Before I launch into Chapter 11, I wanted to let you all know that there are 18 Chapters to this story plus a very short epilogue. That means we're over half way through 
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Also, I've been very quiet and have not responded to the comments threads mostly because this is a story where I cannot answer many questions without revealing too much and have wanted to let the story unfold as it has. But please know that I really appreciate you all who have kept reading and are offering me such great feedback. Thank you!Chapter 11
~§~
For whatever reason, the overnight stay by the FARC signaled a respite of sorts, nearly two weeks passing without any indication that the guerillas were still in the area. The people in San Pablo released a collective sigh of relief and went about the business of living.
Clark held back on his promise to himself to convince Gillian to return home. He was too much enjoying the intense closeness they’d found after their night in Roberto’s cellar, and any campaigning he might do towards such an end was sure to dredge up resentment and anger. He simply didn’t want to fight with her when it felt so good to be together.
In stripping away all of the veneer, exposing the ugliest parts of themselves and their shameful histories, he and Gillian had reached an understanding so complete that everything not only made sense but seemed almost preordained. Their individual experiences had led them to the remote village of San Pablo, but they had stayed for nearly the same reasons. Knowing that they shared at least that much of the journey bonded them in a way deeper than mere friendship.
They acted the same around each other, and no one who saw them would think anything had changed. But when he looked at her and she at him, he saw far more in the gray eyes than had ever been there before. He wasn’t sure if she let more of her emotions come through or if he was simply better able to read her, but now even subtle remarks and the slightest changes in her glances meant something to him. It was as if he’d learned a secret language, and Gillian was the only other person in the world who spoke it.
Of course, she still had some secrets. For one, she never let on that her birthday was coming up, and if it weren’t for Jeff, Clark would have been none the wiser. As it was, he learned about it only a week before the actual date and found himself scrambling to prepare the surprises he’d planned for her.
In truth, he wasn’t sure how Gillian would react to the event of her birth since it couldn’t help but remind her of the twin who was no longer there to share their special day. It was quite possible that she’d want to remain in her room and be left alone to grieve privately. But Jeff assured him that if she’d ever felt any sadness on the past two birthdays he’d spent with her, she’d never let on. He even offered to help Clark by arranging a celebration dinner at Rosita’s.
Gillian’s birthday day dawned bright and sunny, thankfully, and as soon as Clark saw her leave for the clinic, he slipped into her shack to make his preparations. Antonio had been employed to play lookout, stationed across the road with strict orders to send out a shrill whistle should señorita Gillian even so much as poke her head out of the clinic. Clark had borrowed most of the things he needed and improvised when necessary, but after a couple of hours, he was finally satisfied with his efforts.
Some precise timing was required for his surprise to work properly, so instead of spending the day on any farms, he stayed in town, hovering between Roberto’s and the school until he saw her locking the door of the clinic. With super-speed he slipped around to the back of her shack to complete the one remaining task, then zipped toward the front, remaining out of site from her door. He waited until she’d pulled the familiar braid out of her pocket before revealing his presence.
“Hey, you can’t go in there,” he said, stepping around the corner as she started to fit her key in the lock.
She gave him a wide smile and then looked at her door suspiciously. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Uh-oh,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “The last real surprise I got involved a swimming pool and me in a soaking wet cheerleading uniform.”
He laughed. “I promise, you’ll like this one.”
With her arms crossed over her chest, she turned to face him, her eyes narrowed warily. “And just what did I do to earn a surprise?”
“It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Remind me to kill Jeff,” she muttered. “I told him I didn’t want anyone to make a fuss...”
“This isn’t a fuss,” he was quick to assure her, looking carefully for signs that she might actually resent anything having to do with her birthday. When he didn’t find the telltale sadness in her eyes, he pushed onward. “It’s just a surprise.”
“OK,” she agreed, then warming to the idea, brightened considerably. “Well, let me guess. I know how these things work. I have to close my eyes, don’t I?”
