Alcohol had paralyzed him. He heard a knock, a scream, silence. Then footsteps approaching him, one hand placing something in his, the cold of metal. When you wake up, this will be over and you will be the perfect culprit brother. Ramiro woke up drenched in sweat, screaming. The guards ran to his cell thinking he was trying to hurt himself, but Ramiro only repeated a phrase. Now I remember it. Now I remember everything. My brother was my brother. I heard his voice. He put the gun in my hands while I slept.
The younger guard looked at his partner. Do you think he’s telling the truth? The veteran shook his head. Everyone tells the truth when the end is near, but that doesn’t matter anymore. It mattered more than she imagined. At the Santa Maria home, Carmela watched Salome with concern. Since she stopped talking, the girl communicated only through drawings. She drew obsessively, filling pages and pages with the same image. Carmela gave her a new box of crayons.
Can you show me what you see in your dreams, little one? Salome took the crayons and began to draw. This time the drawing was different, more detailed, as if 5 years of maturity allowed her to express what she couldn’t before. She drew the house, the living room, a figure on the floor, another standing in a blue shirt, but she added something new, a half-open door in the background and behind her another small figure, a girl with yellow hair, herself observing everything. And in the corner of the drawing, something Carmela didn’t expect, a hand sticking out of the window of the house, as if someone was helping the figure on the ground escape.
“What is this, Salomé?” Carmela asked, pointing to her hand. The girl wrote a single word under the drawing. Mom. Carmela felt the air escape from her lungs. Your mom escaped. Your mom is alive. Salome looked at her with those huge eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the world. She nodded slowly. Then she wrote another hidden word and one last, waiting. Gonzalo Fuentes arrived at the Santa María home 2 hours later, accompanied by two men in dark suits. He was carrying documents that supposedly gave him back temporary custody of Salomé.
Order of the third family court, he announced, handing the papers to Carmela. Signed by Judge Aurelio Sánchez. I’ve come to take my niece. Carmela examined the documents. They looked legitimate, but something inside her was screaming at her not to hand over that girl. I need to verify this with the appropriate authorities, she said. I can’t hand over a minor without confirmation. The confirmation is on those papers, ma’am. Don’t waste my time. It’s not a matter of time, it’s a matter of protocol.
Gonzalo took a step forward, invading Carmela’s space. Listen to me, that girl is of my blood. Her father is going to be executed tomorrow. She needs family, not a charity home full of orphans. What that girl needs is protection, not more violence. Violence is accusing me of something. Carmela looked him straight in the eyes. The bruises Salome arrived with 6 months ago accuse me stronger than any word of mine. Gonzalo’s face hardened.
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