In Rio's Shadows

CHAPTER 1
THE CORRIDOR

Wearing only a flimsy nightgown, she crept down a dark, narrow corridor which grew smaller with each step forward. The air was dank, damp, and the floor was cold on her bare feet. A draught made her body and lips quiver.

In the distance was a door. She stopped in her tracks, waiting. For what, she didn’t know. The tangy, rich smell of blood filled her nostrils. A murmur of voices made her jerk and turn around. The sound came from behind another door at the other end of the long corridor.

Blanca swallowed. She could not take her eyes from the floor as the corridor filled with blood. Soon it covered her feet. She screamed, holding her head in her hands. She couldn’t move her feet. A bullet whizzed past her and penetrated the door ahead. Panting, she stared down at the thick blood, which began to congeal, sticky. She waded forward, the thick matter sticking to her legs, slowing her down.

When she finally reached the door, she found it locked. She turned and ran, blood splashing as she raised her feet over the surface. When she turned the knob on the opposite door, it refused to open. She was stuck in this small, cramped space. Cold penetrated her core.

“Please help me, help me,” she begged. “Open the door. Let me out. Please.” A bead of sweat slid down the back of her neck. Her body quaked in the chill, dense corridor.

The doorknob turned slowly. Hope rising, she stepped back as the door opened towards her.

From beyond the door, a faceless man with large hands threw bodies into the corridor. They landed close to her feet. Blanca screamed. The young bodies floated in the sticky blood. She pressed her back against the wall to avoid contact.

From beyond the door, she heard voices. “She knows too much. The boss said not to touch her. Leave her alone.” The faceless man shut the door again.

Blanca froze on the spot, fighting against the smell of death. More blood oozed out of the door. She cried and shook her head in a futile attempt to shut out the scene. Another gunshot cracked as she stared down at her hands. Little hands. Her eyes roamed her body. It was a girl’s body, not a woman’s. What the hell!

The door opened again, to reveal a man about to come out.

She jerked, to find herself in her own adult body again, in her bed, in her dark, familiar bedroom. Her heart pounded and her sweat drenched her whole body.

Just another nightmare. When will they stop?

She shook off the dream, taking deep breaths as she reminded herself of the special day head. She pulled the cover off and got out of bed, promising herself she would make time to reflect on the nightmare later. She got dressed, collected her baggage then headed into the kitchen for breakfast.

CHAPTER 2
LEAVING HOME

Blanca Castellano sank her body into the comfort of her brown leather sofa and sighed. Her baggage evoked so many thoughts. Her eyes roamed around the house. Its ambience calmed her. Her shoulders relaxed.

She moved around her old Moorish-style home with its floral scroll designs. The house had always brought her comfort: the old brick fireplace below a mantelpiece and square mirror, the landscape oil paintings on the pale green walls, and the classic wooden bookshelf which held a range of books on journalism and current affairs.

The roomy house’s eighteenth-century Baroque combination of plain and fancy architectural design had led Blanca to choose it several years ago. She loved the old-style grandiosity. The round arches in the foyer gave the house a Roman feel, and the dark antique furniture blended in well with the house’s decorative features.

She would miss it, but business called: tight budgets and staff shortages had led to her boss assigning her to fill in for six months at the magazine’s office in Brazil. The senior editor position in the Rio de Janeiro office would be a step up from her editor position in Spain’s capital, albeit a temporary one. Not only would she have more responsibility—it would be a new, if challenging experience to expand her knowledge of the Portuguese language and experience a new culture.

She rose and checked herself in the foyer mirror, smoothing her jet-black hair, which reached all the way down to her shoulder blades and accentuated her height. She looked close to make sure her dark brown eyes weren’t puffy, nor that her almond-shaped face betrayed the trouble she had had sleeping.

Turning at the sound of footsteps in the hall that led to the bedrooms, she greeted her friend and housemate. Daniela stood in the hallway in a flimsy nightgown that did nothing to hide her trim, taut figure. Her dark brown hair was tied up high in a bun and her green eyes brightened. “I’m happy to drive you to the airport, Blanca. What time are you leaving?”

“In an hour. And thanks, but no, I’ll take a taxi. You have your young ballet students to teach, and it’s not like you can get any back-up teachers at this late notice.” She ignored the butterflies that had been fluttering in her stomach ever since she’d been offered the new job.

“And what about your parents? Are they still upset about you going back to their native country? I can’t understand why they’re bothered by it, girl.” Daniela headed towards the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot Bianca had prepared earlier.