“Nope, you have to tie this around them.” From behind his back he produced a faded red bandana and waved it like a cape in front of a bull.
“Don’t you trust me?” she asked with a grin.
“Not at all,” he said. “Here let me.”
Slightly nervous, he fumbled a bit as he secured the bandana over her eyes. For some reason, he felt like a little kid, wanting so much for her to like his surprise. Assured that she couldn’t see anything, he took her keys from hand and opened the door.
Before she stepped forward, she turned blindly in his general direction. “Nobody’s going to jump out and scream at me, are they?”
“Nope.” He took her outstretched arm and guided her into the room, maneuvering her around various obstacles. “Here. OK, watch the table. All right...there...stop.”
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he positioned her in front of a pink calico curtain hanging from a wooden dowel placed a little higher than his head.
“I don’t see anything.” She waved her arms in front of her, searching.
He sighed loudly. “Take off the bandana.”
She reached up and pulled the bandana down around her neck. She shook her head weakly as she eyed the curtain. “Wow. It’s a...curtain. Gee, thanks, Sam. I...love it. Very pink.”
He laughed at the obviously fake enthusiasm in her voice. “The surprise is behind the curtain.”
Giving him a sideways glance, she frowned. “Really. No one is going to jump out...”
“You have a thing about people jumping out at you, don’t you?”
“When you’ve grown up with three brothers, you get a little paranoid when you walk around corners,” she explained.
“I promise, nothing or nobody is going to jump out. It’s just us. Go ahead. Open it.”
The curtain was hung in the corner of the room, each end of the dowel attached to the facing perpendicular wall. When she pulled the curtain back, she revealed a triangular alcove. A large tin washtub, big enough for an adult to sit in uncomfortably, sat upon the floor. From a small hole near the bottom of the tub, a length of green garden hose led out of the room via the most conveniently located knot hole, forming a crude but effective drain.
Her eyes traveled upward where a nozzle looking much like a watering can on steroids was suspended directly above the washtub. Another short length of hose led upward and out a hole drilled through the wall. Well, actually burned through the wall, as he’d had no need for a real drill. He’d tacked plastic on each wall, waterproofing the entire corner as best he could given his limited time and resources.
Her eyes widened as she took in the makeshift contraption. “Oh my gosh. Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep. And there’s more,” he said, his heart swelling at her obvious delight. “Here, give me your hand.”
Holding her wrist, he placed her hand directly under the nozzle. With his free hand, he reached up and pulled the cord running next to the hose and looped down to hang beneath the nozzle. Within a few seconds a trickle of water dribbled out of the nozzle, quickly turning into a full blown sprinkle as the pressure built. He’d placed the massive tin drum of water behind the shack, on a makeshift platform constructed a few feet above the level of the shower curtain.
She gasped, rubbing her fingers together under the stream. “It’s hot. Holy cow! Really hot, not just lukewarm.”
“And there’s enough that you should be able to get out all of Hopelessly Devoted and at least half of Sandy,” he assured her, remembering her preference for Grease.
She turned to face him, her eyes glistening. “Sam, this is amazing. But how did you – ”
He rolled his eyes and looked at her incredulously. “Gillian, come on. You’ve seen me move entire trees. This wasn’t that tough.”
“I haven’t had a hot shower since...I don’t even remember,” she said wistfully. “But really, I shouldn’t. Do you know what we could do with all of this clean, heated water?”
He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him, shaking his head firmly. “This water is for you. If you feel bad, I’ll get more for anything else you want it for. But you are going to enjoy a long, hot shower if it is the last thing you do. And no one would begrudge you that. You’ve certainly earned it. Besides, it’s your birthday.”
She glanced back at the shower longingly. “All I have to do is pull that cord?”
“Yep.” Then he grinned. “Although I suggest you take your clothes off first unless you want a repeat of your swimming pool surprise.”
“Too bad I ran out of real shampoo...” She stopped when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny travel-size bottle of shampoo he’d obtained when he’d gone to Silvia to get her other gift, holding it up for her inspection. “Of course you would have thought of that. Shampoo.”
