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ESTEBAN
I’d kill you myself.
The words, so similar to the ones I used when she asked about Raulino, sound harsh even to my own ears. But I don’t take them back. Instead, I peer into her soul as they wash over her. Because I need her to understand the gravity of what she’s done and what I’m capable of doing.
For a moment, fear flashes in her eyes. But it doesn’t take long for it to give way to the anger she feels entitled to. She tears away from me, pushing with all her might, though she doesn’t move far. Simply stands her ground, her chin too high for my liking. “Why did you bring me?”
“You wanted to know the whole truth, and that’s exactly what I gave you. Unfortunately, this isn’t something I’ll allow you to write in your little paper. But that was never your intention, was it? All you really wanted to know is if I killed your boyfriend and then to take revenge.”
“Your partly right. I did want to know if you had something to do with Raul’s death. All I wanted was justice, not your death.”
I can’t help the sharp burst of laughter that erupts from me. “The knife you plunged by my head says differently.”
“If I’d wanted you dead, I would have plunged it into your heart!” she cries out, slapping me hard on the chest.
Grabbing hold of her wrist, I keep her palm pressed over my heart. “What makes you think you didn’t?!”
That seems to shock her more than the threat to kill her did. She blinks rapidly as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind what I’ve said, but there’s nothing to figure out. I said it plain as day. She killed a part of me.
Suddenly, looking into her eyes becomes too much, and I let her go. “It’s getting late. We need to leave.”
I walk to an old Ford Bronco, one of two that was waiting for us when we arrived. To my surprise, Aurora follows behind me without being told. Although I’m sure the alternative of staying here with armed men has something to do with it.
We load into the vehicle in silence and make our way toward the center of town. She remains quiet, glancing my way occasionally. I can sense her need to ask questions, her fidgeting and tension almost palpable.
“What are you going to do with me, Esteban?” she finally asks.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
I don’t turn to her, but I can hear her breathing increase with every second that passes and I don’t answer.
“Esteban,” she urges, her voice cracking slightly, giving me another hint that, as much as she tries to hide it, she is afraid.
Our destination, Hotel Buenaventura, is only a short distance away. It’s not the sort of place I’m accustomed to staying in, with its rough white exterior and an interior that hasn’t been renovated since the place was built in the 1950s. But it’s comfortable and the people are welcoming and discreet. However, what should take only a few moments to reach takes us much longer as we’re stopping constantly for the amount of pedestrians here to celebrate Dia de los Muertos.
Families move as one, carrying candles, flowers, and statues of their patron saints, along with feasts to be had by their loved one’s graves. A pang of guilt slices through me that I’m not standing with my mother now as I envision her doing this very thing for my father and sisters. Then again, since Nancy and Lidia died, I haven’t had the courage to do this. Because I don’t deserve to celebrate their lives, when I’m the reason they ended.
The throng seems to distract Aurora from further questioning her fate. “Where are they going?”
“To the Panteón del Angel.” I point to a long side street the crowd is parading down, everyone moving in unison toward the cemetery.
“What about them?” She nods toward something on my side of the vehicle, and I turn to look out my window.
“Who?” I ask, not seeing anyone heading in that direction. “Everyone is—” I stop speaking when in the distance, almost directly across the street from the hotel, I spot a familiar face. It takes me a moment to identify him because I never expected to see him here, and when I do, every muscle in my body tenses. Lorenzo Villegas.
He’s standing between two much larger men, possibly his guards, scanning the area around him as if he’s searching for something. But I’m not so much concerned with what he’s looking for as I am with why he’s here. While his father, Omero Villegas, is a dirty financier with much influence over the politicians in Guerrero, he hasn’t been able to form alliances with the drug lords that rule most of Michoacán. Therefore, the Villegas presence here can’t be good.
“What is it?” Aurora asks with worry.
