, but not enough. Not enough to make a difference. Maybe we could start a GoFundMe—”
“Heather,” I say softly. “Money is no object, or at least it won’t be for a while.”
“What are you saying about now?”
“The criminal courts refused to give me justice against the drunk driver who killed my parents. The civil courts, however, awarded me a ten-million-dollar settlement. That can go a long way toward improving things in the lives of the indigenous people.”
“So, you’re proposing we go back to South America, for charity?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head firmly. “I want you to come to South America with me because I love you.”
Heather reacts as if she’s been shot. Her eyes snap open, and her fingers splay wide on the table as if she’s holding on.
“What did you just say to me?” she asks in a breaking voice.
“I said, I love you.” I figure she just wants me to repeat the important part. “I love you, Heather Duncan. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, wherever we wind up living.”
“I love you, too,” Heather says, to my immense relief and joy. We share a smile and entwine fingers across the table.
I stand up and help Heather to her feet. Without a word, I lead her back to our suite where the crisp, white sheets await.
Heather and I can’t keep our hands off each other on the elevator ride to our floor. This is true even when other guests get on board. My mouth is on Heather’s neck, her leg wraps around the back of my legs, and we grind together as she moans loudly. We’re not putting on a show, but we also can’t bring ourselves to stop.
“Hey,” says a snide, older gentlemen. “Are you going to spend the night in the elevator? We’ve reached the penthouse. Isn’t this your floor, stud?”
Heather and I giggle like schoolchildren as we flee, hand in hand, from the elevator car and rush down the hallway toward our room.
There’s been so much anticipation for this moment, that, when it arrives, it’s almost anti-climactic. The crisp, white sheets are there. The air conditioning isn’t cranked. We don’t need to. We need heat. It’s cold outside. But we do have every modern convenience at our fingertips and an incredible luxury, the promise of a hot shower afterward.
All that, and yet it’s not quite as passionate as our lovemaking in the rainforest had been. We lay there afterward, snuggled in each other’s arms. Content, but maybe a bit disappointed that our night of carnality wasn’t the be-all and end-all it was cracked up to be.
“What are you thinking?” Heather asks.
“Nothing much.”
“You’re not thinking it was better in the rainforest?” she asks. “Because that’s what I’m thinking.”
“Maybe…”
“I think it means that’s where we belong, Trent.”
“What are you saying?”
“That I’ll come with you down to Brazil. We’ll try and fill the void left behind by Isabella’s despicable charity and do better.”
I crush her lips with a deep kiss. “Thank you. You’ve made me a very happy man, Heather Duncan.”
I feel her lips curve in a smile.
“Not only that, you’ve helped me feel hope for the future, for the first time in what feels like forever,” I confess. “I love you.”
I kiss her tenderly, then passionately, and we set about messing up those not so crisp white sheets one more time.
HEATHER
I did it. I took the leap and moved down to Brazil with Trent. I haven’t looked back once, not one single time in the six months since our return.
We rejoined the Awa people, and, to my surprise and delight, Aberto’s family now resides among them. Trent and I spend most of our time in the village by the river, the place which has come to be our home.
Once or twice weekly, we make the trip to Ipixuna and deal with the clerical work regarding our charitable investments in the area. Ipixuna has a new free clinic, and a school is on the way. The simple fact is, money alone won’t fix this place, even millions of it.
Even if all Trent and I can really accomplish is damage control, it’s still worth the effort. We may not be able to affect large scale change, but we can see our efforts bear fruit on the small scale, locally.
Trent and I have developed a tradition. When we return from Ipixuna, we load up the boat with gifts for the villagers. Certain luxuries, like upholstered furnishings, just won’t last in the jungle. We more than make up for this, though, at least in my opinion. Simple three-legged stools we brought back from Ipixuna last time proved so popular the tribe has begun crafting their own.
We navigate the serpentine conduits of the Amazon, which I’ve come to think of as a collection of rivers rather than just one. It’s the rainy season, so the rivers and tributaries have swollen well past their banks. Some of the trees we motor past are half submerged, evidence of a particularly wet season.
I have a special treat for the village children today, a book I think they will enjoy. The chief has decided he wants the new generation to learn to read and write English and Portuguese. It’s fallen on me to help, and it’s far more rewarding—if more taxing—than auditing work.
Trent and I motor up to the banks near the village. Aberto comes jogging out of the rainforest, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.
“Here,” he says, face beaming a smile. He thrusts the flowers into my hand and takes off running again. Trent laughs.
“Should I be worried about him horning in on my territory?”
I almost fall over laughing as I struggle with the boxes of miniature toys I plan to bribe the children into studying with.
After our goods are distributed, Trent heads off to speak with the shaman about something, and I show off my new book.
“This book is called The Cat in the Hat. Can you all say it?”
“What cat, H’eater?” asks a girl of about six.
“It’s like a jaguar, but smaller, and it lives in your house with you,” I respond in their tongue. I’ve grown quite proficient these last six months, though my accent makes people laugh sometimes.
“A jaguar in your hut?” The children gape in astonishment and cluster around for the lesson. Looks like today I won’t need bribes after all.
I’m on the last page of the book when I realize something; the entire village is watching me, not just the children.
I close the book and frown in dismay. Do they all want to learn? Should I have been paying more attention?
Gradually the villagers part, and I see Trent coming up through them. Everyone seems to be smiling.
“Trent, what’s going on?”
Trent reaches me and abruptly goes down on one knee. He takes my hand in his own and smiles up at me.
“Heather Duncan, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re brave, courageous, and you always do the right thing even when it’s hard. All you seem to want out of life is to help make things better for the people around you. Would you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?”
My heart catches in my throat. I hadn’t even thought of marriage before now, except in the vaguest of terms. We’ve just been so busy with the charity and learning to adapt to life among the Awa tribe, I guess it slipped my mind.
It’s only right and natural that we get married, I decide.
“Yes, Trent. You’re the strongest, sweetest man I know. I’d be honored to be your wife.”
The village cheers as he slips a golden ring on my finger, with a red ruby as the gemstone. It’s not traditional, but then again, neither is our life.
I look around at the people celebrating our happiness, and realize this is my home now, and I couldn’t be happier.
The Awa are glad to have an excuse to have a celebration. Food, hallucinogenic drinks, and the modern-made snacks I brought back are dispensed generously among all. Flutes and drums create a merry atmosphere, which seems all the more potent for its nonchalance. Nothing like the parties I attended in Manhattan, where most everyone was too busy preening or trying to get themselves over to have a good time.
Trent tugs me to my feet and leads me toward our hut. I balk, staring back at the celebration.
“We can’t leave yet, we’re the guests of honor.”
“Nobody’s going to fault us for taking off a little early,” he says. He pulls me along until we reach the confines of our hut. “See what you’ve done to me?”
He grabs my hand and puts it on his bulging crotch. I stroke his member through his loincloth, and he groans with delight. Trent takes me in his arms and sweeps me off my feet. I laugh as he carries me over to the mattress and lays me atop its surface.