He lifted her hand and placed the bottle in her palm. “Now, I’m going to go outside and give you some privacy. Holler if you need anything or if the water starts to get too cold. I can heat it up real quick.”
She grinned. “You’ve just been dying to heat something up, haven’t you? All this time, and finally, there’s something.”
He laughed. “Just imagine what I could do with a real Jacuzzi!”
Making good on his promise, he headed out of the room followed by her laughter. He couldn’t stop grinning. Making her happy filled him with a contentment he hadn’t known in so long.
“Sam...” she called to him before he reached the door, and he turned to see what else she might need. “This has to be the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”
With a wink, he left her to enjoy her much longed for shower.
~§~
When she emerged from her shack nearly a full hour later, the sun rested near the tree line. But even in the growing twilight, he could see she fairly glowed. Wearing the same skirt and white peasant blouse she’d had on at the St. Mary’s fiesta, her skin was rosy from the warm water, her long hair hanging still damp down her back and smelling of the cherry-almond shampoo.
“You look great,” he said, meaning it as he came to stand next to her.
“It’s amazing what a hot shower can do for a girl,” she said, blushing from his compliment.
“Yeah, I heard you singing.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think Olivia Newton John has much to worry about,” he teased.
“I’m sure she doesn’t stand in a washtub when she’s singing,” she rationalized with a smile.
He laughed along with her, glad that she didn’t feel in the least self-conscious.
“So, now I’m all dressed up, where are we going?” she asked when their laughter ebbed. “Rosita’s maybe? Or we could go to Rosita’s. But then again, Rosita’s is my favorite.”
Chuckling for a minute, he turned serious. He and Jeff had decided that Clark would tell her about the dinner before hand, give her the chance to back out if she chose. “Listen, Jeff has invited some people to meet us there to celebrate. Is that all right?”
“Yeah, that would be really nice.” Noticing that he studied her face with a small frown, she nodded her assurance. “It’s OK, Sam. This part doesn’t bother me.”
“Good,” he said, letting himself relax completely. “I was kind of worried that it might all be too much. Bring up too many memories.”
“No, Chris always loved birthdays. He’d be pretty pissed if I moped around on ours.” She lifted her chin, determined. “Besides, I just keep reminding myself
aquí y ahora. And here and now, it’s my birthday.”
Clark was so proud of her he couldn’t say anything. Taking his silence as her cue to head to the party, she turned toward the road.
Before she could walk down the path, he grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Gills, I have something else. It’s your birthday present...”
“But I thought the shower...” she protested. “Sam, you shouldn’t have gotten me anything else. That was perfect.”
“Well, this didn’t require me to heat anything, but it’ll last a little longer than a hot shower,” he explained with a grin. “I wanted to give it to you while we were still alone, and I don’t know how late the party will go. And if we drink a little too much
chicha, well, I might forget. So I figured I probably ought to give it to you before we head over to Rosita’s.”
“Are you rambling?”
“I think I might be,” he admitted sheepishly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a rectangular box, placing it in her palm as he’d done with the shampoo bottle. “Happy Birthday, Gillian.”
Her hand shook slightly as she stared at the box. With an upward glance through her eyelashes, she looked back down as she lifted the lid off, eying the gift nestled on top of a square of cotton.
Gasping, she extracted a silver butterfly suspended on a thin silver chain. The wings of the tiny creature were made of slivered teardrop emeralds inset into the silver projecting from its body, the whole thing not bigger than a half an inch long.
Instead of the traditional pose for a pendant, splayed flat as if pinned to an entomologist’s board, the butterfly’s deep green wings were folded toward each other with only a few millimeters separating them until they tapered together to meet at the body. It looked exactly as if the silver insect had landed on the petal of a flower and rested there, allowing all to appreciate its beauty as it reflected back light full of green fire.
For a long minute she stared at it. When at last she shifted her gaze back to his face, tears shimmered in her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered hoarsely.
