Los Cuatro
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 3
The morning sun bled pale light through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. Breakfast—lukewarm eggs and dry tortillas—was served without ceremony by Mateo, who nodded at us once before retreating to his usual station just inside the door. Reyes was absent, for now, which made the air feel a little lighter.
We sat in the common area on rickety chairs and a faded couch, quietly eating. Luz took a sip of juice, then set her cup down and looked at Mateo.
“Disculpe,” she said gently. “I was wondering ... is there any chance I could have a pen and some paper?”
Mateo looked at her with mild surprise.
“I like to write,” she added, hands folded on her lap. “Just ... thoughts. Stories. It helps. I’d really appreciate it.”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, with a half-shrug and the faintest hint of a smile, said, “I’ll think about it.”
It wasn’t a no.
Luz beamed. “Thank you.”
Isa leaned over, whispering loudly to us as Mateo turned away. “Hear me out, everyone. What if I flirt with him a little? I mean, he’s kind of cute in that wounded puppy way. Maybe I bat my lashes and he brings us pens, tools, the keys to the whole place.”
“Absolutely not,” Marisol said, not missing a beat.
“Definitely not,” I seconded.
Luz shook her head, lips pursed. “We need to stay smart. No complications.”
Isa sighed theatrically. “You people are no fun.”
She smiled when she said it, but there was a tiny edge in her voice. I wondered how much of her joking was really a mask.
Later that morning, during the shift change—Reyes in, Mateo out—the guards spent a few minutes talking just outside, giving us our first real sliver of privacy in hours. Marisol leaned forward.
“Okay, let’s not waste this.”
I nodded. “We need a plan. A real one.”
Isa lowered her voice. “We don’t even know where we are.”
“Which is why we start small,” I said. “We figure out patterns. Guard shifts. Supply deliveries. There has to be some kind of vulnerability.”
Marisol frowned. “You say that like it’s easy. Like you’re just waiting for the opportunity to play hero.”
“It’s not about playing anything,” I said, trying to keep my tone level. “I’m just saying—if we want a chance, we need to prepare.”
“We are preparing,” she said. “But we also have to survive. That means not making stupid moves that get us punished.”
There it was again—her voice, sharp with control, her eyes scanning for weakness. I felt my frustration rise.
“We’re not going to think our way out of this without taking risks.”
“We’re not going to survive if we think recklessly is the same thing as thinking bravely.”
The tension swelled. Luz stood quietly and tugged on Isa’s arm.
“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go fold the blankets or something.”
Isa looked between us, then followed Luz into the girls’ room. The door shut gently behind them.
I exhaled. “I’m not trying to take over.”
Marisol folded her arms, but her posture softened just slightly.
“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I know that. I guess. You just ... remind me of someone. From before.”
I looked at her. “Want to tell me?”
She hesitated, then nodded once.
“I dated this guy in college. Smart, driven, full of ideas. He wanted to fix everything. Thought he knew better than anyone. But he never listened. And when things went wrong, he vanished. Dropped off the face of the earth. There’s a part of me that’s never gotten past that.”
“Sounds like a real jerk,” I said.
She smiled faintly. “He had a good heart. Just ... no room for anyone else’s opinions.”
I let that sit for a moment. “You’ve got a sharp mind, Marisol. You pick up on things I miss. And this isn’t my world. I mean, culturally—I know it’s not. You’ve got eyes I don’t. I respect that.” I hesitated for just a second, and then added, “Thank you for telling me about the guy in college. Now that I know about that, I understand you better now.”
Her gaze met mine, more thoughtful now.
“You’re welcome, and thanks,” she said. “I appreciate that. I guess I just ... don’t like feeling like I have to fight for space. Not here.”
“You don’t. Not with me. And one more thing. You’ve pointed out more than once ... that it wasn’t smart for me to jump in and get involved when they abducted you, back in Brownsville. You know what? You’re absolutely right. It was impulsive and reckless. It was also out of character for me. I don’t usually do things like that. I’m not sure what came over me.”
A quiet moment passed. Then, she surprised the hell out of me. She stood up and opened her arms. “Hug?” she asked.
“You betcha,” I told her, as we embraced.
We sat down and continued chatting lightly as Reyes showed up for his shift. “By the way,” I said to Marisol, “you noticed what Luz did, right?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“She pulled Isa out. On purpose. Gave us the space to talk it out.”
Marisol tilted her head, and something warm flickered in her eyes.
“She’s always been like that,” she said. “Quiet doesn’t mean passive.”
“I’ve been noticing that too,” I said. “That sister of yours is ... different. I mean that in a good way. The words she does say, plus her actions, speak volumes.”
At that, Marisol smiled— the widest smile I’d seen from her.
“That’s one thing,” she said, “we definitely agree on.”
We sat there for a moment longer, no plans, just two people learning to trust one another.
Night had fallen. Reyes stalked off to smoke outside, the door creaking open and shut with his usual gruffness. Mateo was nowhere in sight, which usually meant he was off preparing dinner. That gave us a window—ten minutes, maybe fifteen if we were lucky.
Marisol leaned closer to me on the couch, her voice low but firm. “We’ve got to start thinking beyond basic survival.”
I nodded. “Agreed. We’ve tested boundaries. Now it’s time to gather intel.”
Luz sat cross-legged on the floor, sketching patterns on the inside of her wrist with a finger. Isa curled beside her, plucking at a loose thread on her sweater. I glanced toward the door, listening for footsteps. Nothing yet.
“We need to catalog the guards’ routines,” Marisol said. “When Reyes patrols. How often they change shifts. When they lock the gates. Any time they forget.”
“I can keep an eye on Reyes,” I said. “He’s not exactly subtle.”
“I’ll track Mateo,” Luz offered quietly, eyes lifting to meet ours. “He’s softer. Maybe more careless.”
