Page 77 of The Hacienda
With a powerful shove, they pushed me down the stairs.
The world spun; the candle went flying. Was this how I died? I flung out my arms to slow myself, but cold hands forced me down, down toward the flagstones with steely determination. Poor Doña Beatriz, fell down the stairs. Shattered her skull. Spilled her brains everywhere. Poor Doña Beatriz, such a tragic accident...
Not tonight.
Anger caught light in my ribs. I curled myself into a ball as if I had been thrown by a horse: knees to chest, elbows tucked in, hands curled over my ears.
I caught the flagstones forearms first, then rolled. Cold air stung my grazed elbows as I sprang to my feet and stumbled to the door.
Beatriz, Beatriz...
I wrenched the door, almost pulling my arm out of its socket. It did not move. Yet it was not locked. I couldseeit was not locked, but it would not open.
Cold enveloped me like a wet cloak, covering my nose, my mouth, smothering me. I clung to the door handle. I could not breathe. I gasped and felt nothing; my lungs burned, my eyes strained against the dark. The darkness would strangle me. Unless I fought, I would drown.
Not like this, I thought.
I gathered all the strength I had and slammed a balled fist against the wood of the door in frustration. Soft, pale sparks haloed my darkeningvision. I neededair. My chest was caving in, collapsing from the weight of the darkness. I struck the door again. Harder. Anger sparked in me like kindling, catching and blazing with a hunger that lit me anew.Shewas holding me here. She was trying to kill me.
I would not let her.
“Not tonight, you bitch,” I forced out.
I reached for the handle and yanked.
The door opened. I stumbled backward with its weight, catching myself as air rushed into my lungs. A shock of cold, wet wind struck my face. Sheets of rain slaked the courtyard, the sound of it striking the earth like shattering glass.
A gust of wind tolled the bell of the capilla once. It echoed through the courtyard, a hollow, lonesome knell.
I sprinted towardit.
23
ANDRÉS
WHEN I WOKE, THEfire was embers; my room was silent. The slam of a door echoed through my mind. Had I dreamed it? Did the house plague my nightmares?
No. Something tugged at me. I touched bare feet to floor; from beneath it, the earth reached up into me, stirring my clouded mind into sharp wakefulness.
Someone was in the capilla.
I felt the hum of distress like someone grasping my wrist, and I followed it.
I kept thick candles lit in the capilla all night long, to let the villagers know they had a refuge at any hour.
I froze when I saw who the light fell on.
At first glance, I thought it was the apparition we called the Weeper. A woman in white with black hair falling into her face. She stumbled up theaisle, sobbing uncontrollably. Water trailed behind her, leading from the door.
But I knew the Weeper well. It was not her season, not her time. Nor her place to appear.
This was not a spirit.
Beatriz.
She reached out and clung to the side of a pew, half collapsing into it. Her knuckles were white where she clutched the pew; her whole body heaved with sharp, gasping breaths. They came too quickly, too suddenly.
I should not have left the house. It was an irrational flash of feeling—of course I could not have stayed. Rodolfo’s presence prevented it. But it was a mistake.
