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  The Inducer

  The Instigator

  Revenge Is A Journey Without Return

  A Novel by

  Ruthy Garcia

  Translated by:

  Garcia Menendez Maria Gloria

  Publisher: Tektime

  The partial or total distribution of this work is prohibited without the author's consent. It is an unpublished, original work, written by the author.

  Ruthy Garcia, freelance writer.

  Correction, Jose Lopez Falcon.,

  www.micorrector.es

  Cover Design,

  @ChinaYanlyDesings

  Appreciations

  My parents, my husband, my children, all of them have contributed to making me the person I am. That is why I thank you for your patience and tolerance.

  A person who has trusted me, I don't know why. Well, I don't know if he deserves that trust. Thank you, Lusa Guerrero. You've been a driving force of motivation and learning for me. I wish you the best and greatest success.

  If I am betrayed, can I take a better revenge than loving the person I hate? ¨Pierre Corneille”

  Four characteristics correspond to the judge: to listen courteously, to respond wisely, to ponder prudently and to decide impartially.

  Socrates

  CHAPTER I

  ¿JUDGED?

  — I remind you that the decision you just made to defend yourself, rather than suicidal, is unnecessary.

  — I know, and I take full responsibility. I have the mental capacity to stand up for myself.

  —Well, I just have to tell him to try and persuade this madness. As a judge in this case, my impartiality in the face of the disappearance of the Fondeur child must not go beyond my obligations, I must remind you of that. You're in time to request an attorney.

  — I have nothing to be afraid of. I assume everything, I recognize the risks.

  — Charges of kidnapping, possible homicide of a minor. Are you sure about this? You know, understand, and assume what you're facing?

  The woman swallows dry before answering.

  — Yes, your honour, I understand, I know and I assume that.

  The judge looks at him from the front, tucks in her glasses and sighs in disappointment.

  —Well, let's not talk about it anymore. The more time passes, the less time we have. It is time to clarify his motives, the motive for deliberately acting against this child. Everyone in the community agrees on the good relationship with the boy over the past few years, during which time he was a partner with his father here, Mr. Frank Fournier, Mac's father.

  Hearing the boy's name was enough to blow up Mac's birth mother, who was in a different seat. She'd been divorced from Frank for a few years. The woman had been declared incompetent to care for the child because of psychological problems. Given that Mac was blind, the mother could not have custody of the child.

  You crazy bitch! Tell me where my son is - crying in grief.

  A sinister smile from the defendant is enough to blow Frank up.

  —Say it at once, say it. Where's my son? It's been two weeks of pain. He's drowning in tears.

  —Are you crying? Apparently it's the first time you've ever cried from the soul. I've been crying inside for years, drowned in a sea of repressed tears..

  The man wonders what it has to do with him.

  —You're losing your mind, Yeri. You've been my partner for the last few years. I thought I knew you, but I really realize I never knew you. I never really knew who you really were. I'm scared, very scared. I lived with a crazy little, sick woman and slept with her every night. I'm disappointed and crazy, on the verge of insanity to know what prompted you to hurt my son.

  —And you will, of course you will, but when I say it and how I say it. You are not in a position to demand that unnecessary equipment be negotiated or assembled. You're incompetent, and most of all, you're a misleading accuser.

  —¡ Shut the fuck up, you mean bitch unconscious.!

  —Frank is energetic.

  —Well, then, with my mouth shut, I'll say less about your son's whereabouts, or rather about what's left of him..

  Those words filled the audience with fear. The father's face flushed. This one's lawyer came over and tapped him on the shoulder. Mute at these words, and with his fists, he let himself fall on the seat. I listened vaguely to the scandalized sound of everyone.

  His mind went back as far as a few hours ago, when he arrived at the courthouse. He walked in the midst of all his neighbours piled up at the door, with banners saying, "You will pay for this. For a moment he felt supported, but to hear that word, "what is left of him", was atrocious, barbaric and crucial.

  —Are you all right, Mr. Fondeur? — The lawyer has asked for the third time. It's when a man reacts.

  In the midst of the uproar, a guard approaches the judge and hands her a sealed envelope. The judge reads the words on the front: "Evidence". It opens it. The defendant looks at him. The discussion among those present gives both women a chance to look each other in the eye.

  The judge is reading and the defendant is silent. The magistrate finds another photo, several letters, one of them with more than thirty-five signatures. What you see is amazing. He's speechless, but he can't help but be quiet, get all the paperwork back in the envelope and try to get the order back into the room again.

  — Order in the court. — The judge's mallet sounds awesome and brings the man to his senses —. Twenty-minute break. We hope to clarify everything later, this community needs to rest. I hope, Mrs Yesi Polman, that you will have precise answers for all of us. This trial has been postponed several times because of some absurd demands on his part. I hope it was worth it.

  — It'll be worth it, you'll see.

