I opened my eyes again. I groaned slightly. The boy lifted his head from picking his nails bored. I looked outside. It was dark. The city lights could be seen in the buildings and apartments. I could just barely manage to read the bill board sign, it said Nuevo Laredo Dry Cleaning. My vision was hazy. My head was swimming. I had black spots flickering in front of what I was seeing.

I dropped my head down seeing my leg. The gunshot wound had not been bandaged and was still oozing out slowly. There was a pool on the wooden floor. Shit. If I lost anymore that would be it.

But what was it worth?

There was a high likelihood I was going to die anyways. These guys don't let people live. Whether they get what they want....and especially if they don't. Their patients is thin and they get angry easily. These drug buffs.

I lifted my head breathing. It was still freaking hot in this room. Or I was just sweating from being tense. I looked at the boy who was picking at his dirty nails as if attempting to get them clean.

"Hey...", I managed hoarsely my voice cracked. I hadn't had anything to drink either. Nor to eat. But the hunger or thirst wasn't what worried me now.

The boy Carlos raised his head silent he looked back down at his fingers ignoring me.

I swallowed, "Hey....", I repeated a little louder.

He frowned looking up, "¿Qué?", he asked. (What?)

"¿Es mucho pedir un vendaje?", I asked gesturing to the hole in my leg. (Is it too much to ask for a bandage)

"Cállate la policía estúpidos", snapped Carlos. (Shut up stupid police)

"Voy a morir ... voy a morir si sigo sangrando. Apenas puedo mantener mi cabeza recta. Si no me consigue algo que voy a morir" I croaked out. (I'm going to die ... I will die if I keep bleeding. I can barely keep my head straight. If you can not something I'm going to die.)

The boy stared at me for long dragging seconds not moving. As if thinking about his options or about something else. He was looking me up and down. Thinking...as if trying to understand something. As if he was missing something. Misunderstanding something.

"¿Qué pensará su jefe? Si muero su jefe no será feliz. Él te culpa .... si muero.", I said trying to reason with him. (What will your boss think? If I die your boss won't be happy. He'll blame you....if I die.)

Carlos stared at me for a much longer time. He had the gun in his hand. He could shoot me and complain that I talked too much. He could. Carlos swallowed and stood leaving into another archway. I heard rummaging. He seemed to pull something out and then came back with a dark blue shirt.

He kneeled down on one knee tucking the gun in his back pocket. He lifted my leg and I grunted wincing at the pain. I leaned my head back swallowing my throat parched and dry.

I managed to glance at him as he positioned the shirt under the wound. I tried to start a conversation. Maybe...the more I connected with this one the better. He was younger...likely more convincible and susceptible.

"No eres como los demás ... que eres diferente", I said breathing. (You aren't like the others...you're different)

Carlos looked up at me cigarette in his mouth. He smirked taking the compliment. He paused not wrapping the wound closed. He held the shirt.

"Estás demasiado diferente ... no estás con la policía mexicana", he replied. (You're different too...you aren't with the mexican police)

"Estoy con la patrulla fronteriza de Estados Unidos..... en Laredo ...", I replied. (I'm with the American border patrol in...Laredo)

Carlos held the shirt. He stared up and down then whispered, "Un Americano" (An American)

I smirked managing a slight laugh, "Esa es la primera reacción real que está cerca de buena que he recibido aquí", I said. (That's the first actual reaction that is close to good I've gotten here)

Carlos looked at me and then looked around carefully he swallowed whispering, he seemed nervous.

"¿Qué?", I asked with narrowed eyes. (What?)

"Si usted es un americano ... ¿puedes ayudarme a conseguir a través de?", asked Carlos quietly. (If you're an American... can you help me get across)

I blinked, I scoffed not believing it, "Mi trabajo consiste en asegurarse de que usted no consigue a través" (My job is to make sure that you don't get across)

Carlos clenched his teeth looking down and grew desperate in his tone of voice. He looked back up at me speaking, "Usted no entiende! Si pudiera hacerlo de la manera correcta lo haría! Pero no tengo un pasaporte, visado o certificado de nacimiento!", (You don't understand! If I could do it the right way I would! But I don't have a passport, visa, or birth certificate!)

He stared hard with his eyes, "Me uní a los Zetas porque me ofrecieron la oportunidad de conseguir sobre si les pagué y lo traje a través de una carga. Yo ... yo ... yo ... yo no quiero hacer eso ... cruzar ilegalmente es incorrecto, ya que es. Pero son mi único tiro por encima. Tengo una hermana y madre de vuelta a casa en Chihuahua ... que cuentan conmigo para conseguir un buen trabajo. Necesitan el dinero.", he said. (I joined the zetas because they offered me a chance to get over if I paid them and brought over a load. I...I...I...I don't want to do that...crossing illegally is wrong as it is. But they are my only shot over. I have a sister and a mother back home in Chihuahua... they are counting on me to get a good job. They need the money.)

