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Reluctantly I get up, look at my reflection, and reapply lipstick, a deep red that I’m sure my mother would approve of. Mercedes made sure I took the tube with me so I could freshen up. She doesn’t want me looking bad. It would make people talk, and since I’m a De La Rosa now, it matters, so I smear it off with the back of my hand. A small rebellion.
I hear another gong, and with a groan, I go to the door. But just as I get there, I hear a woman’s scream, the shrillness of it sending a chill through me that stops me in my tracks.
Mercedes?
I turn the lock on the door and twist the handle, but when I do, nothing happens.
Loud voices and another scream pierce the strange silence that seems to have fallen just beyond my door.
“Santiago?” I call out, a panic seizing me as I try the handle again only to find it jammed. “Is anyone there?” I cry out, banging on the door, trying the handle again and again to no avail.
Something shatters outside like a server has just dropped a tray of crystal champagne glasses.
I yank off my mask and throw it to the floor.
“Mercedes?” I call out, my purse slipping to the floor as I bang with both fists. “Santiago!”
I bang and bang, but I chose this bathroom because it was the farthest from the room where long tables were set for dinner, so maybe there's no one here.
“Someone let me out!” Just as I say the words, I turn the handle for the hundredth time, and this time, it gives, and I’m not expecting it to so when the door flies open, I stumble backward falling against the wall.
I straighten, then run through the door to where a crowd of people have gathered. Where someone is barking orders. I know the sirens I hear are coming toward us as I shove my way through, knowing I have to see. Feeling deep in my belly that whatever has just happened is very bad.
And when I get there, when I see, I can’t process right at first.
Mercedes is screaming. She’s on her knees, and on the floor is a man, and I know it’s him. I don’t even have to see the discarded mask, the strange skull he wore. Like a dead man’s mask. Like the ink on his face.
“Santiago?” My eyes fill with tears as I put my hand on someone’s shoulder to push them out of the way. To see.
And I do.
I see his pale skin. His dark eyes unfocused, then closed.
“Santiago?” I ask again, my voice a whisper.
He doesn’t respond, but Mercedes hears me.
“You!” she accuses.
I shift my gaze to her, the venom in her eyes almost making me topple backward.
“You!” she hisses, pointing her finger at me.
I shake my head, open my mouth to speak. To explain... but explain what? The medical crew rushes in. People follow Mercedes’s accusing gaze and turn to me, and then there’s a sound, a thud in the distance, and in the next instant, the room is plunged into darkness, a black so solid, so thick the women around me scream, and I feel hands on me, clutching me, nails digging into me as chaos breaks out.
The dark and the noise are dizzying, the look on Mercedes’s face before the lights went out terrifying. That on Santiago’s indescribable.
Dead?
No. It can’t be. He can’t be. Not Santiago.
A beam of light illuminates the space where his body lies. I try to push through to get to him. To see for myself.
“No pulse,” a man says, his voice carrying over that of the crowd.
No pulse? They can't mean that.
“...start compressions...”
I open my mouth. I don’t know if it’s to scream or call his name or to tell everyone to get out of my way. He can’t be dead. He can’t. But there are too many people. And just when I’m about to shove hard, something wraps around my middle. I’m pulled into a man’s grasp, arm like a solid steel bar circling my ribs, crushing them as I’m lifted off my feet, the lights blinking once, twice coming back on just as I’m taken from that room to another, this one deserted.
The man sets me on my feet, and I stumble, then turn to face him. He’s wearing a dark cloak with a deep hood that he pulls back to reveal a masked face like all the others.
My mouth goes dry. The sound from the other room background now. White noise.
No, his mask isn’t like the others.
His is one of menace.
I cringe away, turning in a desperate attempt to find an exit, seeing only the door behind him as he stalks toward me, backing me into a corner.
“What do you want?” I scream when my back hits the wall.
