Page 148 of No Greater Oblivion

“I don’t want any of it.” After a beat, I ask, “What do you want?”

Regina doesn’t hesitate in her answer. “I want him dead.”

Considering what she’s been through, I can’t imagine there being any alternative.

“Then we’ll do it together,” I promise. “Now here’s what I need you to do…”

36

HOW IT ENDED

Dahlia

The Past

It’s well after midnight by the time I return home.

I drove all the way to the Andorran border before I realized I’d be fucked if I ended up there without a passport or a wallet and drove back. The close proximity of European countries is something I’ve not yet become accustomed to. Roughly five hours of driving in New York won’t get you from Manhattan to Buffalo but in this part of Spain, it’ll take you to the border of another country.

As soon as I pull onto our street, I prepare myself for the confrontation awaiting me at the door. Alejandro is going to rip me a new one. If I thought I was being held captive last summer, I have no doubt he’ll sedate me and have a doctor put a weird tracking device in one of my molars. And then he’ll handcuff me to the bedpost and make Doña Ana bring me my meals on a silver tray until the end of time. Although exhausted from the drive and emotionally drained from the events of the past week, I can’t say I’m dreading it.

At least someone cares about me enough to be furious when I disappear. In fact, as I unlock the front door, a weight melts off my shoulders.

Finally, I think. He’s going to remember I exist.

I love main the foyer of our house.

It’s all white stone, iron railings, and elaborate stained glass. Swooping arches, marble floors, and a twirling stone staircase that’ll bring me upstairs to the principal hall. Often times I wonder what to do with all this palatial space. Our family isn’t big enough to necessitate a house of this size nor do we receive many visitors.

Oh, but I love it. I love it with my whole heart. I walk through the front doors and am transported to a place outside of time. One where women float through the halls wearing large bustles and swooping skirts and the men still carry walking canes and top hats. What’s always appealed to me about Barcelona is its beauty and how at every turn, you’re astonished by the capacity of human imagination. Of all the cities I’ve been to, it’s one of the very few whose uniqueness and creativity loans it an air of magic and mysticism that others do not.

And this little piece of heaven is mine. It’s the closest to feeling at home that I’ve ever been.

Much to my surprise, the only light that’s on is the standing lamppost at the foot of the stairs. Otherwise, the only other light comes from the upstairs windows as they cast downward shadows of red, blue, green, and purple on the white floors. And sitting right beneath the lamp under an array of colorful darkness is Alejandro.

He sits with his elbows on his knees, fingers on his temples, eyes shut. I have no idea how long he’s been here but his scarf and gloves are discarded beside him and his coat hangs open. He doesn’t hear me approaching and only looks up once I’m standing toe to toe with him. When he lifts his head I hold my breath and brace myself for the impact only, the verbal hit never comes.

Alejandro gets up, looks at me for a long while, and briefly touches my cheek. I’m not sure how to react. Is this the calm before the storm? Will he ream me out in the morning? Is he waiting until we get upstairs?

Wrought with uncertainty, I decide to break the silence. “How long have you been down here?”

“I have no idea,” he answers honestly.

I press my lips together. “Alex, I’m so⁠—”

“Let’s go to bed.”

He turns around and heads up the stairs, each step more laborious than the last. I can see the effort it takes him to move, as if every time he lifts his leg another weight falls down on his shoulders. And like an idiot, I just stand there. Dumbstruck and fumbling for a response, for anything to say in the face of such indifference. I almost can’t believe this is happening.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He reaches the top of the stairs and sighs. “Not tonight, Dahlia. Please.”

He walks into the apartment and the finality of his absence from the halls lights a fire under me.

Sensation returns to my outer extremities and I race up the stairs and into the apartment, trailing after him as he leaves his coat in the closet by the door and his keys on the table.

“How long were you out there waiting?”