He swallowed, "Si me ayudas ... Yo te ayudaré lo mejor que pueda señora", he whispered. (If you help me...I'll help you as best I can Miss)

I looked at him lazily. Had I heard him correctly? Or was I really that out of it? Was he really willing to help me?

"Por favor señora", he whispered.

His eyes pleaded towards me. I stared at him and swallowed, "De acuerdo ... Yo te ayudaré a través ... legalmente. Si me ayudas", I said. (Alright...I'll help you get across...legally. If you help me)

"Gracias señora ...", he whispered. (Thank you Miss)

"No me des las gracias todavía. No puedo hacer nada si estoy muerto",I grunted out. (Don't thank me just yet. I can't do anything when I'm dead.)

Carlos smiled a small smile and began to wrap the wound by tying the ends together into a not. It was amature and I began to instruct him on how to fold the shirt to get the best covering over the wound. He pulled the final not and I jolted kicking out my leg in pain as he pulled too quickly.

"Lo siento! Lo siento!", he said apologetically and had worried look on his face.

My face was tensed and tight and my cheeks puffed up breathing and wet with sweat as I spoke gritting through my teeth, "No se preocupe ... gracias. Se aprende rápidamente.", (Don't worry...thank you. You learn quickly)

Carlos managed a small smile and looked at me, "¿Necesita agua?", (Do you need water?)

I nodded slowly breathing and closed my eyes for a moment hearing the boy stand. What was his name again? My memory....was really waning. I thought I had hear it. Or was it my....observation skill that was fading.

I swallowed feeling tears brim my eyes and build. I clenched my jaw my lips trembling. Chris....Louisa....Cassidy....they must be worried sick. I...I...I....I missed them. Chris must be throwing a tantrum along with the chief.

They're looking....they'll find me... my parents....their cruise to Alaska. The news must be all over this by now. People calling in any random blonde chick they see on the streets of Mexico.

The boy came back and I swallowed hard fighting back tears, he noticed and looked with soft eyes, "Señora",he whispered. "¿Estás bien?", he asked. (Miss...are you alright)

I shook my head, "No .... no, yo no estoy bien. Estoy ... estoy asustado. Mis amigos en el país son los más propensos flipando. Mis padres que estaban de vacaciones disfrutando de su jubilación duramente ganado ahora recibiera derechos la noticia de que su única hija se ha kidnapped por un hombre cartel de la droga mexicano puto!", I yelled crying. (No....no I'm not fine. I'm...I'm scared. My friends at home are most likely freaking out. My parents who were on vacation enjoying their hard earned retirement now receive the news that their only daughter has been kidnapped by a fucking mexican drug cartel man!)

I swallowed sniffing and coughed my throat hurting from lack of water. I didn't know why I told him. I don't know why I trusted him so easily. Maybe it was because I didn't have a choice. Maybe because I pitied him. I don't know! I hated not know! I hated not knowing what was going to happen! It frightened me so dearly!

""Lo siento ... yo ... yo ... mi madre me echa ... ella no sabe dónde estoy. Me escapé. Mi hermana es ya cuatro ahora ... me fui hace dos años . yo ... .. yo sé que no es ... como ... ", he said his voice trailing off. He didn't know what to say or how to finish his sentence. (I'm sorry...I...I...my mother misses me...she doesn't know where I am. I ran away. My sister is already four now...I left two years ago. I...I.. I know it's not...like...)

I nodded sniffing, "¿Cuál es tu nombre?", I asked quietly. (What's your name?)

"Carlos....y Usted?", he asked sitting down holding a small plastic pink bowl in his two hands. I could see his torn sneakers and uncleaned laces which had frays coming out from their white ends. (Carlos...and you?)

"Klein....Katherine Klein", I replied quietly.

My eyes were drifting to the water and I could feel my mouth build saliva. Carlos noticed and he lifted the bowl carefully as I leaned forward a bit. His hand went carefully to my head but I pulled back recalling what the man Juan had done earlier in the day. Carlos pulled his hand back slightly hesitating seeing my reaction towards his movement.

He brought his hand again this time slower placing it on the back lightly careful not to cause any pain. He tilted up the small children's bowl letting me drink.

It was....hopeful.

I had a chance.