“There’s someone I know down there.” I lean forward, simultaneously squinting in an attempt to read his lips and sliding out the loaded firearm I keep beneath my seat. Suddenly, as if he senses my scrutiny, he turns to me. His eyes narrow as he peers into the vehicle, then widen in recognition, a malicious smile painting across his lips. “We need to—” Before I can finish my sentence, Aurora takes advantage of my distraction to open the door and bolts. “Aurora!”
I reach for her too late, my hand grasping nothing but air. Without thought, I exit the Bronco too, leaving it with the engine running in the middle of traffic, and chase after her. To my horror, Lorenzo is also in pursuit, and with a head start advantage. My fingers slide over the barrel of the gun, to the trigger guard and back, as I consider the repercussions of attempting to shoot a moving target in the center of hundreds of civilians. But the chances of me hitting him and not an innocent bystander are slim to none, so I drop my arm as I continue after them.
The river of people flowing down the narrow street thickens and slows the closer we get to the cemetery. I push through with all my might, desperate to get to Aurora before Lorenzo does.
Every once in a while, he glances back, and he too speeds up his pace, expanding the distance between us. There is only one reason I can think of why he’d do that. He wants to harm her.
Terror threatens to grip and root me to the ground. The memory of him on her at Club Voyeur, his fingers tight around her neck, is still vivid in my mind.
I could let the fear paralyze me, but instead, I use it as the strength I need to push through the throng, shoving everyone and everything in my path without caution because they don’t matter. Only Aurora does.
Ahead of me, I watch as she moves through the iron arch gate of the panteón and shoots to the right, disappearing from sight.
“No!” I yell when Lorenzo takes the same path. My heart pounds furiously in a chest made tight with panic.
It seems like an eternity before I get to the gate, and I make a hard right, heading in the direction where I saw them disappear. But almost immediately, I stop, unsure of where to go.
In front of me are hundreds of graves, their tombstones decorated with a myriad of flowers in a myriad of colors. Feasts worthy of a king cover long tables set at intervals, where families gather to celebrate their dead in the glow of thousands of votive candles. Chanting, laughter, and sobs all intermingle to form a sort of foreboding hum that’s almost as deafening as the rush of blood pounding in my ears.
“Aurora!” I call out, but if she’s answering, I can’t hear her. “Fuck!”
I race between the tall stones, hollering her name, desperate to hear even the faintest whisper of acknowledgment from her. Scanning every face I pass, I search for hers. But she’s nowhere to be found, not hiding behind the tall stone markers or the flowery garlands draped all around.
Desperation grows within me with every second that goes by, and the image of Lorenzo on her grows clearer and more probable. I stop, spinning in place, my eyes darting everywhere, looking for anything that will give me a clue as to where she went.
Then, in the distance, at the far end of the cemetery, I see it. It’s the oldest part of the panteón, where the families of the people buried there have long died out and there’s no one left to visit them. It’s a dark place, where the smell of flowers has given way to the scent of decaying leaves and moss, and tombstones stand like eerie shadows hiding from life.
With complete certainty that I’ll find her there, I move away from the light and noise, into an area fraught with true death.
I slow my pace, holding my gun at a lowered angle in front of me, my finger tight against the barrel, ready to shoot.
“Aurora!” I say, peering around, forcing my sight to pierce the inky night that surrounds me now. “Aurora!”
Nothing.
For one heart-wrenching moment, I believe I’ve made a critical error in coming this way. Time wasted searching, where she could have run so far, any chance of getting to her would be lost.
Then I hear it. A moan so slight, it could be mistaken for a creature scuttling about. Perhaps if every nuance, every note in Aurora’s voice wasn’t engraved in my mind, I’d dismiss it. But it is to the point where it’s as familiar to me as my own.
I drive my feet into the dirt beneath me and sprint toward the sound, stepping on graves, breaking a moral rule my mother taught me, until Aurora is within my sight. To my horror, the scene I’ve dreaded the last several minutes becomes a reality. Her, lying on the cold, hard ground. Lorenzo between her legs, one of his hands covering her mouth while the other tears at her clothes. She flails against him, hitting hard enough to hinder his assault but not enough to stop him. He’s too strong, too big, and too insane.