Without speaking, he took the chain from her hand, and she turned unbidden, sweeping aside the waves of honey-colored hair so that he could affix it around her neck.
After he’d secured the clasp and she’d returned to face him, he lifted the butterfly from its new home nestled an inch or so beneath the base of her throat. It had taken much convoluted discussion and finally an actual drawing for him to communicate to the ancient jewelry maker in Silvia exactly what he’d wanted, but when he’d picked up the finished piece, he’d known immediately that the trouble was well worth it. Perfectly executed, it looked just as he’d imagined it would on her.
“This one will make it over the Andes, or any place else you decide to take it,” he promised softly.
He released it, but before he could pull his hand away, she placed hers on top of it, holding it against the warm skin of her chest. Beneath his fingers he could feel her heart beating, fast and steady. Lifting herself up on her toes, she leaned into him, placing the softest kiss on his lips, tentative and delicate. Before he could even close his eyes, it was over and she was gone.
Instinctively, he sought to keep her close. His free hand moved up to cup her cheek, slipping deeper so that his fingers threaded into the waves at her temple. Without thinking at all, he lowered his head to capture her mouth again, this kiss longer and filled with a tenderness that pulled at his heart. He lingered in the sweetness of her lips warm and responsive against his own, feeling a strange disappointment when, too soon, she pulled back.
He opened his eyes to find her looking a bit breathless, a flush turning her creamy skin pink, her eyes a deep battleship gray. Almost shyly, she looked down. “I suppose they’re going to miss us at Rosita’s...”
Nodding his agreement, still he didn’t move. Not until she released his hand from the warmth of her skin did he think to actually walk down the path. In two strides he caught up with her, reaching down to lace his fingers into hers. She gave him a sideways glance, then a slow smile, squeezing his hand as they headed down the road toward her birthday celebration.
~§~
Clark would have called it perfect. The dinner, the company, Gillian’s radiant smile as they toasted her continued good health and long future. There was a true contentment in his heart, and it was easy to forget about the doubts plaguing him of late. At least for that night, he belonged right in that very spot.
Within the course of a few minutes, that contentment faded as all hell broke loose.
The hour had grown late, the wine and food long gone. Friends had begun to trickle home, and only a handful of people remained in Rosita’s when José Martinez burst into the room. His face held the horrifying mixture of panic and grief, the older man not even attempting to hide the tears that flowed down his leathered face. Instantly the remaining party guests had surrounded him, offering him a seat and a dose of
chicha as they sought to learn what troubled him so.
Through his distress, José managed to choke out that his son, André, as well as two other boys from San Pablo, had been taking by the FARC. They’d been working a remote field, harvesting beans, when late that afternoon a band of the guerillas had approached them, guns flashing. In short order, the young teens had been marched off, hands held high in the air, to become the newest unwilling recruits in the renegade army.
Sadly, the sole witness to the entire encounter, a nine-year-old boy named Tomas who’d been working on a farther corner of the field, had fled into hiding the minute the FARC had disappeared down the road. Terrified that they would come after him next, he’d remained cowering behind the school until just the past hour when he’d found the courage to stumble to the Martinez home to recount the fate of their son.
Clark felt sick. André had been his first connection with San Pablo. Despite his fear, he’d trusted the strange gringo and allowed him to fly him down the side of the mountain, all because his village had needed help. At only fourteen, André had the courage of an adult and then some.
He listened carefully as José told what he could about the general direction the guerillas had taken. His mind worked, trying to calculate how far they might have gotten on foot. The problem was they could have veered from the main road at any point to get lost in the heavy tangle of forest. In the dark, it would be almost impossible to find them despite his powerful eyesight.
Jeff and two other men lent José support as they guided him out of Rosita’s and back toward his home. The party sadly ended, everyone else followed silently, leaving Clark and Gillian alone.
Through the entire encounter, she’d remained quiet, and now that everyone had left, Clark turned his attention to her. She looked stricken, numb with disbelief as she sat passively on her folded chair.
