"One cannot necessarily appreciate the power and fame of the United States until one leaves it," her father said sagaciously. "I don't mean going to goddamn Canada or Britain or anything. I mean going to South America, or the Philippines, or India, or any other place that is full of human spirit yet also full of poverty and corrupt politicians."

His daughter, Cassandra Wilkes, college junior, looked at her father knowingly, respectfully remaining quiet in the presence of his wisdom. He stood up from behind his impressive desk, coming around in his Armani suit with the jacket off and hung up on his large polished oak coat rack. She stood as he came to her, and he admired his only child, which he had not seen in many years, but now had custody over after the death of Cassandra's mother. His daughter was a fine young woman, with an angelic face, and long blond hair that was well cared for and healthy, like she was. Her body was slim at the waist and wide at the hips, and her breasts were high and young and strong like she was. Her eyes were perhaps her supreme feature, her triumph over obscurity: they were a piercing green, and an inspiring sight that left many people, men and women, in awe and in love with her. She was the symbol of peaceful perfection. Whereas drunken guys hit on her friends whenever they went out to the club or to a frat party, Cassandra was left alone. She was simply too perfect for anyone, and the losers that stalked freshmen girls at these parties realized even amidst the foolish warmth of their alcoholic torpor that Cassandra was off limits. Men and women did not merely lust to have her in bed, they fell in absolute love with her on sight, and they desired to have her forever, even beyond life. Cassandra, meanwhile, was unhappy.

Her father, the powerful Lewis Wilkes, held his daughter at the shoulders, and admired her affectionately. Then, he leaned in and hugged her tightly with his arms that had seen many business deals and not enough humanity. Then, he pulled back and kissed her on her soft cheek. She smiled faintly, but her eyes were lost, searching through a dark wood for love and attachment but finding only snakes and thorns instead. "I'm glad that you're doing this. It means a lot to me, to have you see something like this." He let go of her, and reached over to his desk, and picked up a flight itinerary. He handed it to her, and she took it in her slender, beautiful fingers, and she opened it. "You're going to Guatemala," he said. "A business partner of mine is going down to see his family there, and I feel that the experience will be beneficial to you. Of course, you'll be staying at the best hotel, and I'll give you plenty of cash and a platinum credit card in case you need it. I know you're responsible with money, but I want to make sure that you have enough. I'm not worried about that much, though. I'm not worried at all, actually. I think that you're going to learn more going to a foreign country such as Guatemala than you ever will learn in college, and I think you'll cherish the experience more than you'd cherish going anywhere in the States."

With that, Cassandra Wilkes went home to the vast palace that her father lived in on the edge of the City, and she packed. The business partner, whose name was Anastasio Marroquin, would come and pick her up at her father's place, and from there they would go to the airfield and take Anastasio's private jet straight to Guatemala City International. Cassandra packed her best clothes, and she packed a camera and all the cosmetics that she would need, which wasn't as much makeup as it was hair treatment products and lotions and skin creams. On the day of the trip, with Marroquin packing her things in the trunk of his Mercedes-Benz, Cassandra took one last look at herself in a mirror with gilded edges. She looked at herself through her brilliant green eyes, and then she saw her mother. In a flash she was there, and then she was gone. Cassandra didn't cry, for she had no tears left. Besides, crying would make her eyes puffy, and she had her looks to think about. The angel merely left the mansion of her father and went with the polite, handsome Guatemalan, Anastasio Marroquin.

On the descent down to the foreign airport, Cassandra looked out the window of the private jet, her back carefully supported by her comfortable seat. She saw, below her, rich, dark, green earth, and what looked like red soil on the hillsides. These images were only a tease, because low clouds were obscuring her vision, and she only saw glimpses of this strange new land. Then, after a few minutes, some low, ugly buildings came into sight, and Cassandra looked upon them with a neutral eye. Nothing surprised her anyway. The buildings were low and small and ugly, and far below her, like most things. The buildings gradually sloped upward into tall office towers, but by the time that happened they were almost level with the ground, and then the next moment there was a shudder as the jet touched down in Guatemala City.

Anastasio smiled at her, his voice containing traces of a Spanish accent. "You see those tall buildings?" he asked.

She nodded affirmatively.

"That's Zona Diez; Zone Ten. That's the nice place. That has the banks and the United States hotels, you know? We're staying there."

Cassandra nodded her head again, and looked out her window in the hopes of seeing the buildings once more, but she now saw only the bleak rear of the airport, so she looked back in the jet. She saw Marroquin looking out of his window eagerly, and she leaned in and tried to see what he was looking at. He was gazing past some moderately tall buildings, which looked in need of some sort of renovation, and beyond them stood a tall, round-topped mountain that was green and tropical and warm feeling. Cassandra smiled faintly at the eagerness of Marroquin, and then her lovely plain expression came over her face again, and the doubt and loss came back into her heavenly green eyes.

A/N: Chapter Two is Next