Page 19 of No Greater Oblivion

Car doors open and slam shut.

Go wait outside. Play with the kids by the pool. Don’t let them come in.

Where’s Mom?

Where’s Dad?

“Alejandro.”

Someone says my name again. I can’t tell if it’s real or just a memory.

“Were you related to the deceased?”

My mother screams. She’s screaming.

“Alejandro, get up.”

“We need someone to identify the body.”

Mom won’t stop screaming. Lettie drops her doll and it falls into the pool. She cries out for Diego to go get it.

Abuelo grips me by the shoulder, pulls me inside⁠—

“It isn’t her.”

Where’s Dad? Why is Mom screaming?

“Alejandro!”

Diego is real. He’s standing in front of me.

Lettie isn’t a little girl anymore. She’s a grown woman standing across the street and waiting for another ambulance to pass before she runs over.

Diego grips me by the front of my suit jacket and yanks me to my feet. “It isn’t her!” I think he’s screaming. I can’t tell. I think I’m still under water. “It isn’t Dahlia. Did you hear me? It’s not her.”

His voice grounds me in reality.

Dahlia.

Dahlia didn’t exist for me ten years ago. She wasn’t there that afternoon in Vallvidrera when Tio Horacio told us Dad had been killed. No…she wouldn’t come into my life for another nine years.

I don’t believe my brother at first. I push past him to the gurney where one of the medical examiners is zipping up the body bag. Yanking him back by his uniform collar, I cast him aside and rip open the zipper.

The woman’s face is half-charred by fire. Bright red and smoky black blotches cover what was once smooth ivory skin and her hair is light brown, almost dirty blonde in the moonlight. I recognize her immediately; she’s one of the Sandoval cousins.

The sight of Frida’s lifeless form affects me more than it should. I remember when she was born—held her as an infant at her baptism. It’s one of the last memories I have of the Sandovals before my father’s relationship with Gregorio went south. My grip on the bag tightens and a shiver bolts down my spine. The air stills in my lungs and I yank my hand back, unable to look any longer. Frida Sandoval will have to be dealt with later because right now, I need to find Dahlia.

Pedro’s sitting on the curb coughing up a lung while Oscar tries offering him an oxygen mask. He shakes his head and attempts to speak but the coughing fits prevent his forming a coherent sentence. My legs move of their own volition and carry me across the distance between us. Before either of them can get a word out, I grab Pedro by the front of his shirt and throw him against his car door.

“Where is she?”

“Alejandro, stop!”

Oscar tries grabbing me but instinct sends my right fist flying in his direction. The hit connects where I want it to, colliding with his temple and the force behind it leaves him disoriented. He stumbles backward and trips over the curb, landing on the ground with a loud thump. I return my attention to Pedro and push him against the door, applying pressure to his ribcage.

“Where the fuck is she?”

“She told me to…wait outside.” He heaves. “I swear, everything was fine. She⁠—”