Page 39 of Morena
The old monastery stood above us, its stone walls connected to the funeral home by one single balcony. That’s where I saw her.
A woman dangled upside down from her left ankle, tied to the wooden railing with three knots. The first thing I saw was her eyes, clouding, losing the last traces of life. Her black hair spilled down her face, and her naked body was carved into with thirteen deep cuts, each one screaming even though her mouth couldn’t anymore.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped breathing.
My sister’s scream shattered the silence. Francisco grabbed her, holding her shaking body against his chest. But I didn’t move. My blood stood in place, locked. My lips parted, but no sound came. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Her lifeless eyes seemed to find mine, and in the quiet, I could almost hear her screaming.
I swallowed hard, forcing the lump down my throat, and then I ran. But not toward home. My legs carried me to Carmen. Because Carmen was home for me.
Francisco pulled my sister with him in the opposite direction, probably to his house. For once, I didn’t care. She was my sister, yes, but I couldn’t take care of her when I didn’t even know how to keep myself whole.
I pounded on Carmen’s door, fists trembling. When it opened, she stood there in one of her silk nightdresses. I fell into her arms without a word, clutching her tight, and at last, my tears came, spilling hot against her shoulder.
She closed the door behind us and held me.
For a moment, I thought I saw something move upstairs. Someone else was here. Maybe I had been wrong all along. Maybe she didn’t love her husband as much as I believed. Maybe she had already moved on.
But I didn’t care. Not tonight.
4“Mi vida, ¿qué pasó?” she whispered, pulling back just enough to search my face.
“El Trece,” I choked out, pulling her closer, burying myself in her arms as if she could shield me from the horror that followed me to her door.
She just held me for a long minute, then gently guided me to the kitchen. The kettle clattered softly as she set water to boil.
She slowly walked to the hallway, I couldn’t hear her footsteps, and lifted the phone. She dialed the police and reported another body found. I watched her lips move, but the words didn’t reach me. My mind was elsewhere, trapped on that balcony, staring at glassy eyes and broken flesh.
Why her? Why like that? What was the point of killing her, of displaying her like that? Who could do such a thing?
The questions twisted inside me, and each one cut deeper because I had no answers. I hated it. The helplessness. The silence. The not-knowing. I hated the feeling.
Carmen came back, placing a steaming cup into my hands. The scent of chamomile rose in soft waves, already slowly calming me down.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said gently. “You can sleep here tonight. I’ll call your parents.”
“But…” My voice cracked. I wanted to protest, but she nudged me toward the staircase.
“I’ll take care of it,” she insisted.
My body was so tired already that I had to stay. In her room, I curled into the bed, pulling the blankets tight as if they could hold me together. My thoughts turned dark, haunting me.
I had left my sister with Francisco. I had left my mother broken and alone.
The shame was suffocating. I hated myself for it. But deep down, I knew the truth—what good could I have done? I was barely holding myself up.
The bedroom door stayed cracked open, and through that sliver of space, the night carried voices to me. Steps. Then Carmen’s familiar tone.
5“Lucía, no te vas, mi amor.”
“I have to, mi amor,”Lucía whispered back.“My boys are waiting, and I just saw Francisco bring a girl home.”
Their words tangled together, followed by the wet hush of a kiss. Footsteps trailed off, the night parting to let one of them go.
6“Te amo, amor. See you tomorrow night, ¿sí?”
“Claro,”7Carmen answered, her voice breaking.
Her steps faded back to her bedroom, leaving me in silence.