  Officers Sander and Fatima approach the defendant, who must return to a cell until after a few minutes of recess. This one gets up. His dark complexion

  is confused with the mahogany colour of the furniture of that courthouse. The up-doing hair and dark circles under the eyes are synonymous with fatigue.

  Someone among those present is staring at him. He's sitting in the back. She walks slowly. Its slim body is easy for officers to carry. The handcuffs on the front look shiny, they looked new. The character watching him is one of the last to get up. Almost everyone left the room when she and the officers almost reached the door. The man got up from his seat, took his hands and joined them together. The defendant pauses for a moment and looks him straight in the eye. The man says to her, "Wraak is joune" and she makes efforts to raise her handcuffed hands and place her hands together. He does it halfway. The officers are forcing him to continue. Sander takes a few steps back as Fatima continues to lead Yesi to his cell. He's curious to understand what he told you.

  - Do you know the woman? What do you know about her?

  - Do you know the woman you sleep with every night? Its official life, nobody knows who's who.

  The officer sees him leaving the room with a newspaper under his arm, whistling quietly. Then he goes quickly to the corridor to meet Fatima.

  - Are you crazy, Sander? Do you know it's dangerous? If they see only one guard guarding only one defendant, they could lose their job.

  The corridors are packed with people. Outside you can see through the glass the masses with banners. Yesi smiles at it.

  - Are you out of your mind? How do you smile when you see so many people wanting to see their heads roll on the ground? I don't understand it.

  - Ironic, isn't it? Should I be crying then?

  - What did the man in the room say to you? Sander's curiosity is harmful.

  - I don't know him, I don't know what he told me..... I feel a certain weakness in my speech.

  - It doesn't look like it, black girl. Sander is rude to say it in his ear. It
's a racial commentary.

  - Leave her alone, Sander. Remember that the United States is made up of immigrants and don't forget that I am one. His black eyes are staring at him.

  They continued walking until they took Yesi to the cell. When he uncuffed him, he sat down on the floor.

  - We'll come back for you in a little while. They just reported that the trial's been postponed for another two hours. You better start thinking about how to explain where you're keeping the boy. You're gambling a lot.

  - Sander, leaves her alone. Go on, get out of here.

  Officer Fatima stands in front of her in the cell.

  - You didn't kill that kid, did you? Tell me you weren't stupid enough to do something like that. Everyone, everyone expects you to tell them the whereabouts of the boy. We're tired. We're tired. It's been a thorough investigation and I've been up all night. I remember you came here by your own volition, having disappeared with the boy for so many days. You gave yourself up on your own accord. Please, speak up.

  - Do you believe in justice?

  The question brought the officer closer to her.

  - Yes, of course, I believe in her. In a way I practice it, I'm part of it.

  - Indirectly, yes. The police, the judges, the lawyers, they all think they have justice in their hands, but no one speaks freely of what is wrapped up in their hearts at times, what sometimes keeps them awake at night. You don't know until it's your turn.

  - And what is it? What wraps up our hearts?

  - Vengeance!

  The officer paused. He turned and looked back at the woman with some distaste. She saw how all her companions were getting ready to go to recess, going to lunch and other things. She had given herself to Yesi. That cell hallway was quiet. There were other cells, occupied by individuals accused of other crimes.

  - I think what everyone says is true. She's sick, Yesi Polman. What they say about you seems to be true, that revenge has to do with your surrogate relationship. She's crazy!

  - Crazy? Do you believe it? His face is coming intimidating towards the bars.

  The officer pulls up a wooden chair that is glued to the wall and sits down.

  - Convince me, come on! Tell me how I can change my perception of your misguided approach to kidnapping a stepson, holding him captive, heavens, perhaps even murdering him. God, I have kids. What can be so justifiable about this, tell me?

  - Do you really want to know?

  - Yes, we have two wonderful hours to break this down. Make me change my mind.

  - Only if you can do me a favour at the end of the day.

  - I don't have to negotiate with you.

  - We are not negotiating, just quenching your thirst for knowledge, but I must count on you for a small favour.

  - At least tell me what the favour is.

  - That's the problem, I'll only tell you when I'm done talking to you.

  The officer thinks twice about it. Her curiosity is greater than her responsibility.

  All right, but I'm warning you, I don't accept dishonourable, dishonest propositions. I want you to be clear about that.

  -Not at all. I would never ask you to be a cop a second time. It's sarcastic.

  Smile lightly at Detective Fatima.

  - We have a lot in common, officer.

  - Oh, yeah? For example?

  - The cigarette. Her teeth are from a smoker.

  - Her are white, he doesn't seem to smoke.

  - It's African to have teeth that are white and strong, it comes from my genes, but I smoke, in the last two years I've learned to smoke.

  - She says it with pride.

  - No, it's just one of the few things I've learned in these violent times.

  - Tell me about these things.

  - There are so many of them! -Smile.

  - What about you? Tell me something about your life.

  - I was a very happy woman, until my husband decided to divorce me, he took custody of my son from me and I came to live in the United States after the American dream.

