Page 60 of Morena
Her face slammed into the mirror with a sharp crack. The glass rippled, and hands pushed through the surface and tangled in her scalp. They were my hands.
Her scream echoed against the tiles. Her reflection warped, and I stepped out from it, dragging my own face into the world where hers should have been.
“Hello, sister.” I pressed my mouth close to her ear. “You look so old.” I giggled. “Do you want to play a game? Hide and seek?”
Her entire body shook. When I loosened my grip, her arms fell useless at her sides, drained of color. The sink gurgled. It vomited up blood that poured over the sink and streamed across her cheeks.
She tore away from me and stumbled into the hallway. Her fists hammered every door, but each one stayed locked. The knobs did not move. I was holding them closed.
“Did you miss me?” My words followed her, floating through the walls.
I climbed from the mirror frame. My body twisted as I forced it through, bones cracking as they bent the wrong way. My ribs opened like rotten wood splitting apart. Every step broke something new, but I kept laughing, high, delighted at her terror.
The hallway lights flickered until the shadows seemed to breathe. I was at the far end, head tilted, my smile too wide, stretching the skin of my face until it threatened to tear.
She slid down the last door, her back pressed hard against it. Her sobs shook her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, as though she thought that if she could not see me, I might not exist.
I leaned close, our faces almost touching, and screamed into her. The sound was not a sound at all but a vibration that pierced her bones. Her ears split open. Blood trickled down her neck. She covered them with her hands, begging with her eyes closed.
“No more,” she gasped. “Please. No more.”
“No more?” I laughed.1“Qué pasa? ¿Te duele mucho, hermanita?”
The laugh tunneled down her spine. I let it curl over the back of my tongue, then stopped and found her hair with my fingers. I twisted until the braid tightened around my fingers.
“Did it hurt when you stabbed me?” I asked. “Did it hurt when you burned me?” Her scream filled the kitchen. I began to drag her, my nails raking tile, and she fell against my knees as we went toward the open oven.
The oven was wide enough, already warm. I hooked the metal rail with my claws and took it out. I jammed her head down so the back of her skull met the hot metal.
“I heard you like it medium rare,” I said. “I like mine crispy to the bone.”
“No, please,” she sobbed. “I have a son.”
“I know,” I said. My words were calm. “I had taken his eyes already,”
Her whine turned to a sound that had nothing to do with language.
But I simply didn’t care. I folded her, curved her hands until knee met elbow, and her bones breaking like they were made of glass, and I shoved her in the oven until she fit. Tears carved tracks through the blood on her face.
I closed the oven door, holding it with my palm. I found a soup spoon, the cheap metal that is easily bendable, and I twisted it around the oven handle until the door wouldn’t open.
I clapped my hands once, and I set the oven to 250 degrees, and then I tapped the glass with a claw while hot metal touched her skin.
2“Por favor,” I laughed. “No grites tan fuerte. Los vecinos pueden oírte.” I walked away and left the sound of her screams filling the house.
This, I told myself, was not what I wanted. I wanted to hurt her even more, but I was in a hurry. I wanted to find more about El Trece. So I stood in front of a mirror with my hand towards it.
I stood in front of the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman reflected back. For a moment, I considered remorse, then I did not. I stepped through the glass.
I came up to Carmen’s house, but not into her kitchen. Matteo stood at the top of the stairs. He didn’t speak. He simply appeared in front of me, he reached down, grabbed my hair, and shoved me back toward the mirror. We went through together and landed in a fifth circle of hell with chains all around us.
He shoved me against the wall. My ribs found the stones, and I felt nothing. Pain shot up my arms and then left, leaving only the cold.
“I told you,” he said. “Their souls were mine to collect.”
Then he took a chain and wrapped it around my throat. My lungs punched for air and couldn’t find it. I choked out, “I regret nothing,” because that was the story that kept me afloat.
“Oh no?” He locked my wrists in metal cuffs and snapped them closed. He showed his teeth in a grin.