Blanca shook her head. “I don’t know why, either. The last time I was in Brazil, I was ten. Now that I decide to return, they get angry about it. I’ve never understood why we left so suddenly. I remember my aunt telling me over the phone that she was worried something had happened on our trip back then.”

Daniela sipped her coffee and sat at the kitchen table. “I take it they still haven’t explained the reason?”

Blanca joined her friend at the table, shaking out her nerves by lifting her shoulders. “I’ve always wondered. When I asked my dad again, he used work as an excuse. But with the bits and pieces I remember, something shocked him on the day we left.”

She didn’t know why she shuddered at the thought of returning to a country she’d last travelled to at the age of ten. “For seventeen years, I’ve never stopped wondering why my parents cut their vacation short. And when I told them about my temporary work transfer to Brazil, they expressed shock and resistance. At twenty-seven, I’m old enough to make up my own mind.”

“At least they calmed down when they learned you’ll board with your aunt and uncle in Rio,” Daniela said. She rose and wrapped her arms around her. “I am so going to miss you, girl. Please let me know as soon as you arrive in Brazil.” She pulled away. “Are you still having nightmares?”

Blanca nodded. “Sometimes. I’ve always had them sporadically, but they’re more frequent now than ever.” The vivid nightmare she’d had that morning made her flinch. Male voices resounded in her head. Fragments. “She knows too much. The boss said not to touch her. Leave her alone.” She didn’t want to share the nightmare. Why worry her dear friend?

The nightmares gave Blanca a sense of déjà vu, but the only thing she remembered about that vacation at ten was that she’d had nightmares for years after returning home to Madrid. Her parents hadn’t believed she needed therapy for the nightmares as a teenager—it was their old-fashioned way—but she’d gone to therapy once after saving her own money. The first session made her anxiety skyrocket, so she’d stopped.

As she grew up, the nightmares had become less frequent. But they had returned, more vividly, since she received the offer of a position in the Brazil office.

Going back to Rio De Janeiro would stir up memories, but she had to find out the truth. She knew her family had long-held secrets and was determined to discover them.

CHAPTER 3
THE JOURNEY

Blanca settled into the window seat on the plane. Threading a hand through her long hair, she watched the baggage-handlers load the luggage hold and wondered about their lives. Did they have secrets, or were their lives open books? Were they as anxious as she was about the plane’s smooth take-off and safe landing?

The voice of the pilot jarred her into the present, announcing the flight would take ten hours and thirty-five minutes to reach Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. She shook away her daydreams, clipped on her seatbelt and ignored the passenger beside her whose bag had knocked her feet.

As the aircraft took off, she gazed over the miniature houses, trees, and people below and sighed in relief and dread, wondering how her new life would be in a new country for the next six months. What discoveries would she find?

The back of the seat pressed uncomfortably against her back as she fought back chills while the plane experienced slight turbulence. The female passenger beside her smiled but Blanca turned away with a frown. She hated planes, and always dreaded the take-off and landings. If there was another way to travel, she’d be the first to take it.

When the in-flight meal appeared, Blanca chose the bland fish and rice dish, served with a Brazilian beer called Caracu. Later, she read a few chapters of a romance novel, and failed to sleep. Still, she was not prepared when the pilot announced they were about to land. Her heart beat fast, and she fought back the shakes. Reality suddenly hit her, as she’d never travelled anywhere on her own. This was a new and daunting experience.

After the plane landed roughly, she picked up her bag and rummaged into it for her phone to check the time had changed. Beads of sweat fell across the back of her neck and a tightening of her chest alerted her to her new reality. It is just a trip.

***

Blanca took a calming breath as the locals and tourists lined up, slowly departing from the aeroplane to meet the hustle and bustle of Galeao Airport in Rio de Janeiro. Long delays and a string of questions in customs led to further dread towards her new adventure. Heading towards the baggage claim area, Blanca bumped into a young man who wore dark glasses and multiple layers of clothing. “Oh, so sorry.”

The man smiled. “No, I’m sorry. Enjoy your day.” He headed towards the other side of the airport while Blanca waited for her suitcase, dodging people who more than once stepped on her feet.

Her phone vibrated in her bag: a loving message from Daniela. As she put her phone back inside her bag, her hand brushed a piece of paper. She unfolded it: Leave the secrets alone had been typed on it.

She toyed with her fingers, her feet frozen in place. What the hell was this, and where did it come from? It had to be a silly prank. No one but her had access to her bag. She swallowed and remembered the man bumping into her. Did he slip the note in her bag while distracting her with his kind smile? What did this damn note even mean? What secrets?

Blanca almost missed her suitcase on the conveyor belt. She hefted it off and wheeled it towards the exit.