“I’ll flirt with both and get all the intel,” Isa said with a grin, then added quickly, “Kidding. Mostly.”
We all smiled, even Marisol, who gave her cousin a light nudge with her foot. “You’re not as subtle as you think, Isa.”
“But I’m charming,” she said with mock offense.
I leaned back slightly, letting the brief levity settle. “Okay. So, this is what we know so far. No regular vehicles. Fenced perimeter. Reyes always carries a sidearm, but we haven’t seen Mateo armed.”
“We’re far south,” Marisol added. “They were driving all day. Maybe Zacatecas? San Luis Potosí? Hard to say.”
“We’ll keep building the picture,” I said. “Even if we don’t know where we are, we can learn who they are. That’s where the cracks start.”
The door opened behind us. All four of us stiffened, but it was Mateo—and his hands were full.
He held out a stack of paper, neatly bound with an elastic band, and two pens. He walked over and handed them directly to Luz.
“You said you like to write,” he said. “Here. Just ... keep it clean, okay?”
Luz blinked, stunned. “I ... wow. Thank you.”
He nodded, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude. “Just don’t waste it.”
She took the bundle in both hands like it was made of gold.
“Gracias,” she said softly, as Mateo turned and walked back toward the kitchen.
We all looked at her.
“Whoa,” Isa said, eyes wide. “You just got a delivery from the Writing Fairy.”
Luz smiled, looking down at the blank pages as if already filling them in her mind. “This is something. I can track everything. Dates. Guards. Weather. What we notice, what we guess. It doesn’t have to be in plain language.”
Marisol sat up straighter. “Clever. Make it look like journaling, but it’s really intelligence.”
“I’ll disguise it with poetry,” Luz murmured. “They won’t know what they’re looking at.”
I glanced around at the three women, each with her own fire, her own way of resisting.
“Looks like we’ve got our field team,” I said.
Marisol gave me a dry smile. “And our analyst.”
“Don’t underestimate the poet,” I said, nodding toward Luz.
“I never do,” Marisol replied, her voice softening.
We all quieted again as the scent of beans and rice drifted in from the kitchen. Mateo was close to being in earshot, and with that, there were once again limits on what we could say aloud.
It was the middle of the following afternoon. The heat of the day had settled heavy inside the little house, pressing down like a thick blanket. None of us had the energy to pace or argue or do much of anything. We lounged in the common room, sitting cross-legged on the floor or leaning against the rough stone walls, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
It was then that my eyes caught something on the lower part of the wall, just beside where the light from the window hit. At first, I thought it was just another random scrape, but when I leaned forward, I realized it was deliberate—a dog, sketched in stone against stone. Not a crude stick figure either. The lines were surprisingly careful, the proportions right, the face alive with character.
“Who did this?” I asked, running my fingers just above the outline.
Luz shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I did,” she admitted, her voice soft. “Yesterday. I was alone here for a while, and ... well, I got bored.”
“You did this with just a rock?” My voice probably carried more disbelief than I intended.
Her lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile. “I guess writing isn’t my only thing. I’ve always liked drawing too.”
Marisol leaned closer, whistling low. “Girl, you didn’t just ‘draw.’ That’s good. Really good.”
Isa nodded, eyes wide. “Better than good. You made it look alive.”
I found myself smiling despite everything. “You’re an artist,” I said, and I meant it.
Luz’s cheeks colored slightly, but she held my gaze. “Maybe a little.”
Marisol had a request. “Do another one! Something big this time.”
Isa chimed in, grinning, “A horse! Or a tree. Or maybe a bird.”
With a laugh, Luz dug the stone from where she’d left it and crouched down by a bare section of wall. We all gathered around as she began scratching lines into the surface. Slowly, the shape of wings began to take form.
That’s when Mateo’s shadow fell across the doorway. We all stiffened for a second, expecting trouble, but he only leaned in, frowning at the scene. His lip curled in disdain. He muttered something in Spanish, shaking his head. Then he turned and wandered off without another word.
We exchanged looks once he was gone. None of us said it aloud, but the thought was shared: We were right. Mateo wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t cruel, wasn’t sharp. He was weak. And maybe, just maybe, weakness was something we could use.
But in that moment, strategy faded into the background. Luz kept scratching lines into stone, and we leaned closer, watching her bird take shape. Somehow, her simple act of making something beautiful in this ugly place pulled the four of us tighter together.
I tossed and turned through the night, thinking repeatedly about what we’d discussed about the guards, about a possible escape. I didn’t bemoan the lost sleep – hey, I could always take a nap during the day, right? But my brain was overworked.
It was in this mentally exhausted condition that I rose from my bed. Right away, I noticed the piece of paper on the floor, folded very neatly. Puzzled, I took the paper in my hand and got down onto the floor to inspect the lower reaches of the wall. It turned out that there was a small gap just above the floorboards. Someone in the girls’ room had slid the paper through the gap.
I unfolded the paper. It was a note, or rather, a letter. I sat down on the bed and read it.
Brendan,
I hope this reaches you. I couldn’t sleep, and the words wouldn’t stay quiet in my head. I guess I just wanted to tell someone how scared I am—really scared, not just of where we are, but of what’s happening to the people we love who don’t know where we are. My heart aches when I think of my parents, of how my mom must be crying, and how my dad probably hasn’t stopped pacing.
I see how you look out for us, how you try to keep calm even when none of this makes sense. I can tell you’re a good person. You didn’t have to step in back in the park—you could’ve walked away. But you didn’t.
Marisol is always trying to stay strong, and Isa pretends this is all an adventure, but I know we’re all hurting. I guess I just wanted to say ... you can talk to me. If the fear ever gets too heavy, or if the silence gets too loud, I’ll be here.
—Luz
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