Page 44 of An Immaculate Deception

He comes closer. Leandro, where is Leandro? Did Lobo kill him?

“Leandro! Help!” I scream, hoping that Leandro is within earshot somewhere in this house. Leandro was trying to help me, was my last hope.

Then I remember. My screams turn into a choking sob. Leandro is dead. Died on June 23, 1877, and is now buried in the graveyard.

Then who was the impostor?

It is written in the Inferno that sometimes a person becomes so corrupted by sin that his soul is sent to Hell even before his death, and a demon from Hell is sent to take over his body as a proxy. Is this what happened to Leandro? His soul was sent to the underworld before the death of the physical body. A demon from Hell took over as a proxy, which explains why Leandro was so changed since the accident. But it doesn’t explain who is buried in the graveyard. No…None of it makes sense.

In the darkness, the man made of shadows comes forth with murderous intent. I can barely make out the weapon in his hand. He comes to carve my heart from my chest. I pull on the ropes so hard that my wrists bleed. I manage to stagger off the bed, slamming my hip against the floor, but cannot move any farther. The ropes impede me. My bare feet meet the cold floor and find it sticky. I drop my gaze to the ground and notice the dark pool that covers almost the entirety of the floor. My insides lurch. The pungent, metallic smell. My own blood? My baby’s blood? Or…

An arm.

An arm sticks out from behind the bed. The hand, five fingers at rest. It is not a baby’s arm at least, but the arm of an adult. The remainder of the body is obscured from view. Leandro…?

I sob, wail, weep. My terror is so great that I wish he would kill me already, put an end to it.

He looms over me, unmoved by my screams.

He bends over me. I cower against the bed. There is nowhere left for me to hide.

He raises the weapon high above his own head, clasping it with both hands, blade pointing downward. His chest inflates with the intake of breath.

I look at him.

I see him.

Now I see him.

Part Two

Leandro

26

Four Weeks Earlier

The knock at the door comes harsh and loud. So jarring that I drop the newspaper I was reading. It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors. Doctor Amado is the only person who has visited of late, and I’m not expecting him, neither does he knock with such aggression.

I try to think if I owe money to any creditors or gambling mates. A salesman should go away if I simply do not respond. It could be a traveling priest seeking a room for the night. I could use the company of a priest.

When the knock comes again, it is decidedly aggressive and not priestly. Whoever is behind that door is demanding to come inside as though they own the house, and I dislike them already. I make my way to the door slowly, just as I hear Maria das Dores shuffle over from the kitchen at last.

“It’s all right, Maria das Dores.” I wave her away. The woman only gets slower with age. “I’ll get it.”

I open the door and a tall, broad-shouldered officer holds up his badge. “Polícia Civil. Are you Leandro Neves?”

My gaze travels from the black badge to the pistol at his waist. This police officer already knows my first and last name.

“Yes.”

“Mind if I come in?”

He walks in before I can collect myself from the surprise. His boots leave a trail of dirt on the floor as he scans his surroundings: the shadowed walls and heavy drawn curtains, the peeling wallpaper, the broken piano. Maria das Dores peeps from behind the kitchen door.

My first thought is that a relative of mine died. This would be good news; people in novels always receive unexpected inheritances from distant relatives, and the news is sprung upon them by a police officer or a lawyer or some official third party. I no longer have any living relatives I care about, other than, of course, the one who is already dying.

“How can I help—”