“They couldn’t have gotten very far,” he said, using the logic he’d employed minutes before. “I can go and get them back, but I’m afraid I might have to wait – ”
She shook her head, not letting him finish. “No, you can’t.”
“Yes, Gillian, I can.” Instantly, the anger flared in his chest. This wasn’t a store robbery that he had no choice but to ignore. This was the lives of three young boys, and there was no way he was going to let her talk him into sitting by without doing something. “I’m not going to stand by and let those boys be impressed that way...”
Her eyes flashed, granite hard. “You don’t understand. It’s too late. Even if you could find them, they can’t come back here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Once you’re a part of that army, you don’t leave it. They’ll bear a tattoo or something that marks them. If they try to leave, the FARC will hunt them down and kill them for desertion.”
He gaped at her, stunned that in this modern age such draconian practices were still used. It shouldn’t surprise him after all he’d witnessed, but still his mind rebelled against it. “They’re just kids.”
“I know. But that’s how these people work,” she explained. “Willing or not, they get these young boys and even girls to join their cause, promising them all kinds of crap when they finally overthrow the government. And if they can’t convince them that way, they just take them at gunpoint. Either way, once you’re in, there’s no way out unless it’s in a body bag.”
Clark started to pace, feeling nauseated. But her next words stopped him cold.
“Even if by some miracle they managed to get away, they’d be putting the entire village in danger if they came back. The next time the paramilitaries wandered through the area, San Pablo would be decimated for harboring guerillas. They won’t even take the time to listen to the story much less care if those boys were willing to go or not.” She stood, taking a deep breath. “They’ll kill everyone. Or worse.”
Icy blood flowed through him, the horror of an entire village being uniformly executed too incomprehensible for him to understand. These people he knew. They were his friends. Children and families. Eva and Rosita. Roberto and Henriqué and even Lourdes. All in danger now. And Gillian...
His head snapped up, his voice hard. “I want you to leave. Tomorrow.”
She sighed wearily. “We’ve been over this, Sam.”
“And we’re going to go over it again,” he stated. He’d broach no argument this time. “This is all getting too close, Gillian. Don’t be a fool.”
She snorted. “First I’m stupid. Now I’m a fool.”
“I mean it. I’m taking you home.”
Lifting her hands, she looked around. “This is my home.”
“Is it?” he asked. “What about your family? Don’t you miss them? I know they must miss you.”
She laughed. “I remind them too much of Chris.”
“That’s a cop out. You can’t tell me any parent would feel that way,” he accused. “I’ll bet every day they pray for you to come home and every day they are devastated that you don’t.”
As soon as he said it, he cringed inwardly. She wasn’t the only one guilty of neglecting a family back home. Like his Superman duties around the world, contact with his parents had fallen far below an acceptable level, a casualty of his abandonment of Clark Kent and his failed life. In fact, until the last few weeks, he hadn’t given much thought at all to Metropolis, Smallville or his parents.
But this wasn’t about him, he argued internally, shoving aside the guilt for later contemplation. He wasn’t the one who’s life was at risk. Despite her casual attitude toward the danger around her, she would fall victim to it eventually if she continued to remain in San Pablo. She had to leave, and soon, or unlike the butterfly she wore around her neck, she’d never make it over the Andes.
So he didn’t let up. He’d planned to go about this much more diplomatically, but he was calling off all bets. He’d say anything it took to convince her, no matter how painful.
“You know what I think it is?” he asked. “I don’t think you have a death wish. I think you don’t feel you deserve to live. Chris died, and because you think it’s your fault, you feel like you should be with him even now.”
“Well, it’s out of my hands. If it’s my time, then it’s my time,” she said, turning to look out the window, her voice oddly muffled.
“That’s crap, Gillian, and you know it. You aren’t meant to be here any more than Chris was meant to die in that car crash. It was a stupid, pointless accident. But don’t you think if he knew what was going to happen he would have done things differently? You’re doing his memory a disservice because every minute you stay here, you’re tempting fate.”
