Chapter 31: Diogo
I lean back in my chair, tossing the file folder on the table in front of me. Nestled inside is the brief history of a woman who was once faceless to me but will now haunt my memory. And deservedly so. I am the last person she saw before she closed her eyes forever. I will honour her with remembrance. For Taran. And maybe for myself.
Victoria Greystone. Blond hair, blue eyes.
Twenty-seven years old. Married to Alphonse Rodriguez. Two children registered to the couple. Mary Rodriguez, 5, and Sebastian Rodriguez, 7.
She lived in sector six near the West wall. I found out from her grieving husband that, on the day of her death, she was gathering herbs along the wall. Plant-life tend to grow rampant up the wall and in abandoned buildings and, despite the danger of crumbling structures, people will enter the buildings or climb sections of the wall in search of their next meal.
I feel relief, while studying Victoria's profile, to discover that neither she nor her husband were illegal. Both had sanctioned entrance into the city. It would be a shame to deport her husband immediately after he lost his wife.
When I go home that evening I don't discuss the things I learned about Victoria with Taran, and she doesn't ask. She seems content in her belief that I'll do as I say and I'm pleased that she's come to this conclusion. She wanted me to know about the woman I was forced to kill. Wanted me to feel the loss of Victoria's life. I'm not sure if I understand entirely why, but I'm not disappointed with the knowledge I've gained.
Usually I distance myself from the victims. Whether they're Primitives, illegals, criminals, or, like Victoria, a victim of circumstance. I don't need to know who they are or what makes them tick. I've been content with my life the way it is for a long time. But there's something about Taran that's opened me up. She wants me to appreciate life, and I want to see life through her eyes. If this is the way to do it then I'm willing.
When the Desert Wren first hit my radar she was simply a fly to swat. A criminal that would eventually be caught and brought to justice. Then, gradually, as I heard of her exploits, my admiration grew. I tried to work out how she was committing these crimes, and more importantly, why? She persisted on an altruistic path that could only end in her death, either through the dangers of climbing the wall, wandering the desert, or by execution. Yet she got nothing out of saving refugees. Nothing that I could understand anyway.
But now, as I learn about Victoria and her life, rather than just remaining with the brief glimpse of her death, I'm starting to understand. To Taran, these are individuals. Not just citizens. Everyone has a story and in their own way, each story is beautiful. Deserves to be given the chance to flourish instead of cut off in death.
Though I understand Taran's point of view, I'm not sure if I'm ready to embrace it. I need the distance between myself and the citizens of Sanctuary so I can effectively do my job. If I worry over every individual I won't be able to protect them all.
Yet, Taran believes this way of thinking is flawed. She does care about each individual, yet she's brought many, many people into the city illegally. She's provided food and shelters for legions. Perhaps she's succeeded where I've failed.
"Diogo?"
Her soft voice reaches through the darkness, sleepy and confused. I left our bed, bothered by these thoughts and made my way up to the roof.
"Over here, baby."
She makes her way slowly to the cot where I'm sitting, facing the city, watching the glow of the few lanterns still visible in buildings throughout mine and the neighboring sectors. I hold my arms out to her and she sinks down onto my lap, curling up like a small animal and burrowing against the warm shelter of my chest.
I wonder if she'll ask me what I'm doing, why I made my way up to the roof alone in the dark. She surprises me by saying, "Do you know what tomorrow is, Diogo?"
I frown into the shadows, searching my brain for the answer she's looking for. Her birthday? No, she told officers during her initial intake that it was April 27th. Her intake date was March 3rd.
"Sorry, sweetheart," I murmur against the top of her head.
She tips her head back and looks up at me, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. "Tomorrow is November 2nd."
Ah, yes. An important date for the citizens of New Tucson Sanctuary. The day they acknowledge and celebrate the passing of their loved ones. "Day of the dead."
"Yes," she says, her voice strengthening. "I need to go, Diogo."
I'm amused that she thinks she would be allowed to go, with or without my permission. The only way she leaves this apartment tomorrow is with me at her back. "I don't go," I say bluntly.
"Just because you never have doesn't mean you shouldn't go, Diogo." Her voice is cajoling, and I feel myself weakening. In our brief time together Taran hasn't asked me for anything that wasn't important to her.
"I won't be welcome," I warn her.
Though I can't see her grin, I can feel it.
"We'll wear masks. Lots of people dress up for the Day of the Dead," she says excitedly. "No one will recognize you. Please, Diogo, I've never missed it. I need to do it for my lost loved ones."
"Alright," I capitulate, wondering how many weapons I can fit on my person without raising suspicion.
Tomorrow, we're going to party with the dead.
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