Chapter 51
Salvario
“Let him go, Dad. I never want to see him again.”
“I never want to see him again.”
The boy plays the memory on loop. Happily.
“We’ll be free now.”
He’s joyful.
Today, even with my eyes open, I can see him; he has triumphed completely.
His face brightens even more when I pull the dagger from my nightstand.
On one side, the date my mother used it is carved. On the other, the date Elowen’s kidnapping ended. That was the plan: shatter Alexander’s daughter, send her back to destroy him, and end my miserable existence.
The plan didn’t work.
I slide to the floor beside the table, my back against the wall.
She changed everything. She made me change the date of my death.
“She should never have loved you. She doesn’t want you now. Stop thinking about her.”
I take a deep breath. My chest is in unbearable pain. Even breathing is intolerable.
She doesn’t want me now.
I was dreaming of something that could never happen. A life where I took my revenge, redeemed the boy, and lived happily with my Elowen.
The boy is still here. He never left. I was wrong to think killing Alexander would free me. Wrong to believe one death could erase memories when the deaths of bigger culprits changed nothing. Wrong to hope I could ever live.
“It’s her fault,” the boy says, unhappy now. “She made you believe you could live.”
Yes. She made me believe I could live. She gave me hope through her love. The love I never deserved. She gave me her faith, and I crushed it.
“Now she hates you.” He is happy again.
I drag the blade across my wrist.
My soul can’t bear the weight of her hatred. I’m already tired. I want to rest.
The boy hasn’t let me rest in twenty-five years.
I make another deep cut on my forearm. There’s a distinct whisper of pain beneath all the noise—noise I want to silence and hear all at once.
The boy has gone silent. Now there are only the noises he left behind.
He didn’t just want revenge. He wanted the end. That’s why he hated Elowen—she was making me choose life.
So many voices echo in my skull. My mother’s sweet lullabies. Her laughter. Her cries. Her sobs. But she’s not alone. There are loud whispers of another woman I love.
The door in front of me opens. Light pours into the dark room, reaching the corner where I sit. I squeeze my eyes shut, hiding from the burning brightness.
But the moment my eyes shut, memories rush in, swallowing reality.
I’m nine years old again. Sitting on a thin, worn mattress, waiting for my mother. She told me to stay here silently.
Yesterday, someone killed Papa. I didn’t feel sad. I never liked him anyway—he used to beat Mama.
Two nights ago, he came home late. Mama was asleep beside me. She’d drifted off after singing lullabies. I was almost asleep too, until I heard her cry out.
I sat up and watched Papa drag her out of my room by her hair. Then he locked the door from outside.
Now he’s dead. No one will hurt Mama anymore.
Yesterday, our uncles took our old rooms and gave us this storeroom instead. Mama said it’s only for a few days, then we’re leaving.
Today, she told me to stay inside all day and not make a sound.
I stayed here. Reading my books.
And now Mama is here.
She smiles when she sees me. She locks the door and comes to me, sitting on the mattress beside me.
“I’m sorry, baby. I couldn’t bring food sooner.”
She takes out three pieces of bread.
“Today, you can only eat these.”
I stare at the bread. I can’t eat just bread, but I’m hungry. I pick one and take a small bite. I manage only one before shaking my head.
“No more. I’m full.”
Mama’s face falls. “Eat one more. You haven’t eaten all day. You’re not full.”
She holds a piece to my mouth. I take it reluctantly. That makes her smile.
“Salvario!” Antonio’s panicked voice pulls me from the memory and throws me into another.
The day Antonio took us from Papa’s mansion. We’re in his house now. Mama is sleeping upstairs. She has a high fever.
Antonio hands me a plate of sandwiches. “Take this to your mother. I’ll bring her soup.”
I take the plate and rush to the room where Mama is sleeping. She hasn’t spoken to me since yesterday. Maybe she’ll talk after eating.
Everything is fine now. Antonio said we’ll never have to go back. We’ll live with him here. And one day, when I’m strong enough, I’ll make them pay for everything they did to Mama.
I don’t know how, but I’ll make them cry. The way they made her cry.
I’ll be strong. I’ll protect her.
Even now, with my hands burned, I’m carrying food for her. She hasn’t eaten since yesterday. She needs it.
I open the door.
“Mama?” I call out, but she’s not in the bed where I left her.
I set the food down on the nightstand.
“Mama?”
No answer.
I knock on the bathroom door.
“Mama? Are you in there?”
No answer. Just the sound of water running.
I try the door, it opens.
Steam fills the bathroom, blocking my vision. But when it clears, I see her lying on the floor.
“Mama” I scream, rushing to her, turning off the shower.
Soon my feet are covered in blood. I grab her bleeding hand and press my palm over the wound on her wrist. Blood seeps through my fingers.
I call her name over and over. She doesn’t answer.
“Salvario!” Antonio calls my name as he reaches my side.
He lifts her into his arms and carries her out. I don’t let go of her wrist. Blood drips from my elbow now.
He lays her on the bed and examines her. I see his hands shaking. He presses trembling fingers to her lips, under her nose, then falls to the floor, staring at her with wide eyes.
I repeat what he did.
She isn’t breathing.
I whisper, “Mama.”
She doesn't answer. Now I know she never will.
I don’t let go of her wrist. I stand there for an hour, letting her blood cover me, staring at her pale, colorless face.
I feel someone touch me, lift me up. I want to protest, but my voice is gone.
“Salvario.” Antonio’s voice carries the same panic I heard twenty-five years ago—the day my mother died.
Now it’s my turn.
The memories leave me alone—now, when I need them most.
I want them to take me back to another day. To one of those nights when she was here. My Elowen.
I want to die feeling the peace only she could bring.
But the memories won’t take me there.
I don’t deserve that peace. It was never mine to have.
She was never mine to have.
I stole her from the world for a few days.
Now those days have ended.
…to be continued in Book 2