With those words, her head snapped around, her eyes flashing brightly.
But he went on, not giving her a chance to speak. The frustrations with himself had joined forces with the ones she inspired to create a formidable foe. “What ever happened to aquí y ahora? Forgetting about all of those things that cause us hurt. You not only refuse to forget, you inflict it on yourself every day. Every minute that you stay here is just a way for you to hold on to the past. To pay penance for the death of Chris. You think he was a saint. Maybe he was. But you know what you’re doing? You’re trying to be a martyr.”
“I am not!” she gasped.
“Aren’t you?” he asked. Feeling slightly deflated, his voice was calmer, a low statement. “What happened to him was horrible, but sacrificing your whole life won’t bring him back.”
“So, what?” she choked back a sob. “I go back to what?”
Instantly the anger left him, contrition replacing it as he took in her tear streaked face and heard the desperation in her voice. “You go back and pick up where you left off. Go back to school. Finish it. And then take the next step.”
He crossed to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Gillian, I don’t want something to happen to you. I care for you too much.” He swallowed, ready to deliver the final blow. “If Chris asked you to go home, you would. What about me? Would you go home if I asked you to?”
She looked down, and he felt a stab of guilt for using her own feelings against her. Still, if it meant she would be safe.
“Yes, I would,” she whispered. But when she lifted her chin, her expression was firm, determined. “But it’s just not that easy. This isn’t just about me going home. It’s also about me leaving. I meant what I said, Sam. This is my home. I’ve made a life here. These people need me, and I just can’t leave them.”
Dropping his hands, he sighed. This was a harder argument to overcome. When helping people was your vocation, one of the very things that defined you, it was hard to walk away. The very guilt of his not helping as many people as he could or should was pushing him to leave, an irony so profound at that particular moment that he could spend hours pondering its significance for them. But he’d said it before and it certainly applied now. She didn’t have to live in a danger-ridden country in order to help people.
“I’m not diminishing what you do here,” he said carefully, “but it’s not worth risking your own life.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed, and he felt a flare of victory, seeing her resolve starting to crumble. “But I’ve worked hard to set up the clinic, and I can’t..." she paused, thinking for a minute. “I won’t just leave it to be of no use to anyone.”
“There has to be someone…to take your place. Something.”
“That takes time..."
“Promise me,” he insisted. “That you’ll look. We can find someone.”
“I’m not good with promises. The last promise I made,” she started, “didn’t work out so well.”
“No, Gillian. That won’t work,” he said, not willing to accept her mistakes of the past as an excuse to evade him now. “If you promise, I’ll believe you.”
She nodded, licking her lips. “All right. I promise I’ll start looking. But that’s all I can give you for right now.”
“Tomorrow. You’ll start looking tomorrow?” he pushed.
“Tomorrow I’m going to Silvia for market. I suppose I could start there. Send some letters to the ICRC office in Bogotá.” When he smiled approvingly, she cautioned him. “This is going to take time, Sam. You’ve got to remember why I’m here in the first place. It’s not like there’s a lot of nurses or doctors willing to come out to the middle of nowhere. And I’m not leaving until I feel good about who takes my place."
“We’ll see,” he said, sensing her reluctance to commit. But he’d made progress, managed to dent her firm resolve, and he didn’t want to risk sending her back to her absolute refusal. Instead, he backed off, a sudden weariness settling over him. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
They walked in silence back to her place, the journey holding none of the carefree ease of the one hours earlier. Each of them was lost in their own concerns and the mutual distress over the fate of André and his friends.
With an apology that her birthday had ended on a less than happy note, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, brushing the other one with the back of his fingers as she gave him a small smile before slipping through the door.
Only after he heard the lock click firmly into place did he turn and make his way down the path toward his own home. For the first time in months he doubted he’d be able to sleep. And for the first time in a year and a half, it wasn’t Lois who was the source of his insomnia.
to be continued...
