Chapter 14
Alma
Mireya
Alma. Are you still mad at me?
I told you sorry like a zillion times. Adrian told him to leave and he refused.
Thalia
I’m not in this.
Alma
So you’re both team Efren?
Thalia
I’m team mind my business.
Mireya
Alma this isn’t Twilight, there is no team Jacob or Edward in this.
The fuck there isn’t. Efren is ruining my fucking life. Every day I get off work from the hotel, and he’s sitting there. On the couch. Shirtless. Reading some bullshit non-fiction book. Gross. Only sociopaths read non-fiction so they can try to mimic normal human behavior.
I usually give him a good fuck you glare before I head to my room on the other end of the penthouse. But not before I also send the same fuck you glare to Don Cheetos snuggled up next to him.
Frustrated with my friends, I throw my phone onto the vanity and rip off the bright pink wig. La Cuevita is back up and running, but the night was much slower than we’d anticipated. Customers are still spooked from the crime scene and Curtis’s death. Another big thanks to Efren.
“Hey,” Claudi says from the doorway.
“Hey.”
“That friend came through.” He drops a thin folder onto my vanity.
“Oh my god!” I bring the folder to my chest, holding it to my heart. “I’d hug you, but I know how you feel about glitter.”
“Ya keep that shit away from me.” He laughs. “Night, Kid.”
As soon as he turns away, I open the folder to find one single page. I skim it once. Then again, slower.
Patient: Melissa Gutierrez
Admission: August 1999
Full-term stillbirth.
Nursing notes indicate the patient exhibited emotional detachment, confusion, and fixation on newborns in the maternity ward.
Patient repeatedly insisted her baby was alive and “in the nursery.”
Psychiatry consult ordered.
Patient left Against Medical Advice prior to evaluation.
“Her baby died,” I say aloud. I take in the heartbreak I can only imagine Missy felt.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I quickly pull on sweatpants. I need answers. The faded pink note is still there, and I punch in the address to Curtis Anderson’s house. The entire drive, I try to wrap my head around the medical notes.
The word stillbirth sits there uncomfortably. Missy had never told me about this. For a brief moment, I question everything in my life up to this point. What exactly did I hope to gain at the end of this?
Peace.
I was hoping to find peace.
As easy as it would be to just accept that Missy loved me and gave me the best, I would always wonder. I’d always look in the mirror and wonder who I am and where I came from.
I push back the tears forming in the back of my eyes and focus on the narrow path leading to the private property. My headlights are the only light in the darkness. Slowing down, I take my time following the GPS until I reach a large metal gate.
Against my better judgment, I step out of the car and look to where the silhouette of a house sits another mile from the gate. Not a single light on. Curtis had told me he lived alone, and a Google search confirmed he’d not only lived at this address, but he’d been divorced for nearly ten years.
Wrapping my fingers around the bars, I shake them as hard as I can. The gate doesn’t budge.
“Fuck.” I yank again. “Come on.”
I glance around, looking for another option. The intercom looks rusted over like the metal gates, but I try it anyway. At this point, I’d have a better chance with a Ouija board, trying to get a reply.
A cold breeze passes by me, and I suck in a deep breath. I’m acting like the women I hate in horror movies. The dumb ones who walk right into the dangerous scene. God I am that estùpida.
The fence stretches in both directions. Too high to jump over. What the hell are you hiding in there, Curtis? I grip the gate again, harder this time, pressing my forehead to the cold metal. Something about being this close and still locked out pisses me off.
“You motherfucker!” I shake the gate again.
“Let me in!” I scream. “Let me the fuck in!”
A faint click sounds, and slowly the gate opens. It yawns wider, creaking, making my spine go tight.
“Hello?” I call out, voice rough. “Is someone there?”
I hear something in the distance, and my heart accelerates. The back of my neck prickles, and I take a few steps backwards toward my car.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. I sing the lyrics in my head while I hum the tune.
Yup. Estúpida.
While Missy was the least religious person I knew, she swore by singing church songs when she was afraid. It had a similar effect, I’m sure, as closing your eyes and thinking what was staring at you would somehow not see you.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let i— My humming collapses into silence as I get back in my car and drive through the threshold.
My knuckles turn white from clutching the steering wheel as my heart beats a thousand miles a minute. I’ve always loved the idea of monsters, vampires, werewolves, and ghosts. But right now, I’m hoping none of those things exist.
The closer I get to the house, the more I question if anyone has ever lived here.
The house looks like it’s never held life, judging by the dying lawn, chipped paint and the windows sealed with grime.
Curtis Anderson had money, or someone in his family did, but this house looks like something you’d see on ghost hunters. I shut off the engine and step out.
My phone’s at seventeen percent, but I turn on the flashlight anyway and search the front of the house.
I double-check the address on the outside of the house and knock a few times before I’m convinced no one is here.
My hand finds the nob and turns it to the left. A stench hits my nose when I walk in.
Finding a light switch, I’m met first thing with a very cluttered living room.
The coffee table is covered with papers, beer cans, mail, and a letter cutter.
I grab the letter cutter and shove it in my pocket before browsing the mail on the table.
Bills and a few recent hospital reports. Nothing that can help me.
“Missy, if you ever gave a fuck about me, help me find what I need,” I whisper.
A floorboard creaks upstairs, and a chill runs through me, halting my next step.
I wait for another sound, telling myself the house is just shifting, as all old things do.
Another creak sounds, and slowly, I retreat to the nearest wall.
I slide into the shadows, holding my breath.
My heart pounds so hard I swear it echoes in the room.
I keep my eyes fixed on the top of the staircase, waiting for a figure to appear.
Gliding my hand into my pocket, I pull out the letter opener. Then I hear something in the close distance and look at the open kitchen. The lights are off, but something is in there.
I walk closer, and the sound continues.
Crinkle
Crinkle
Tear
A rat or a mouse? My skin crawls at the thought.
Ironically, I’d prefer a vampire or werewolf to a disease infested rodent.
My hand trembles as I stick the letter opener in front of me.
A large figure appears in the shadows, sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of empty red candy wrappers littered around him.
He looks up, and our eyes meet. I open my mouth to scream, but something catches in my throat. A hand wraps around me from behind, covering my mouth and yanking me back into the dark.