As she stepped outside, the heat hit her in the face. In January, Spain was in the midst of winter, but she’d landed in Brazil’s summer.

She hailed a cab and a young driver with dark curls and stubble smiled as he dropped her suitcase into the boot of his car. As they drove to the city, he tried to make small talk. “Are you here on holiday?”

Blanca’s chest tightened, not knowing what secrets Brazil held. “I’m here for work, but only temporarily,” she tried in her rusty Portuguese.

Blanca gazed in awe as the taxi drove past mountains, broad, white-sand beaches and sky-blue waters under the early morning glare. She had read in a brochure that Ipanema was one of the safest places in Rio de Janeiro; as the second-wealthiest part of Rio, after another district called Leblon, the beach was patrolled by more police officers than other areas.

In the city of Ipanema, Blanca watched cyclists, roller skaters and skateboarders riding alongside the beach, baking in the blinding sunshine. On the fine sand, others played volleyball and other sports. Hills surrounded the Ipanema beach, and hotels, cultural centres, and museums lined the busy streets. She passed designer shops, including Louis Vuitton, Cartier, and Mont Blanc as well as pizzerias, Spanish tapas, and Brazilian restaurants. She saw a shopping strip filled with boutiques, bars, and travel agencies. It was packed with shops—a tourist’s dream.

As the cab drove through the most affluent area in the south of Rio de Janeiro, Blanca wondered what it would be like to visit those expensive, posh restaurants.

The taxi stopped at a medium-sized house with a cream-coloured concrete façade. The driver gave Blanca her suitcase, and she rolled it up a paved pathway through a rose-filled front garden.

The house felt both familiar and mysterious. Would she get answers about why her last trip to Rio De Janeiro had been cut short? Her parents had always been tight-lipped about that trip. She knew her family held a secret, one she was determined to uncover. She wondered whether the note she found in her purse was related to her family.

What if she didn’t like what she discovered?

CHAPTER 4
PROPOSED PROJECT

Carlos Silva shifted in his seat in the Rio Cafe as he tasted their version of his favourite meal, feijoada. The national dish of Brazil was a rich black bean stew with mixed meat.

Carlos flicked his dark hair away from his eye as he looked up at Luiz, his best friend, sitting across the table.

Luiz sipped his beer, set it back on the table and shook his head. “How in hell do you eat that stuff? I can’t stomach it, man.”

Carlos put down his fork. “That’s where you and I are different. I have impeccable taste in fine dining, while you’d rather eat dirt off the ground.” His eyes roamed the café. Sunlight streamed through the double glass doors onto the bench of historical statues and landscape murals, making the customers squint as they sat or rose from the floral-backed chairs.

Luiz grunted. His tall, lanky frame was too big for his chair. His size, combined with his handsome face, smiling green eyes, and shoulder-length, frizzy black hair, drew women to him. He could then turn on the charm easily. “Anyway, man. I asked you here today because I need your help with something.” He downed the rest of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can you check in on Juliana? I visited her recently and she’s still struggling with the loss of her daughter, Antonia, after all these years. Another girl’s apparently gone missing in the neighbourhood, and it triggered memories of Antonia.” He cleared his throat. “You can visit and take new photos for your magazine job to show the infrastructure upgrades in the favelas.”

Carlos nodded. “Sure, I’d be happy to visit. But who’s this missing girl?”

“She came from the favelas, but got into dealing drugs and had problems with gangs. She’d been caught a few times by police, but she’d never gone missing before. She always came back even if she was selling drugs. Pimps were hanging around her too, I believe.”

Carlos shook his head. “Does it ever end, man? The drugs, the prostitution, the territorial gangs?”

“Never in our lifetime, but I’d love it if you could get in touch with Juliana.”

“I know there’s a new editor coming from Spain. Pedro might get her to investigate business in the favelas. I’ll probably be working with her, taking photos for her stories. And I’m sure I’ll get to take photos of the favelas while visiting Juliana, too. Those kinds of issues about business profits and expansion sell magazines, and my uncle thrives on making higher profits each year. He has less interest in human interest stories.”

The mention of the editor from the Madrid office brought back Carlos’ memories of his two years working in Spain as a freelance photographer. But those thoughts led to memories of his girlfriend, Sophia. They had dated for over a year, and Carlos had even planned to move to Spain to marry her—until she died of cancer. The memories of her sweet face were still painful.

The screams of young children brought Carlos back to the restaurant, to the rumble of the espresso machine, and chatty waiters. He finished the last of his stew. “Why does Juliana want to see me, specifically?”