  - Wait a minute, is she the mother of the Fournier boy?

  - No, and that man is not the husband of whom I speak; rather, I speak of my former husband, Yaro, to whom I gave a son, to my misfortune.

  The officer remains perplexed. These details of the defendant do not appear in your file.

  - I didn't know this.

  - I know. I came to this country as a single woman. I had to overflow a plane to go to a hospital for months.

  - Did she come in sick?

  - No, I was never healthier than I was then. At that time anger, hatred, resentment had not clothed this dry heart.

  - I'm sorry.

  - Can I have a cigarette?

  - Of course. Here you go. He turns it on and gives it to her.

  - You can't imagine what I was craving to smoke. Do you know what? When I started doing it, it was to fit in a circle. Funny, I ended up liking him. He's throwing smoke up.

  - Tell me about that circle.

  I'll talk to him, I just have to tell him the facts from the beginning, so that he can better understand and collaborate with what I'll ask without hesitation.

  —Come on.

  “Revenge Is A Kind Of Wild Justice “

  Francis Bacon

  CHAPTER II

  Confessions

  - The radiant woman coming from Kenya left her charm at the Nairobi airport after the call from my old husband, who told me at that moment the gravity of our sixteen year old son, my beloved Ismat, was in.

  - She cries as she says her name, but continues to speak in tears. It was disastrous to see him in a coma. It was terrible. My little one, so many years without seeing him and seeing his face again, touched his hand without real life, connected to a device, as if he were a doll. I stayed by his side, never left him.

  - What happened to the boy?

  - Something unexpected. Well, a mother always thinks she'll die in her bed after having her whole family around about that time, but sometimes it's not like that; at least, I never thought of it that way.

  - It must be painful what happened to you, I put myself in your place.

  - You never wanted to be in my shoes, admit it. Deep down, you're terrified of my case, my reasons and my consequences.

  - That's right - she sighs - but I'm a mother. Before I became a cop, I was a mother more than anything.

  - Then, mother to mother, you'll understand me. HER eyes look watery. There's a deep regret in that look.

  Officer Fatima was silent for a few seconds. I was impressed. The woman had struck a chord with his being. It made her feel a void for the unknown and a pain for what he would meet in the next two hours.

  -Yes. She lowers her head, lifts it up and moves closer to the fence, their faces being very close. Only the cold bars separate them. Mother to mother, I promise.

  -Good. He withdraws from the bars and sits on the floor at the back of the cell. You only see the smoke and the little light of the almost finished cigarette.

  - I have to tell you, this is very strange. I know this case very well, I have interacted with the child's family, I have seen their suffering, but I must admit that their mystery has me totally captivated. It's a little hope.

  - Hope? So, do you think I'm innocent? It would be a miracle. Everyone in this state and in this nation thinks I'm guilty. I don't recommend that you be any different from them. Well, at least for the duration of our talk.

  - What's the point of me listening to her without hope?

  - Well, do it for your children, think of them now. Close your eyes, think about what would happen if someone touched a single hair of theirs.

  Fatima clearly understood that this woman could be more guilty than innocent.

  - Then I will listen to her without hope, that's what I must do.

  All right, that's the way I like it. The elements of surprise are indispensable in this conversation.

  -Let's start again. Time is running out.

  - I told you I was in
that hospital for months, three and a half. At first there was hope that he would come back, but no. His case was very strange: he went into a deep coma that ate away his young body. It looked like a corpse connected to a machine. I hope it didn't hurt. Well, the doctors say Ismat didn't suffer at all. Maybe they're saying it so that I as a mother can feel resigned to it. I had an argument with his father the day I arrived, and with his mother, who was responsible for my husband's waiting with this country and deciding to leave everything to come and live here. At the time, the idea of leaving my life in Kenya was not attractive to me. We were happy, we had a home. He worked as a motorcycle mechanic downtown and I did fabric work. I'm a seamstress, although when I got here I gave up sewing, but it's what I do best.

  He reproached me for the fact that I never wanted to come to live in this country. He was a fool, he thought I didn't realize that his mother had for him a wife he would marry when he got here, even though it was to get papers, but he did it, hidden from me. That's why he's asking me to get a divorce before he leaves Kenya. I didn't listen to any of it. His stupid argument only filled me with courage to realize that my son deserved to fight for it. To have come to the United States on my own was a feat. He was shocked to see me, never thought I'd make it on my own. Yaro fell into chaos at the sight of days passing by and Ismat did not awaken. He started drinking, took refuge in alcohol, suffered from severe depression. After spending three months living in poor conditions in a hospital, I had lost a lot of weight. Do you know what? I was a sturdy woman. In my country, the thinner the woman, and the fatter you are the more hopeful the husband is, the more on the contrary, on this side of the world. When I noticed the clothes were hanging down, my shoulder bones looked like deep basins and the lack of sun had cleared up my dark complexion a bit. That's when I started to go to sea, it was the only thing that calmed me down.