The cantina on the outskirts of the base was my refuge for the night—a place where the dim lighting and the clink of glasses offered a respite from the base’s rigid order. I wasn’t the usual customer there as drinking was not my thing. Yet tonight I sat there with a bottle of Don Julio 70, the kind of tequila that promised to numb the senses, to smooth out the sharp edges of reality. But as the liquid burned its way down, the numbness I sought stayed just out of reach. Instead, every shot sharpened the guilt that had burrowed deep into my conscience.
It was this guilt, a relentless shadow, that came from one of the hardest truths I had to live with. I was the one who nudged Nate, my own son, to follow his investigation into the Amazon—a decision that ended in the worst possible way. Rashmoor, that merciless man with too much power, had made sure Nate didn’t come back. Now, with every attempt to escape that reality, the guilt grew, feeding on my desperation, on my longing to turn back time.
The guilt, just as tequila, has sipped into every cell of my body
I leaned against the cool exterior of the cantina, the buzz from the tequila fading into a dull throb in my head. The guilt had nestled itself into every crevice of my being, a constant, gnawing presence that refused to be silenced. It wasn’t just a shadow; it was a spectre that loomed over me, blackening every moment of joy that dared to surface. The memory of Nate’s last phone call, his voice full of excitement and adventure, played on an endless loop, each replay a stab reminding me that I was the one who had set him on that path.
Inside, my heart was a battleground where regret clashed with the instinct to fix what had been broken. The guilt had aged me, dragging me down like a relentless current. I felt it in my bones, this heavy sorrow that sapped my strength, leaving me hollow. The image of Nate, vibrant and alive, was now just a ghost that haunted the edges of my sleep, turning rest into a restless dance with what-ifs and if-onlys. The thought that I could have done something different, that I could have prevented it all, was a torment that knew no end.
And now, here I was, years later, with the possibility of undoing that one fateful decision sitting on the horizon like a mocking mirage. The guilt whispered cruel temptations, suggesting that a leap into the unknown with the Blue Hole could wash away the years of pain. It promised a chance to look into Nate’s eyes once more, to tell him everything I wished I had said. But it was this same guilt that clouded my judgment that made the line between right and wrong blur into obscurity.
The temptation is all too great
The cantina was mostly empty, a few locals scattered around, lost in their own attempts to escape from whatever haunted them. In the corner of the bar, I found myself facing a decision that seemed as impossible as any I’d ever encountered. The LHC had given me a green light to try something incredible with the Blue Hole, something that might even bring Nate back. But Jamie, whose instincts were usually spot-on, had warned me off, saying it might not work, that it could be a huge mistake.
The stakes were massive. Going to the LHC meant leaving Natalie, my wife, alone to face Rashmoor’s unpredictable fury. He had already snatched her away, using her as a pawn to control me. And with the memory of Nate’s loss so raw, the idea of endangering Natalie too was unbearable.
But the temptation and hope that all three of us could be together again was sinking into my head, the same way as tequila was pouring into every cell of my body now.
The clock was ticking, and I had to make the decision; and make it fast.