Luiz frowned. “I don’t know. I think she had a connection with your mother and wants to get to know her son.” He checked his phone. “If I had the time, I would ask. I have a few projects on the go, and they don’t include the favelas.” He stiffened. “And I cringe going to the favelas sometimes.”

Carlos leaned forward. “It’s those under-age prostitutes that repel you.” His chest tightened and his stomach churned at the thought.

Luiz nodded. “Seeing those old men propositioning young girls makes me sick. But nothing ever gets done about it.”

“There is corruption in every corner, exploiting young girls. It’s going to take a huge effort against corrupt police and government officials to end it,” Carlos said. “The only positive things happening in the favelas are the infrastructure improvements. But that’s not enough to give girls an alternative to prostitution for survival.” He squared his shoulders. “I sure as hell plan to talk to Pedro about presenting a balanced view of the favelas, at least through my photographs. We need to see the light and the dark. Hopefully the new journalist will agree with me.”

“I hear you, Carlos, but good luck if you think you can create much change. You’ve got the most violent favelas, the drug traffickers, and damn organised crime. Plus, your uncle wants to publish positive stories about business, not human interest.”

Carlos nodded. “You’re right, but if my photos can bring change for just one of those girls, I’ll have made a difference.”

CHAPTER 5
DÉJA VU

Blanca held her breath until her Uncle Julio opened the door. His smile was priceless when he saw her. Her heart warmed and opened up to a gentle man who had always been kind to her. He wrapped his strong arms around her.

Blanca removed herself from his squeeze. He had aged a lot in seventeen years. The dark circles under his hazel eyes made him look tired and his broad shoulders sagged a little. While he had luxuriously thick hair seventeen years earlier, he was now completely bald.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow,” he said. “I would have picked you up at the airport.” He pointed inside the house. “Come in. Maria will be so excited to see you.” He took her hand. “But she’s still asleep. She hasn’t been feeling well. We’ll surprise her. In the meantime, I’ll show you around the place. I don’t know how much you remember from your last visit, but we haven’t changed it much.”

Julio picked up her suitcase as Blanca stepped over the threshold. “I remember this place, Julio. It still makes me warm and fuzzy inside.”

Julio smiled. He brought her suitcase to a guest bedroom, then showed her the small kitchen, study and bathroom. One of her favourite memories of the apartment was the balcony, from which she could see a path from the apartment complex to the beach. It was only a short walk to the Ipanema beach, which meant living here would be expensive.

When Maria called out to Julio, they went to the bedroom. With the curtains drawn against the strong sunlight, the room was dark. A frail figure lay on the bed, her face gaunt and pale. Light suddenly appeared in Maria’s eyes as she struggled to sit up. Blanca fell into Maria’s arms, struggling to hold back her tears. Maria’s hug was weak.

Maria’s blue-green eyes shone. “Oh, my darling Blanca, you made it. I am so glad to see you, my precious one.” Grey tinged her short brown hair, but her cheeks had a bit of colour. She was an attractive fifty-seven year-old woman, and she displayed a quiet grace and inner strength that made it hard to believe she could ever be sick. Other than the grey in her hair, she hadn’t changed much since she was young.

“I’m so excited to be back here. Julio was saying you weren’t feeling well. Are you okay?” She couldn’t have come at a worse time when her aunt needed rest.

Maria smiled and turned away. “I’m okay, Blanca. A case of the flu, that’s all.”

Blanca sat at the edge of the bed and held her aunt’s hand. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Of course, dear.” She coughed. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been here. I wanted to come to Spain when that bastard Jorge hurt you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Blanca pushed back the memories of Jorge’s fists. “Oh, Maria it’s fine. I had support. Besides, you were there in spirit.” She fought down the memories of her neighbour rushing her to hospital.

“Well, at least now he’s in prison and can’t hurt you anymore.” Maria pursed her lips, her eyes peering into the distance.

***

Maria’s energy returned a few hours later. As Julio washed the lunch dishes, she sat on the couch with Blanca. They flipped through an album of photographs from her last trip to Brazil.

“I remember this day at the beach. I spilled ice cream over your shirt.” Seeing her ten year-old, curly-haired self warmed Blanca’s heart. She turned the page and saw a picture of her father standing beside a man she only remembered because of the faint scar across his right cheek.

“Ah, yes, that was your father, Miguel’s friend. They were close back then.”

Blanca tilted her head, studying the friend’s strong presence. This man looked much more powerful as he stood close to her father who had broad shoulders, light green eyes and a black crew cut. “And they’re not close anymore?”

Maria shook her head. “No, they stopped talking after your last trip. I don’t know what happened with Pablo, or whatever his name was.”

