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When I enter her room, I come to a halt just past the doorway. Her bed is empty, and a glance inside the bathroom confirms that is too. And for a minute, I don't know what else to do.
Marco lingers beside me, waiting patiently for my sanity to return. But it never does.
I move robotically, a phantom in search of the beating heart that's been ripped from his chest. There's nothing left inside that gaping space. Nothing but agony.
"I was going to make things right," I murmur as my hand settles onto the pillow where she lay this morning. "She would have seen it. The windows. Her new clothes. The lock removed from her bedroom door. I removed the rosary and the mask… I was going to make things right."
Marco has grace enough not to interrupt my fragmented thoughts as I bring the pillow to my face and inhale her scent. I breathe it in, and then it slips from my hands, falling to the floor as my gaze drifts out the window. At the vast city beyond. She is out there somewhere. My wife and our child.
I turn to Marco, a familiar anger steeling me against these unrecognizable weaknesses stirring up inside me.
"Where is Abel?"
"We haven't been able to locate him, sir," he answers apologetically. "But the nurse mentioned that Ivy's youngest sister came by to visit. We haven't spoken with her yet."
"Take me to her."
He nods, and thirty minutes later, I'm standing on the doorstep of the pathetic structure the Moreno's call home. I've been to this house many times. Sat in the office with Eli and said hello to his family in passing. I remember it vividly. Back then, it looked very much like a family home. Now, it looks like it should be burned to the ground.
The door opens, and Mrs. Moreno squeaks when she sees the grim reaper standing on the threshold to greet her. She never could look directly at me. Not even when my face wasn’t a skull.
"Where is Evangeline?" I demand.
"Eva?" she repeats, her voice too high.
"Bring her to me. Now."
She steps back, nodding fast as her hands begin to tremble. "Of course, Mr. De La Rosa. I'll bring her to you."
She leads us into the sitting room, offering us a drink, to which I don't reply. After a moment, she scurries away in search of her daughter.
"Search the house," I tell Marco.
He nods and disappears while I stand in the middle of the sitting room, scanning the space for any signs of my wife. After a few more moments, the smallest Moreno girl enters the room, eyes cast down, cheeks red.
"Mr. De La Rosa," she grits out. "My mother said you'd like to speak to me."
The mother she speaks of sent her into the room alone, courageous as she is. She's too afraid to face me herself but does not hesitate to send her young child to speak with me. That tells me everything I need to know about the coward of a woman.
"Evangeline." I glance down at her, the little girl much like a younger version of Ivy. This miniature human reminds me of that girl, the one who stumbled into her father's office in tears so many years ago. The one who gifted me a pen and didn't hesitate to look me directly in the eye, unlike most of the people in my life.
Evangeline tips her chin up, squaring her shoulders. "What do you want?"
My lip tilts at the corner, despite the gravity of the situation. She is very much like Ivy, indeed.
"Where is your brother?"
"I don't know." She shrugs. "He hasn't been home since I got here."
"Tell me about the hospital. You went to visit your sister. What happened when you were there?"
She swallows and shakes her head. "Nothing. It was just a visit."
She's lying, and I know she's lying. It only makes sense that Abel sent her. Nobody would think twice about the young, innocent girl coming to see her sister. The hospital staff already knew Abel was not allowed visitation rights. This was his way in. And I am a fool for not considering that he would use anyone, even a child, even at the risk of her own severe punishment. He fed her to the wolves, completely disregarding the consequences for her. It does not inspire confidence that he will have any mercy for my wife.
I study Evangeline for a long moment, considering how to handle this. I don't often deal with children. I know almost nothing about them, except for what I learned from looking after Mercedes. But that was different.
I lower myself to one knee, meeting Evangeline's gaze directly. She sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes moving rapidly over the ink on my face. She does not seem scared but fascinated, and it surprises me.
