Page 26 of Morena
“Good.” He clapped his hands. “Back to work then.”
I left through the hallway and stepped onto the street. A cluster of thirty tourists blocked the path near the balcony. Their guide’s voice rose above the chatter.
“This is where El Trece hung their victims, every thirteenth of the month.”
The balcony was just two minutes from Carlos’s house and from the one I worked in. It could have been him.
As I moved past the crowd, Maria sat on the porch of the house, smoke still lingering around her from her cigarette.
“Can I have one?” I asked.
“If you answer me something,” she said, her eyes drilling into mine.
I nodded.
“What did Lucía tell you about the lost girl?” She blinked, lids twitching like she hadn’t slept in years.
I raised a brow. “Not much. She only showed me a photo and said she disappeared in 1984.” I took a cigarette from the box she held out. “She was killed by El Trece?” I squinted. “I believe that’s his name.”
“And that is all?” Her hand shook so hard the ashes fell to her legs. “She has been obsessed with that case for thirty-three years. She even dragged my son into it.”
My lips parted. “Oh.”
“He’s blind,4¿sabes?” Her voice cracked. “He said Morena took his eyes.” She let out a choked sound, half laugh, half sob. “But when they found him, the only blood was on his hands.”
She trembled violently now, every word shaking her body. “We had to send him away, to Italy. Lucía had friends who locked him in an asylum. He never came back. He was never the same.”
Her next words dropped to a whisper, wet with tears. “She drove him insane. And she will do the same to you if you let her voice crawl into your ears.”
I pressed my palm to her shoulder, feeling the bones beneath her skin. “5Tranquila, María. She made no sense to me.”
She flicked the cigarette to the dirt, crushing it hard beneath her heel. “Barcelona has many ghosts. But the thing that haunts Lucía is not a ghost. It is a demon.”
I studied her face. The wild in her eyes told me she wasn’t lying, but what I saw wasn’t just haunting. It was a disease.
6Locos,I thought.7Están todos completamente locos.
I smiled. “Could be.” I shook my head and started toward the steps. “Can I have a lighter?”
She threw the entire pack at me, her hands moving as if the cigarettes burned her. “The lighter is inside. Keep it. You will need it. That house is cursed. That is where it all happened.”
And then she turned and walked away, shoulders hunched. She knew more than she would say. They all did. It was only a matter of time before I found out.
Inside, the air of the house was heavier. I climbed the stairs, trying to gather what little I owned, telling myself tomorrow I would finally have a bed to sleep in. At the last step on top of the stairs, a sound stopped me.
Scratching. Long, frantic scratches against wood. My breath stalled. It was faint, but beneath it came a desperate voice.
8“Ayúdame… por favor…”
I froze, palm hovering over the doorknob. The closer I leaned, the heavier the pressure on the other side, like something pulling, dragging me inside. My shoulder slammed against the wood.Again. Again.With a final violent slam, the door burst open.
The stench hit me first. Burnt flesh, sour smoke, coppery blood gone stale. If hell had a smell, this was it. My throat closed around it.
The room was completely black. Coal walls stretched up. Every surface was scarred with claw marks from the floor to the ceiling. In the center was a patch of wood still raw, like it had been left for me to see.
“What happened here?” I whispered, but I already knew.
My chest split open, heavy with a thought of it. This room wasn’t empty. It was haunted. My heart cracked into pieces as the truth sank in: someone had died here, and it hadn’t been quick. Someone was burned here.
