Chapter 24
I bolt down the stairs without waiting for Leandro’s reaction.
I pause briefly in the parlor, assessing.
Through the window I see, in the driveway, Lobo’s carriage.
The carriage door swings open and Doctor Lobo starts to climb out.
I see, too, another man in the carriage with him.
My blood runs cold. They’ve come for me.
I thought they might eventually, but not so quickly.
Curse Maria das Dores! I recall the chilling words she cannot leave that chamber.
I saw the dead girl and now they mean to kill me.
There is no carriage other than Doctor Lobo’s. They never prepared the carriage for me to leave.
I sprint through the kitchen, heading for the service exit. I run past a gawking Maria das Dores, through the back door. I frantically call out to her to send for the police, but I don’t wait for her response.
I step outside, onto the back of the property where they can’t see me. The sky is a swollen whitish gray. I must make for the trees and take cover there, where they won’t find me.
I dart toward the back woods. I pass the guava trees and hibiscus bushes, heading through the open field and the back patio with the upturned furniture.
I am surprised at the newfound strength in my body, and can only imagine it is the adrenaline, the will to live which is invigorating me to such ability.
I pass the narrow weed-infested path that leads to the graveyard that Maria das Dores said was forbidden.
I push through ankle-length brush, no longer sure if I’m on a path of any sort, but hoping the winding twists will provide me some cover. I’m too terrified to look back.
The ground shifts beneath me with the weight of a presence fast approaching. I hear someone, though I cannot see him. I hear snapping twigs and branches, grunting and heavy breathing, closer and closer.
I reach a clearing with a dozen weathered gravestones. The graveyard that Maria das Dores warned me about. Clouds hang heavy above us, dense and gray. The only farmhouses within view are way down in the valley past the river, tiny as dollhouses, many kilometers away. I scream for help anyway.
The hillside grows steeper and rockier, making it hard for me to keep up the pace.
A crushing force tackles me from behind.
It slams against my back and I collapse, arms flailing and scraping dirt and wet grass.
Pain freezes my senses, then the man’s weight is on me, rendering me immobile.
His knee digs into my back. He pushes my face so hard into the ground that I taste soil, and a protruding rock chips my tooth.
He pulls my wrists behind my back, then I feel a rope bind them.
The realization takes me to a deeper place of dread: They brought ropes.
My efforts to break free only manage to scrape my skin against the rocks.
I feel the rope tighten around my wrists, then he binds my ankles.
The mangled scream I hear is so hideous, I hardly recognize it as my own.
“I won’t tell anyone what I saw,” I say, panting. “Why would I do that? It would incriminate me as well. It was I who killed her. Why would I tell a soul about it?”
“You should have left the blindfold on.”
Though I can’t see him, from his voice I realize this is the stranger, the one who came with Doctor Lobo.
Doctor Lobo comes down the hill at a brisk pace. Leandro follows a few steps behind. Leandro is my only hope now.
“Get off of her,” Leandro says.
I have to twist my neck and scratch my cheek against the rocky ground to see them, and even then I see them only at an angle.
“We won’t hurt her,” Doctor Lobo says.
“You’re already hurting her.”
“He is only restraining her so she doesn’t run off into the woods. We wouldn’t want her getting lost out there and hurting herself, would we?”
“They’re lying,” I cry. “They’re going to kill me!”
“Who is he?” Leandro says.
They approach us, kicking dust in their wake, pebbles and twigs. I cannot see the man who is restraining me. I can feel that he’s on my back, with both his hands on my wrists.
“A physician friend of mine. He’s just going to help me restrain her, then offer a second opinion. Of course, we won’t hurt her.”
“Why is he wearing a mask?” Leandro says.
“They abducted your lover,” I shout before Doctor Lobo can respond. “I saw her in his ritual chamber, unconscious. They used her as a human sacrifice for their black magic ritual!”
The color drains from Leandro’s face. It gives me hope that he believes me.
The man strikes the back of my head. Leandro shouts something in protest. I press on, swallowing the pain: “The girl in the photographs, she was there. She was sacrificed, I saw it with my own eyes!”
“You saw?” The man sneers, and I hear his voice for the first time. “Is that all you did?”
His voice sounds older than his physical stamina would suggest. I recognize the voice—he is one of the men that were in the library with Doctor Lobo.
Surely one of the witnesses, one of the members of the inner circle who were present last night, shadowy figures moving along the far walls, watching us. “You did far more than watch—”
“Silence,” Doctor Lobo says, and the man obeys.
Lobo turns to Leandro: “Madalena is not well, and presents a danger to herself and others.” His tone is calm and assured.
“Do you remember my one instruction? I said that she was to avoid distressing situations. Madalena”—he lowers his voice as if speaking to a child—“we just need you to calm down. That is all. We are only going to evaluate you.”
“Leandro…” I breathe. My neck hurts from craning, but I must look at him. He is my only hope. “Leandro, please.”
“She was covered in blood when she ran from your house,” Leandro says to Doctor Lobo. “What happened there?”
There is a pause, a moment of silence in which I understand that they are going to kill Leandro, too.
“I’ll explain everything to you,” Doctor Lobo says calmly. “But as a physician, I’m afraid I must sedate her.”
“Leandro!” I scream. “They are going to kill us!”
“What’s that?” Leandro says.
Doctor Lobo lifts a syringe to his eyes, then flicks it with his fingers, clearing the bubbles.
Leandro doesn’t understand the danger we are in.
He suspects Lobo, but not enough. He is still, as he has been since the accident, passive.
He doesn’t move at all when Doctor Lobo jabs the needle in my arm and injects me with some substance that will put me to sleep, maybe forever.
“Leandro,” I continue to plead. “Send for the authorities. They are going to kill me.”
“I will not hurt you,” Doctor Lobo says.
His gentle voice reminds me of the other side of him.
I want so badly to believe him that for a moment I do.
For a moment I allow myself to imagine that this is all one massive misunderstanding.
I am only a woman with hysteria, and he is right after all.
And later, when this is all over, he and I will be together again.
A wave of drowsiness rolls through me. My body feels heavy. I feel the other man stepping off me and the pressure easing. Doctor Lobo adjusts me into a sitting position. “Just relax now…”
I feel my mind slowing down. Before me I see the abandoned, solitary gravestones jutting out from a sea of weeds. A thin layer of fog spreads over them. Prayer is all I have left, so I pray under my breath, calling God, the angels and saints.
My gaze starts to feel unfocused. My fear abates, but I know that’s only because of the sedative. One of the gravestones catches my eye, as it bears a familiar name: Leandro Neves.
I blink. The name is written in indented, solemn letters. The gravestone is partly covered in moss. Leandro’s father, Comendador Ernesto Neves, is alive, so this must be his grandfather, or another descendant even older. Yet underneath, the dates read: February 8, 1854–June 23, 1877.
I stare at the dates, gears turning in my mind. June 23 is the eve of S?o Jo?o.
The night of the carriage accident.