Blanco stared at the photo, her hands shaking for no good reason. What was it about this man that sent a chill down her spine? And why did her father stop talking to him after their trip? He’d never mentioned Pablo.

“Do you know why we left early from our trip back then?”

Maria shrugged. “Not a clue.” She swallowed and looked into her lap. “You and your parents came back to the house after something happened, but they never told me much of anything. All they told me was you were staying with your father’s old school friend for a week, and then when you returned here, you left all of a sudden. I believe you did spend a bit of time with Pablo in the beginning.”

“Who were the friends we stayed with?”

Maria put out her hands. “I don’t know. Something your father never told me.”

Blanca was filled with dread, and now she was intrigued to learn more about Pablo. “What did Dad say?”

“Only that he got a call about an urgent matter at work. He was upset about something, but he only said it was about work.”

Blanca shifted in her seat and continued to flip pages, looking at photos of the library and exotic restaurants. “And what about Mum?”

“Nothing. She looked worried about something, and you also looked a bit confused, but quiet. Not your usual self.”

Blanca excused herself and went to the balcony to look at Ipanema beach. She pondered the mystery of her last vacation and found herself drifting into the past. She wondered why her father had never mentioned his friend, Pablo. She sensed a prickle of unease down her spine about their holiday, but her parents had never spoken about it. She wondered why she didn’t remember the last few days of her vacation.

She had a new mission now, in addition to helping reorganize the Felicidade de Negocios magazine’s offices. She had to find out what happened all those years ago. It was becoming clear to her now that her nightmares had something to do with Brazil. It was her chance to get answers.

CHAPTER 6
THE NEW JOB

Blanca picked up her rental car a few days later, punched in the work address on the GPS system, and drove to the Felicidade de Negocios magazine in the centre of Rio De Janeiro. She wore smart business-casual attire with a fitted silk blouse, pleated skirt, and medium-heeled wedges.

A flutter in her stomach spread throughout her body as she parked the car in the staff area. Her heart skipped a beat as she entered the foyer and asked the receptionist for the editor-in-chief, Pedro Silva.

The receptionist was a glamorous-looking woman who appeared to be in her forties. She was slim with bleached-blonde hair and green eyes. Blanca could tell her face had been botoxed. She wore a tailored suit, and the bling on both arms and around her neck could feed a third-world country. “Oh, you must be Blanca. I’ve heard about you starting here as the new editor today. I’m Elina. Welcome to Brazil.”

Blanca smiled awkwardly. “Thank you, Elina. I’m looking forward to the experience.”

The receptionist grinned. “The people are great here, and you should enjoy your stay. How was your flight?”

Elina’s friendly greeting warmed Blanca. “Long and tiring, but I got here in one piece.”

Elina laughed. “I don’t know of many people who love flying.” She picked up the desk phone. “I’ll call Pedro. Please take a seat, Blanca.”

Blanca sat on a red suede armchair, taking in the fine decor, the abstract drawings on the walls and the variety of magazines on the opaque glass table. Her stomach tingled, and suddenly she needed a drink to quench her thirst. She had an overwhelming sense to turn back, but talked herself into calming down.

Soon, a towering man approached her. His top shirt button was undone underneath a double-breasted jacket. He had clean, well-manicured nails, but his blue eyes were not smiling. He had a scar across his right cheek. What the hell! Wasn’t this guy her father’s friend? The one Maria had called Pablo instead of Pedro?

Pedro’s eyes stared with curiosity. His face reddened. Did he not recognise her?

“Hello, Ms. Castellano. Welcome to Felicidade de Negocios. I am Pedro Silva, the editor-in-chief. I trust you had a good flight?”

She rose from the armchair, cleared her throat, and shook his hand firmly. This wasn’t the time to bring up her father, but she’d definitely be speaking to him back home. “Yes, I did. Thank you.” She concentrated on steadying her wobbly legs as she followed Pedro past staff sitting in small cubicles, speaking on telephones or staring at computers. Everyone wore professional attire, and the environment was serious and focused, with quiet chatter amongst a few employees.

Pedro touched his throat. “I’ll introduce you to the others later, but for now, we’ll have a chat before you meet your editorial assistant, Isabela.”

He led Blanca into a large oval office with spectacular views of the city. She sat in front of a mahogany desk stacked with papers, file folders, and books about finance and economy.

Pedro sat behind the desk, clasping his large hands in front of him. He pursed his lips and fidgeted, then pushed a pile of documents to her. “If you wouldn’t mind filling in those documents tonight and bringing them back to my office before the end of the day, I’d appreciate it, Ms Castellano.”