Page 38 of Morena
My sister’s voice crackled through. “Can someone pick me up? I’m at the park near Marchana.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I’ll come.”
She laughed, careless. “Can you tell Dad? Or...” she laughed again, “I don’t want to be seen with you.”
“Dad isn’t here,” I said flatly. “It’s me or no one.”
“Fine,” she sighed, and the line went dead.
I stayed there for a moment, clutching the receiver, the dial tone humming in my ear. Outside, the city had been swallowing girls alive one by one. Kidnapped, gone, their faces were taped on every lamppost on our street. Stories of a serial killer named El Trece haunted this town. We had promised Mom that we would be home before eight and that we would never be alone. But promises don’t matter when the alternative is a body bag.
I pulled on my denim jacket and stepped back from the house, leaving Mom to her silence. The streets seemed darker than usual. I cut through the alley, hurrying toward the park. That’s when I felt someone’s eyes on my back.
Someone was watching, and footsteps were falling too close.
I quickened my pace.
“Hey! Hey, why are you running?”
I spun at the voice. Francisco.
My relief came out sharp, sarcastic. “Maybe because I saw it was you.” I rolled my eyes and turned away.
He jogged up beside me, grinning. “Let me walk with you. It’s dangerous out here at night. This place is like candy land for that murderer.”
“What are the chances you’re not the murderer?” I asked, brow raised.
He laughed. “I’m not smart enough.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I muttered, brushing past him.
When we reached the park, my sister spotted us. She didn’t even glance at me. She ran straight into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You came for me!”
I rolled my eyes, but Francisco noticed. Smirking, he pulled her tight against his chest.
1“¿Qué pasa, pequeñita?” he murmured.
She giggled. “2Nada. Just chilling.”
I rolled my eyes again
“What’s your problem?” my sister shoved my shoulder, her friends snickering behind her like vultures.
“Isn’t he a little old for you?” I shot back, gripping her arm. “We’re going home.”
“No, we’re not.” She yanked free, her chin tilted high. “You are.”
“Fine,” I said calmly. “I hope the killer catches your ass.”
She laughed. “I heard I’m not his type.”
Her friends joined her with their sharp giggles. And she wasn’t wrong. Whoever the murderer was, his victims were always the same—3morenas.Girls like me.
I folded my arms tight across my chest, pushed past them, and walked ahead. Behind me, I heard Francisco say something low to her. She didn’t like it, but she still trailed reluctantly at his side.
We walked home in silence. I could see our three shadows stretched across the cracked ground, moving in sync but worlds apart. By the time we reached Montichana, a chill crawled along my spine. It was one of those off feelings warning me that something was coming.
And something did.
