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"He can!" Maya blurt out.
"But it's very important," the cop continued, "that nothing is touched. We don't want to wipe away any evidence."
"We won't. I promise," I said.
Knight didn't answer, just stared down at her, that dark look on his face. Maya had taken his hand and was squeezing it.
The cop, hesitatingly, stepped to the side, repeating herself. "Don't touch anything."
Knight rushed forward, with both Maya and me on his heels.
I took in the room, the row of elephants, the Batman bean bag in the corner. The tea set looked like someone had recently played with it. A new chess board had been set out. The only thing that looked out of place was Honey's bed, which was unmade, something she'd been so particular about doing correctly before.
I looked at everything, making sure to take in every detail. Not wanting to miss a single clue as to what had happened, and who had done this.
I turned towards the table, remembering how Honey had been so excited to share it with me, a stranger in her home in the middle of the night.
That's when I saw it: a folded origami, in the shape of a bird.
It was innocuous, placed delicately next to the kettle. I knew it hadn't been there before.
The familiarity at the back of my mind now suddenly came into focus, like a flashing neon sign, and the world around me fell into silence. It was so obvious now.
Pajarita. Little bird.
As if in slow motion, my hand reached forward, tingling with apprehension and anxiety, and picked it up. The edges felt like a thousand tiny knives, the sensation running up my arm and into my chest as I grasped it fully in my palm, bringing it up to my face in disbelief.
Voices in the room muted, as if underwater, even though I was the one drowning, drowning.
No!
I could only stare at it in shock for several long moments, my whole body frozen.
Then, taking a short, shallow breath, giving me the courage to open the left wing.
Hola mi pajarita.
Hello my little bird.
The ground came up as I collapsed to my knees, all my breath leaving me.
"Tatiana!" Knight's surprised voice, and then he was next to me. "Are you okay?" His touch on my arm sent me spiraling backwards through time.
Fingers around my arm, clutching it tight in warning.
"Tatiana, dear," Manuel's rough voice mocked concerned. He'd glanced towards the milling guests around us. "She’s not feeling well again."
I could feel their sympathetic stares, a low tut. Their judgement.
Because I was always sick––that was the excuse he gave them anyways. When I wasn't allowed out because he'd beaten me so black and blue that I could barely stand.
Today it was because he'd forbidden me to eat for three days, despite the plethora of food in the fridge and cupboards. I was so hungry, I'd almost passed out.
"Here, cariña," his false voice of caring held the undercurrent of warning, "Let me help you to the sofa." His nails, digging into my skin as he pulled me upwards. Get off the floor or you won't walk for a week, it told me.
"Sweetheart, look at me." The sincerity in Knight's voice snapped me back to the present, his fingers running through my hair soothingly.
I met his gaze, remembering, remembering. He'd abandoned me to that man.
